my husband has been cutting my hair for the last couple of years. he studied up on youtube and does a nice bob! but i have to get the same haircut every time. 
Today I walked into the shiny new cancer center 1.5 blocks from my house, my friend "L" leaning half on me and half on his walker. The automatic doors whispered open and we slowly made our way through the marbled white and chrome light-filled first floor waiting area to the entry doors of the radiation treatment area. As the nurse escorted him to his treatment, I turned to explore the public areas as this was my first time in the building.
Most of the seats on both floors were filled. As I made my way to an empty chair, I made eye contact with those waiting for their people to finish treatments. All eyes were filled with sadness, fear, exhaustion. State-of-the art means nothing to people who know their loved one is dying.
"L" had one good week after surgery last month to remove as much of the glioma as possible. Unfortunately his tumor is the fastest growing and most resistant to chemo and 2 weeks after surgery, it's back bigger and badder. He's too sick and weak for chemo and as he was telling me that he hopes the radiation shrinks the tumor enough to give him time to make important decisions, his eyes told me he knew it was already too late. Yet hope persists in shrinking tiny flames in his quickly dimming eyes.
He slurs his words; his personality is changing; he is quickly losing mobility. He can't eat, is stick thin, refused the option of clinical trials, refused palliative care, refused hospice, refuses all efforts his wife "J" makes to get sustenance into him. He has yet to find acceptance and peace with his terminal diagnosis. "J's" life consists of ensuring "L" gets his enormous amount of daily medications, getting him to treatment every day, taking care of the house. She says she's always been a rock but it's clear she is crumbling. She is letting "L" make the decisions about his treatment and will fight and advocate for him regardless of what the drs might recommend. She knows it won't be long before she'll have to make those decisions for him.
Two purposes for this sad tale -- to release my sadness into the anonymous nether world and to admit that any reticence I thought I might have to taking advantage of our state's assisted suicide law went away today.
If my death comes through an illness that gives me time to choose, I'll throw a party for those close to me on the day I choose to die, share stories about the good times and bad, bid everyone a fond adieu and wash the meds down with a giant gulp of single malt whiskey that costs $134,000 a bottle. It will be the hangover to end all hangovers
Greetings from the King of Prussia Mall, where an active shooter was just captured. But don’t dare say the words “gun control”.
Today I walked into the shiny new cancer center 1.5 blocks from my house, my friend "L" leaning half on me and half on his walker. The automatic doors whispered open and we slowly made our way through the marbled white and chrome light-filled first floor waiting area to the entry doors of the radiation treatment area. As the nurse escorted him to his treatment, I turned to explore the public areas as this was my first time in the building.
Most of the seats on both floors were filled. As I made my way to an empty chair, I made eye contact with those waiting for their people to finish treatments. All eyes were filled with sadness, fear, exhaustion. State-of-the art means nothing to people who know their loved one is dying.
"L" had one good week after surgery last month to remove as much of the glioma as possible. Unfortunately his tumor is the fastest growing and most resistant to chemo and 2 weeks after surgery, it's back bigger and badder. He's too sick and weak for chemo and as he was telling me that he hopes the radiation shrinks the tumor enough to give him time to make important decisions, his eyes told me he knew it was already too late. Yet hope persists in shrinking tiny flames in his quickly dimming eyes.
He slurs his words; his personality is changing; he is quickly losing mobility. He can't eat, is stick thin, refused the option of clinical trials, refused palliative care, refused hospice, refuses all efforts his wife "J" makes to get sustenance into him. He has yet to find acceptance and peace with his terminal diagnosis. "J's" life consists of ensuring "L" gets his enormous amount of daily medications, getting him to treatment every day, taking care of the house. She says she's always been a rock but it's clear she is crumbling. She is letting "L" make the decisions about his treatment and will fight and advocate for him regardless of what the drs might recommend. She knows it won't be long before she'll have to make those decisions for him.
Two purposes for this sad tale -- to release my sadness into the anonymous nether world and to admit that any reticence I thought I might have to taking advantage of our state's assisted suicide law went away today.
If my death comes through an illness that gives me time to choose, I'll throw a party for those close to me on the day I choose to die, share stories about the good times and bad, bid everyone a fond adieu and wash the meds down with a giant gulp of single malt whiskey that costs $134,000 a bottle. It will be the hangover to end all hangovers
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