What More?

November 30, 2010

Well, November is just about over.  Time slips by me way too fast.

My head is everywhere again this morning.  I left a phone message us today for Nancy L to call – financial adviser.  This step seems cold and calculating.  It is calculating, planning for future, but I hope not cold.  There are questions to sort out, the “what if’s.” Will Dave get through the school year?  Should I figure some are working and money is gone?  I fear if he isn’t working, that will be “it.” He’s done.  Work/career/teaching is his LIVE-lihood.  His core.  And he is so good at it.
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Breathe 2

November 29, 2010 12:45 pm

What an emotional roller-coaster day.  Crying, working, OK, not OK.

Statistically speaking…  Without treatment, only 10% survive for one year given Dave’s diagnosis.  With treatment, 30-40%  survival for one year; 10% are living after two years.

How aggressive is this cancer: well, things can change quickly.  Just like my mood.  Just like my optimism.

So surreal.

Leah will be here tonight. I worry for her.  And me.


November 29, 2010

Ugh!  Breathe.

Last night as Dave shut down his computer, the e-mail arrived.

I heard his slow slumbering up the stairs.  And he came to my office door.  “I had an e-mail from Dr. Williams.  It was negative.”
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Sleeping In

November 27, 2010

Ugh!  What confusing dreams this morning.  I usually wake up around 6:30 am.  Today I went back to sleep and dreamt about mom having Hodgkin’s Disease.  Too much day residue – Dr. Phil on grief; worries about Dave’s, mom’s, and even (my brother) Steve’s health.  Doctors of past – now who will Dave see as oncologist?  Business woes – can I continue in the midst of personal grief?  I don’t even need to write out the dream to understand all the angst I feel!

Bailing out of cycle class this morning.  I’m guilty.  But…  Oh, well.  I need more coffee…

Day After Thanksgiving 2

November 26, 2010 11:40 am

Boy, am I jumpy. This is the day we are suppose to hear the results of the biopsy/genetic marker tests which determines Dave’s treatment.

A few minutes ago he called up the stairs (This can drive me batty!  Sometimes you just starts talking.  LOL.  I have to jump up and down to know what he is saying.) “I have sad news,” his voice says out of nowhere.  It turns out that the friendship bracelet Leah made him became threadbare and fell off.
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Day After Thanskgiving

November 26, 2010

I’m enjoying these early morning moments of coffee and writing.  Good idea!

David, Leah and me.  That’s Thanksgiving!  During our traditional feast -Turkey, stuffing, gravy, mashed potatoes, yams, Brussels sprouts/pearl onions (creamed), monkey bread, green bean casserole, cranberry sauce (always canned) -we gave our thanks.  It’s usually simple: grateful for being together and for the love and the people in our lives.  Dave says he expects to have another Thanksgiving with us; this won’t be the last.  Let’s hope not.  But I have to steel myself against the possibility that this was our last three person Thanksgiving.
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Thanksgiving Morning, 2010

November 25, 2010

Background: In Fall 2008, My husband Dave went through a series of medical test starting with a CT scan for his one remaining kidney. A spot was detected and something was noted in his lung. New tests. Turns out he needed to biopsy a spot there, too.  I can’t forget sitting through the pulmonary breathing tests as I followed along. (how’s my breathing as an ex-smoker?) Then, it was on to get results from the pulmonary doctor.
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Navigating Grief Gift of Story

Giving the Gift of Story

I read a post on a children’s grief website the other day that asked if anyone knew an appropriate memorial gift or product. Yes, I thought: the gift of story.

I thought about this over a couple of days because the first days of loss are different than a few weeks later. I thought about everything I’ve come across  – clinical, academic, experiential, personal, and anecdotes from bereaved – on the early days of loss and grief. I realized there are  recurring themes:  the need to not feel alone; the role of memories which can be bittersweet, yet comforting; and, how the blur of shock can render time and thoughts invisible or forgotten.
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