Not an Earthquake After All, Just a Nightmare: A Cancer Journey
This is Part II of my story. To read Part I, click here.
Lou, my husband, not only had an inoperable tumor on his lung, he also had a brain tumor that had metastasized to the cerebellum. It was all through his blood stream and would continue to settle where it wished.
“How long do I have?” Lou asked. “8 to 12 weeks” she said gently. 2 to 3 months?? This could not be real. We walked to the car, and I said, “We take longer than that to plan our trips to Michigan every year!”
Lou said, “Babe, if she would have said we had longer, I was going to tell you to book us for a trip to New Zealand and Australia immediately,” (Lou didn’t like to fly any more, but knew these were my dream trips). “The problem is, I am getting weaker by the day and would be afraid to be so far from home, not knowing what is next.”
It was nice to hear, but it was also a dream down the drain. A dream that suddenly meant less than nothing in light of what we were experiencing.
Before we knew it, we were spending the next few weeks riding to full-brain radiation treatments and, compliments of my compassionate boss, escorted in the mortuary limousine to Ontario every afternoon. The radiation didn’t hurt beyond a bad sunburn effect, but wore Lou out even more.
I was emotionally drained, but was still trying to put in several hours of work each day once April, our daughter got there to relieve me at home. She became my rock. We both were Lou’s. Lou could no longer be left alone. The anxiety levels were huge and only diminished when I was in his eyesight. We struggled like this for about a month when I finally just went on family leave. April continued to be there a part of every day.
Photo Courtesy of ©iStockphoto.com/ragsac
The more I learned about Lou’s cancer the more discouraged I became, so I purposely stuck my head in the sand as much as possible. After all, it was my job to keep all of our spirits up. I started looking for our miracle.
I spent evenings and late nights researching and buying everything that sounded like it could help or heal Lou. We would beat this thing by doing every healthy thing that made sense and praying hard for God to make it work. We would start right after radiation.
When radiation was complete, the doctor said Lou needed to start chemotherapy of the chest the following day. “What will that buy me in time?” he asked. “No more than 2-3 months,” she said. “Not a good trade, is it?” said Lou. “We won’t be doing that.”
“Then I will start you on Hospice tomorrow,” she said.
Hospice. I knew what that meant: this was it. I began to realize every time my head was resting on Lou’s shoulder it was a time bomb and it was probably going to go off sooner than later. We had so much to talk about, yet Lou was getting less and less verbal. He was internalizing a lot of what he was thinking and feeling and the increased medications were making him less sharp.
This was becoming a nightmare of epic proportions.
Photo Courtesy of ©iStockphoto.com/Nico_Campo
Lou sat down with me when we got home. “There will be no protocols to follow, no zapper, no cleanses. If you want to juice or have me do other natural things to keep up my strength as long as possible, I will drink whatever you put in a glass. But send the rest back if they will take it. Otherwise, dump it.” With tears welling up I said, “Why won’t you let me try?” He said, “If I die anyway, you will always blame yourself. This way, I am just in God’s Hands, not yours.”
Always, to the end, thinking of me first, looking ahead 8 moves and moving the pieces in his mind and foreseeing the outcome. I had always trusted Lou to study the moves of our life and give me his logic. Now, in spite of all I wished for and had bought to help him, his answer was “no.” And once again, though this time it broke my heart, I trusted him.
Have you been in a similar situation?
Did you insist on trying what you thought would help, or did you let your loved one decide?
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Have you been faced with the news your loved one is now on hospice?
Did it make you feel like giving up?
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Do you know someone who is walking this walk right now?
How can you show extra support during this holiday season?
39 Comments
Chuck,
Thank you. I like to be called Annie. Even more now that I don’t hear it from my Lou. And like you, I am hoping and praying someone out there needs to read what I have written. So much is left out in a blog but it is a snippet of what went on in that next step of events and emotions.
We want so much to fix things, don’t we? Not everything can be fixed, but love and hugs are amazing healers, like a powerful balm on an open wound that blocks out the air until it wears off.
Love you
Annie
Anne,
What you share are very sacred and intimate glimpses into what the end of things for Lou looked like. It is gripping and heart wrenching and revealing as to the depth of love he has for you. What a wise perspective knowing you so well that he directed you on the path that put the responsibility on God. Your desire and prayer for physical healing was answered with Lou’s ultimate healing. I look forward to that day of reunion when we will play in the Kingdom prepared for us. I long for that day and I know it brings some measure of comfort for us even in the midst of heartbreak and the “momentary light afflictions” we endure in this life, as stated by the Apostle Paul. I love that perspective that the “nightmares of epic proportions” in this life are compared to what is ahead and the contrast is stark. Thank you for all you continue to reveal to us in your journey of preparing for great loss.
Blessings,
Jeff
Jeff
Lou always said I had more guilt than a Catholic and loved to manipulate my thoughts until everything under the sun was somehow my fault, since I probably had the power to influence or change it for the better if I had applied myself with more effort. That was silly, of course. And knowing me so well, he knew I would make every aspect of his suffering and death somehow my fault or lack of doing something I should have. It would be hilarious if it wasn’t so tragic.
My former pastor’s wife gave me a bit of wisdom on all of that one time when I was ruminating something out of my control. She said. “In light of eternity, what does it really matter??” The answer of course, in 99% of the situations is NOT AT ALL!
Love,
Anne
Anne,
Thank you for sharing your journey with Lou. You are such a brave women and have so much love and compassion! I can not even begin to imagine what it is like to loose a spouse. You are someone I look up to hugely. You are always their for everybody no matter what. You are so right when you say you and will be be reunited one day! I know he is looking down on you everyday and so proud of you!
I love you so much
Shayna
Shayna,
I wish I didn’t know what it was like, either. Dumb comment, but that is how I feel. We never know who is watching us or when, but you don’t see me sobbing my heart out sometimes when I am alone, but thank you for your kind words.
Love you too
Anne
Anne,
What courage you have to share your experience with us. Thank you for being so brave and allowing us to understand what Lou was going through and what you were going through then as well as now. My hope is that you continue to share your journey. It matters and it honors Lou and the man he was. I hope someday you can take your dream trip. Thank you for your words of wisdom.
Love,
Fitz
Fitz,
I have to share it because I feel I am supposed to. It is meant to help others know that they are not alone in their suffering. We too, know what some of it feels like. Every decision Lou made was thought out as to how it would affect me. It took losing him and thinking about things in retrospect to realize to what extent he did that.
As far as that dream trip, I think I will some day, somehow. Lou mentioned it and said he hoped I would find a way and be able to do it some day anyway.
Love,
Anne
Shasta,
Thank you for sharing about your grandmother. I didn’t know you worked at Mother’s before. They get a lot of my grocery dollars. The Gerson Therapy for treating cancer uses a lot of juices. I sort of did that anyway, since Lou said he would drink whatever I put in a glass. Everything was too little, too late. Also, as you and he both said he was in God’s Hands. At one point he said to me, if this is what God wants, so be it. I just wish I wasn’t leaving you in a lurch. I wished he wasn’t either, but I am learning to handle whatever I have to.
Love
Anne