They are calling our row

I lost yet another friend this week. To cancer.

Her name is Beth. She was a massage therapist in her career. But she was more than that. A sister. A daughter. An aunt, a cousin. She was everyone's friend, and she fed stray kittens.

Our relationship was short, about five years.

After I was diagnosed with my brain tumor, she contacted me.

"I hear you are looking for people to walk with you. I'll walk with you."

Honestly, when she first contacted me, I could not even see her face in my head. Our paths had crossed briefly and intermittently when Ken and I were attending the Bellingham Unitarian Fellowship.

But there she was.

So we went for a walk. And then we went for another one. And then, after a while, she offered to gift me a massage. Ten days before I had my surgery, we both imagined Norman shrinking from the size and consistency of a walnut, to the size of an almond.

After my surgery, I rarely saw her. She was not part of the regular group that visited me.

A few years after my surgery, I found myself with an extra ticket to the Motherlode concert at WWU. I put it out on Facebook that I had an extra ticket, and we got to sit together. I think that was probably the last time I communicated with her until after Ken's heart attack.

I only heard she was sick right after he got out of the hospital, and she was VERY sick by that time. And she had been sick for a while. Cancer. Stage 4. Just a little time left.

I never knew a thing about it.

I saw her three times after the day I found out she was sick. Once, I brought a sandwich to her at her house. She tried to pay for it. I told her, “next time, you pay.”

I called her to make plans again. Sadly, things had progressed very quickly, and four weeks after that sandwich, she was on her way to Hospice.

I entered her room, there was quiet singing. I walked up to her bed, took her hand, got close to her and said, “I brought you a sandwich, it's your turn to pay.” Her eyes opened wide, and when she saw me, she smiled. Her lungs were so filled with fluid, she hardly had any breath to talk. I had time to kiss her hand, say thank you and goodbye.

And There Was Music....

I wasn't going to do another public update, but because you asked....

Since Ken got home Wednesday, things have been chugging along quite well... He walked a little bit that first day, napped a lot, the next day he walked more, napped a little less, and has been progressing more every day.

He even went in to his office yesterday for about an hour to say hello and to prove to his coworkers that he was indeed alive and plans to at least try to put in a few hours in the office later this week.

He's home today, gathering up energy to do his trial run tomorrow, working for only 4 hours while I'm on standby to scoop up and rescue.

But what about Thursday and Friday? I have a business trip scheduled for the weekend, leaving Thursday morning. Zoe is on board to drive him to and from work on both days, and his mom lives close by, so if he can't hang in there for four hours, he can either hang out at her place, she can take him home, or, God forbid, get him to the doctor or ER.

Am I a bad wife for wanting to go to Dallas for my board meeting this weekend? I've had this on the books for a year. But it's only ten days after his heart attack.

Am I babying Ken if I don't go?

Am I babying Ken if I think he needs someone here overnight?

If I'm not here cooking for Ken, will he be able to cook for himself?

Zoe is spending the night Thursday. She offered to make soup if I buy the ingredients. If I don't hear from her before Wednesday, the soup ain't happening. Ken and I already talked about this, and he's agreed to have her take him to go pick up a roasted chicken at the grocery store.

So then, what if she makes the soup? What about the other days and the other meals?

Does he have the energy to cook? Does he know what to make that is “good” for him now? In the past when I would go away, it was fried chicken or beef burritos. And we know THAT'S off the menu!!

Caleb is coming up (really late) for Friday and Saturday overnight.

EUREKA!! Ken called his Mom to bring him dinner Friday night!!!!!! Everyone wins.

When Caleb is here for Saturday, I don't know if (or what) he can cook. I know he can make omelettes (Ken can't eat eggs) and quinoa.

I can do all this planning to ask for help to bring over a meal for Saturday, but am I babying him if I don't let him ask for help or fend for himself?

Am I in denial that he is still a ticking time bomb and still to much in recovery to leave alone most of the day?  Should I just cancel my trip?

(later that same day….)

OH MY GOD HE IS PLAYING THE ENGLISH HORN!!!!!
Ken picked up the English Horn and played for about a half hour. I admit I had to restrain myself. My initial response to hearing the music flowing upstairs from his study was to run down there and check on him.

Is he clutching his chest? Is he flushed? Does he feel/appear light headed?

But I waited.

For ten whole minutes. Then I went downstairs.

None of that.

He was smiling. He said he felt pretty good, out of shape, but normal out of shape. (Anyone who plays a double reed will know what this means.)

He played for a little while longer.

But the bottom line?

He can still play.

And I suppose that means he will survive without me.

Maybe that's more me letting go than him moving on.

Ken Is Home

In one piece (with two extras.)  That and pills, pills pills. Pills for the morning and night to make his heart, back and tummy happy. Apparently, he has just committed himself to a lifetime relationship with his cardiologist AND the pharmacist!

We are both still in a little state of shock that this even happened to him, relieved that it wasn't worse, and grateful for all the support and good wishes he received from our community.  People he hasn't heard from in YEARS wished him a quick recovery.  

Zoe, Caleb and I also have appreciated our friends who have reached out to us, offering words of care and concern.

Ken is learning to ask for help for things that seem simple, but are beyond the limits set by his doctor. I've only had to scold him once. So far. It was not pretty.

I also know I'll probably be having some kind of mass purge of the foods he and I may never eat (or drink) again.

And so, as our happy couple fades back into obscurity, please know that your words of support have meant the world to Ken, and all of us.  We don't know how to thank you.

Offers to help with food and whatever as Ken recovers at home have been pouring in.  I can't express to you how this feels, to know how you love Ken as much as I do.  I don't know what he, or we, will need in the days and weeks to come.  If I can think of something, I will let you know.

Oh, I know one thing we both need.  Sleep!  (smile)

There is ONE big thing you can do for us.  Be well.  Pay attention to your body. Not all heart attacks are the same. Not all of them are painful chest clutching, elephant weight pressure, and/or keeling over events.

Don't ignore the atypical signs of a heart attack.  They are simple:
Discomfort or pain in other areas, such as one or both arms, the neck, jaw, back, or stomach
Shortness of breath, lightheadedness, nausea, or sweating
Abdominal discomfort that may feel like heartburn

Oh, and BTW, we love you!!