Please Join Us

It's been a long night and day! The house filled with loving friends. Martha's body was taken away and we toasted her with champagne...warm champagne to signify our sorrow. After very brief sleep I went about making arrangements that I could share with all you readers. Once again the house is full of loving people here to support me and each other.

Here's the 411

On Saturday March 15, starting at 10am until noon, there will be a memorial, followed by a reception to celebrate her life. It will take place at Colonial Chapel, 2926 High St. in Oakland. It is a short distance west from the High St. exit on 580.

Afterwards, Eric and any other family members who can do so, will sit Shiva in the Jewish tradition. Our home will be open to visitors from noon to 8pm, Saturday, Sunday and Monday. Please feel free to come by and offer condolences.

In lieu of flowers, please feel free to make a donation to one of the charities that Martha has supported.

http://www.lacafoundation.org/?page_id=34
please specify "for health Clinics"

http://www.peaceactionwest.org/

Fare Thee Well My Honey

This evening, March 9, 2008 at 10:45pm Martha left her body.

I was sitting at her side and nurse Mary was standing on the other side of her bed. We were talking about how much she loved me and how much I loved her. It was clear to both of us that she was listening to our conversation. Her breathing was labored, she would breath out, pause too too long, and draw in a breath. I said something about loving her and looked over to see the reaction on her face. In the seconds that I had looked away, her face had faded from jaudiced yellow to pale. The breath in never came. It was a peaceful death, at home, surrounded by friends and family, pain managed, no indignities.

This blog was her gift to me. A vehicle to sing my praises as much as a chronicle of her journey with cancer. I will treasure it always. Martha suggested on numerous occasions that I might enjoy blogging myself. So far, I can't say much for the experience. Who knows? Perhaps I will keep it going? For now I can at least promise that I will post again to let you three regular readers (and you lurkers as well)know when and where we will be gathering soon to celebrate her life.

Thank You All
Eric

Thursday

Greetings to my three regular readers!

So much has happened since I've last updated this tired ol' blog. And, to be honest, it all feels a bit like water under the bridge. It felt urgent in the moment. In the moment, it was my inability to pee -- something that occurred to me after three days -- that sent me to the ER for catheterising (no big deal) and a few days of IV narcotics.

Here's the hard part, but I don't think there's any point in trying to string pretty words around the truth... or ugly words, either.

I'm now a hospice patient, and I've been given 5 days to 5 weeks to live. Technically, that "5 days" should have ticked down to "4 days". It's not an exact science.

Morning

It's so crazy, I don't know how to describe it. Much of it is still in a fog. All I can say is that last night, after spending 7 (8? 9?) hours in the Emergency Room, I was admitted to the hospital.

The nurses woke me up ever five minutes, then 20 minutes, then 1.5 hours until 4:00 AM.

So far no word on when they'll let me out.

No News/Some News

There's been some grumbling among my three regular readers that I haven't been keeping my blog updated. Folks want to know what's going on and I'm (practically) pleased as punch(ish) to keep the 411 flowing.

Unfortunately, there's been nothing definitive to share. I could travel a sentence or two down each conjecture, but folks wouldn't be closer to knowing what's happening with this raggedy, brokedown, palace of a body.

More tests next week and the results should largely tell the tale.

In the interim, more watching and waiting and crazy yellow eyes.

And then there's this part... the part that's so important that I can only type it in a whisper... after tomorrow (Monday) Eric's going to stay home with me.

It's no small matter for him to do this. He worries about work... he worries about his students. (He really does worry about his students.) It's a burden for him, and his kids, and his colleagues. He wouldn't describe it as such -- he's quick to point out that I'm his first priority, and I know that's the truth -- still, it's a burden. But... it's also the weight of worlds lifting from my shoulders.
Thinking about having him here with me is the closest I've come to happy in a while.

Just Reporting

Some mornings I wake up and my first thought is: I don't feel good. And that's how it continues, until I fall asleep at night. I don't feel good I don't feel good I don't feel good I don't feel good I don't feel good. That discomfort and those words fill the space in my world. There's no room to read or write an email. I can't watch television, or read a book, or answer the phone. I don't feel good I don't feel good I don't feel good, and that's all.

I move in a circle .... lying in bed, sitting in the easy chair and then lying on the couch in my bedroom, sitting in the recliner in the guest room, lying in the guest room bed. I move around and around until I'm too weak and tired to pull myself up anymore.

Daytime

Cooking shows, Britney exposes, true crime stories, and "My teen wants to be a prostitute and have a baby" on Maury.

Oh, I wish I could work!

Just more.

There's just not much to say. More of the same, but mas amarillo y mas amarillo y mas amarillo. I look sick... like a junky or someone w/ hepatitis & limited Spanish who's stuck in a cheap Mexican hotel room for weeks on end. You know... like that.

Ugh

I don't feel well enough to write, talk, walk, sit up, breathe deeply, eat, read, or listen. My eyes are now yellowyellow, not just yellow-at-the-edges. My face is yellow, especially around my eyes and forehead, and my chest is yellow. The rest of me is yellow-ish.

I'm alone all day while Eric's at work. I'm lonesome but only for Eric. Just waiting to see what happens. Kinda squinting at it... looking through one eye.

I'm just mad about Saffron (Saffron's mad about me).

I was at work on Valentine's day, chit chatting in the graphics department while the nice folks there went out of their way to help me with a (for me) demanding project, when one of the designers told me that I looked yellow.

I looked at my arm suspiciously. I check for yellowness with some frequency as my liver is (as my oncologist put it) "going sour" and as he's stated on several occasions "when your liver goes you're up a creek."

I told the designer it was just the light. She looked up and pronounced the light blue. Doggone designers and their finely calibrated color instruments. Bah!

Still, if I was yellow, I was barely yellow. I thought I could even be tricking myself into seeing yellow.

I had an appointment to have blood drawn from my port for tests that afternoon. Was there ever a finer Valentine tradition? The chemo nurse gazed into my eyes and pronounced me yellow, and I figured that was that. Jaundice it was, and this time I'm not just talking about my attitude. All that was left was the waiting, and my hyper-efficient HMO emailed me within two hours.

Bilirubin is a brownish yellow substance found in bile. It's produced when the liver breaks down old red blood cells. When bilirubin levels are high, the skin and whites of the eyes may appear yellow, or jaundiced. In cancer patients with liver tumors, jaundice can be caused by liver failure or a blocked bile duct.

My bilirbubin levels had always been within a normal range, meaning .3 or .4 or .5. My blood test came back as 5.1 -- a high level of toxicity.

At that point I figured myself "up a creek". I emailed my doctor, who responded very quickly, and he seemed to agree. He didn't disagree, anyway, and asked to see me the next morning.

Which brings me to today.

To make a long story shortish... I may not be up a creek just yet. I'm certainly yellow... more yellowed than yesterday, for sure... but it may not be because of disease progression but instead a nasty side effect of my current (now former) chemo regimen.

Now there's just waiting and seeing. Eric and I left town this afternoon. As much as I love our home, I needed to see something different. As sick as I feel, I'm glad we did.

For a bit & a while I figured myself for dead in a month or two. That seemed like a realistic timeframe. I wasn't anxious or scared, but I was sad.

But for now I'm feeling optimistic. I think there's more time than that... I think this isn't a worst case scenario.

No guarantees, of course. I was going to say "for any of us, ever", but that's not true. I feel 100% certain of Eric and his goodness. That's what I'm guaranteed, and I'll take it.

Sigh

Tired.

The cancer ladies are excited about a new project. They've decided that women with stage IV breast cancer are invisible in the media, and they're going to remedy that by making a quilt.

One of them suggested a logo for the project: a pink ribbon hanging on a cross. The motto: Hanging on Hope.

She thought some might find it "too religious", though.

They might.

Oh, I'd give anything to belong to a different club.

Monday

Very slow and tired weekend but it was nice to have visitors -- Jane on Saturday and Lisa on Sunday.

Today's a day off from work. Thank you, President Lincoln.

Watched 60 Minutes last night and couldn't believe that Katie Couric asked Hillary Clinton for her health tips... how DOES she stay looking so good? And then asked her if it was true that the boys in highschool called her The Refrigerator. Sheesh.

I love the word "alchemy".

I thought I'd avoided the TBS (Terrible Burning Stomach) when I went to bed at 11:00 PM, but it woke me up a few minutes ago. Not as bad as it's been in the past, but bad enough. At worst it makes me clutch my abdomen and cry for three hours or so.

I dunno, kids. I'm beat. I went to work for two hours on Tuesday, four hours on Wednesday. It was good to clear my desk a bit and to talk to people. I'm glad I went, but can I go tomorrow (today)? Another sleepless night and pain and feeling sick. I can't picture it.

For the first time I've spoken seriously with Eric about what it would be like to stop treatment. They'd keep me comfortable -- probably pretty foggy, I think. But the thought of being kept comfortable... what strange alchemy is this? Is it possible? Would I just sleep all the time? I don't think I'd mind sleeping all the time if this pain would stop.

I'll finish this round of chemo. Two more days of pills. Then Ill speak with my oncologist and see if anything... anything... anything... can make me feel better. So tired. So over it. Done.

NotherDay

Last night I was thinking about what I'd do if I felt good for a day. I thought & thought about it, but the answer wasn't difficult to find. If I could feel good for one day I'd walk & walk in the sunshine with Eric. And I'd have a picnic, and I'd eat fruit and bread and cheese. I'd kiss Eric, because kissing isn't first priority when you're queasy for a month or two at a time.

It sounds so much like puppy dogs and rainbows and I hate that stuff. I hate sounding so wistful and that my dreams are so small, but there it is. It feels huge. Walking and sunshine and Eric. And I'd laugh and I'd want to talk to each one of my friends and laugh with them, too.

I swear I'd trade the last five months for one day. But there's no magic and no trades.

Well..

I'm just hanging in there. Still waiting for something better!

Humpday

I was home from work again today. It was a different experience, though. I spent my time in a dreamy, queasy, narcotic fog. Bone pain's back... familiar but not a friend. My spine, scapula, clavicle, sternum, hip, The Works.

It's been a while since I've taken these drugs. I don't mind a day of napping now & then. It's pleasant enough when the pain is controlled. I wouldn't choose it as an ongoing lifestyle, though.

Something's gotta give, and I'm hoping it's not one of my tired ol' bones or my sad ol' liver.

Drowsy & dreamy day... taking drugs and trying to eat and watching the worst of the worst programming on television. Somehow the worst of the worst is more satisfying to me than the best of the best. The best so often falls short. The worst is amusing either way. Bring on the music videos from India and reality TV

I was sorry to see Edwards drop out of the Democratic primary race. I know it was inevitable, but I liked having a third voice... particularly one that spoke about poor people. He impressed me very much when he was running w/ Kerry precisely because he spoke of poverty in America, which is an oddly and unquestionably uncomfortable subject.

Wishingwishingwishing for a better day tomorrow. Today was okay. Today was doable. But just a slight improvement tomorrow would be welcome.

Priceless

I've been married to Eric long enough that I no longer question why he knows the things he knows. He just does. I'm not surprised when he mentions that Ry Cooter was a pioneer of digital recording, or when he quickly identifies two or three products I've seen lately that were designed by Isaac Mizrahi (and then answers when I ask "who?")

Eric just knows.

In twenty years I've never seen Eric sit down to watch a sporting event on tv. He's watched a game or two at my request -- a world series game, or the super bowl. But on his own? Not once. He has no interest in baseball, football, basketball, hockey, soccer, golf, or tennis. BUT... he knows about the players, and the games. Why ask why?

Eric can rebuild an engine, make a Bearnaise, and explain the quadratic formula to a fourteen year old. He can tell the truth, and say "no" with a smile. He can grade papers in a chemotherapy suite. He can name the longest river in the world, the largest desert in the world, and he can tell you how a refrigerator works.

He can juggle five balls and does a mean Gollum impression. He can make me laugh, always -- every single time -- by pretending to be the The Fighting Aubergine. I just adore him. Absolutely adore him.

I'm thinking about Eric today as I sit her at home. Again. Too sick to go to work, or to do anything else for that matter... but well enough to be bored. It's a strange position. I want to feel like a day home to rest is a BONUS, but I'd really much rather feel better and go to work.

I miss Eric, too. Can you tell?

Monday

Eric and I have an Oscar Nominee Weekend tradition. Over one weekend (including Friday evening) we'll see all of the nominees for Best Picture that we haven't yet seen, and sometimes we've included the Best Actor and Actress performances, as well.

I believe we'll continue the tradition this year, but I really don't want to see any of the movies. It's kinda sad. The nominees are:

Atonement
Juno
Michael Clayton
No Country for Old Men (the only nominated movie that we've seen)
There Will Be Blood

That's just four movies to see ... not too bad. Still, I'm just not psyched for those movies.

I'm home from work today... just not sure how I feel about this chemotherapy -- or, how this new chemotherapy makes me feel. We'll see.

That's All

It's been a cold, rainy, few days here in Oakland, California. Haven't had much to say lately or much energy to say it. I'm glad it's the weekend. I'm glad I'm spending the weekend with my handsome husband.

When the fat lady sings.

There are so many people in the world who believe that they'll be reunited with their loved ones in death. If pressed they'd probably have to admit to believing that they'll be reunited with their enemies, as well, but they're all figuring to be better spirits in heaven than on Earth.

Or maybe it's a small majority who've bought into the Family Circus model: Grandpa peeking over the clouds, watching fondly as little Billy runs a circuitous route through home and garden.

People speak of spirits, souls, the cosmic consciousness... reincarnation and a zillion other post-life conditions -- including conscious, eternal, torment in hell -- for which their exists not one shred of evidence.

I'd say that it must be nice to hold such beliefs... that it must be a great comfort... but it'd be like saying I wanted to crazy glue scales to my eyes. I wouldn't take a delusion pill if it was offered. I think.

But I will be taking chemotherapy pills very soon -- this week, or next week. It's another nasty (hopefully effective) drug, but this one's in pill form. In multi-pill form, really. I'll be taking a small handful of 'em in the morning and the evening.

This raises a question for me. If the pills make me feel sick, will I make myself take them? There's something about a scheduled appointment to show up for a 7 hour IV drip that takes some of the personal choice away. Not all of the choice, but enough that I can disconnect from the experience a bit.

But to swallow pill after pill...

Well...

No point in borrowing trouble.

Maybe it won't make me sick. Maybe it will shrink the cancer. There's about a 20% chance it will work for two or three months, anyway. Which is better odds than I'd give the likelihood of being reunited with loved ones in death.

If that's a belief you hold, I'd like you to think about it. Really noodle it for a few minutes and try to figure out the basis for your belief. Unless you're a Christian.

If you're a Christian, please don't think about it all. What's the point?