The Lost Week

Well, I missed a week of blogging… and a week of my life.  I know I had been going down just a little over the last three weeks, requiring oxygen to lie flat, but everyone said my lungs sounded clear and dry.  Then I guess I got a little squirrely—confused speech, heavy breathing, that kind of thing.  All I remember is the hospice nurse, hubby Chip, and the oncologist talking on the phone, someone rubbing my chest hard (ouch), and getting into the cutest little wheelchair then  into the cutest little ambulance and going to the cancer center.

Two procedures later by the radiologists, and I was short almost a gallon of fluid in my lungs, and I was breathing like a champ.  Again, this is a common problem in metastatic disease, what were we all thinking?  Anyway, a few days later, the hospital was no longer any place I wanted to be, having learned everything about my neighbor I possibly could (and usually at 4am), having had blood transfused until 3am, being told not to go to the bathroom until after the blood transfusion, and having an “old lady accident” on the floor, no less.  Oh, the horrors of it all.

But it wasn’t just horrors for me.  My little family had to make choices –hospice house (palliate) or hospital (diagnose/treat the first time).  My kids had to see me really confused, and they had to deal with the uncertainty yet again of whether this was going to be the beginning of the end, or just another in a long set of unknowns.  These ups and downs are clearly taking a toll on everyone.  Even the dog has diarrhea.  But we are all seeing our own counselors and finding that incredibly helpful.  I highly recommend this if kids are old enough.

We are planning on going back to the shore on Saturday, but slowly and surely.  I will have enough oxygen just in case I need some, I will sleep on first floor, I will just take it very easy, and we will enjoy every second there with lots of support from here.

How about some poetry (and thank you to all the wonderful people sending me books and poems!  I couldn’t do it without you and who knew we were all kindred spirits!!)?

Walking Home from Oak-Head (Mary Oliver)

There is something

            about the snow-laden sky

                        in winter

                                    in late afternoon

that brings to the heart elation

            and the lovely meaninglessness

                        of time.

                                    Whenever I get home—whenever—

somebody loves me there.

            Meanwhile

                        I stand in the same dark peace

                                    As any pine tree,

or wander on slowly

            like the still unhurried wind,

                        waiting,

                                    as for a gift,

for the snow to begin

            which it does

                        at first casually,

                        then irrepressibly.

Wherever else I live—

            in music, in words,

                        in the fires of the heart,

                                    I abide just as deeply

in this nameless, indivisible place,

            this world,

                        which is falling apart now,

                                    which is white and wild,

which is faithful beyond all our expressions of faith,

            our deepest prayers.

                        Don’t worry, sooner of later I’ll be home.

                                    Red-cheecked from the rouse wind,

I’ll stand in the doorway

            Stamping my boots and slapping my hands,

                        my shoulders

                                    covered with stars.

Saint Francis And The Sow (Galway Kinnell)

The bud

stands for all things,

even for those tings that don’t flower,

for everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing;

though sometimes it is necessary

to reteach a thing its loveliness,

to put a hand on the bow

of the flower

and retell it in words and in touch

it is lovely

until if flowers again from within of self-blessing;

as Saint Francis

put his hand on the creased forehead

o the sow, and told her in words and in touch

blessings of the earth on the sow, and the sow

began remembering all down her thick length,

from the earthen snout all the way

through the fodder and slops to the spiritual curl of the tail,

from the hard spininess spiked out from the spine

down through the great broken heart

to the blue milken dreaminess spurting and shuddering

from the fourteen teats into the fourteen mouths sucking

and blowing beneath them:

the long, perfect loveliness of sow.

Cheers to all, and everyone have a great week,

Lissa