Team NSH

I know updates have been few and far between of late.  I’ve said it before, and it still rings true today, that I simply have a hard time coming up with positive vibe in my posts when the reality is so far from that for me.  I guess that everlasting positivity is one trait that Nan never passed on to me.

Rather than paint a pretty, yet unrealistic picture, I decided to be honest with where Mom is at, both the positive and the negative.

Pancreatic cancer is a miserable bastard of a disease, and there’s no two ways around it.

A hospice nurse has started coming weekly.  She’s set mom up with a few different devices to help her out around the apartment,  and helped dad with the overwhelmingly complicated task of managing her meds. Their hospice nurse Kelly has been invaluable in this role to help coordinate next steps, keep dad appraised of the situation, and provide a momentary relief from the omnipresent reality in which he faces.  She’s been tremendous in making small observations of mom indicative of further signs of her conditions progression, while also tipping him off to what’s likely to be coming next.

You know, I haven’t written a whole lot about dad on here, but he deserves more credit for what he’s doing than anyone will ever know.  He is  there for her every request.  He has become the bill payer, the care taker, the scheduler, the newsgiver, the chef, the maid, the provider:  he has firmly entrenched himself into roles he never expected he’d have to take on this early.  He deserves so much credit, and a flimsy blog post seems borderline insulting as a way to commend what he’s done.

I saw a side of him this weekend that wasn’t surprising per se, but was also reflective of the evolution he’s made in the last few months.  After my wife Jess said goodbye to mom Sunday night for what may be the final face to face goodbye, he immediately sought her out to give her a hug, and whisper a brief few words to her.  He was comforting, he was calm, he was respectful, he was real.  I’m certainly not suggesting he’s never been capable of these things, but it was a display I don’t think anyone gets used to.  Every time mom gets me on the phone, she tells me how proud of dad she is, as though she’s trying to coax me into feeling the same thing.  Only problem there is that I already am proud of him.

Facing mortality has been a fascinating exploration into human beings.  Passing no judgement at all, some do not know what to say, and therefore choose to say little.  Some don’t know how to react and ignore it altogether.  Hell, I’ve reflected those traits myself, and most people tell me I never shut up.  There are also more incredible people than we can count.  We’ve seen more tremendous outpouring of love and support than frankly we knew existed in her and our social circles.  Mom has three of the most incredible friends who have worked out a schedule to stay with her round the clock Monday through Friday while dad still puts in his 40 hours a week (which is yet another tremendous feat I didn’t touch on above).  Mary Farabee, Jane Woolford, and Jackie Faulkingham  are three of moms friends from her short time down in Alabama, but have shown true commitment, and helped to remind us of the definition of true friendship in their spirit and assistance throughout all of this. As dad just said to me in a text message: “They are doing it because they want to, but to us they are true angels on earth.”

As for the namesake of the page you’re on:

Mom.

It has been a month since I saw mom, and I was up early Saturday morning.  I wanted to knock out some work before anyone else was up, and so I sat at their kitchen table clacking away on my laptop.  I had a direct line of sight into their bathroom, and even before she had come out for the morning, I saw mom in the bathroom, brushing her hair, and her teeth and flossing.  There was something about continuing those simple routines that most of us find annoying (my hand is raised on that one), that mom is clinging to.  She’s keeping her sanity by maintaining her routine, and keeping her appearance and dignity. I may have picked on her a little bit for that, but I get it.

The cancer has physically advanced, though it will never, and can never win.  She broke my heart when she would cover her stomach all weekend, so embarrassed by the swelling brought upon by the hell being unleashed inside of her.  She talked about how she used to have a flat stomach, and “now she looks pregnant” (her words, to be clear,… not mine).  She’s still concerned with her appearance, not willing to take the free pass when one is more than readily available for her.

Mom spends a lot of time on the couch, and has set herself up for comfort.  She keeps pictures of dad, Scott and I on the table, while pictures of the kids are readily seen from any possible eyeline she could make from the couch.  She keeps some cards, a photo book, and a stack of thank you notes ready to write for whenever she can muster the energy.  She also has a hand-sewn Becca Hinds created “Unmotivated Kid,” there to remind her of the reason she continues to keep her spirits up.  She watches a lot of nonsense TV; TV that will keep her attention, but also doesn’t matter a whole lot if she slips in and out of a nap.  I tried introducing Dog The Bounty Hunter, but was met with patient (ok, maybe patronizing) “Oh, that’s interesting.”  Though if we’re revealing secrets,… mom has fallen in love with a show called “Monsters-In-Law.”  Everyone has their own trashy TV shows I guess.

Eating has become a challenge.  Her appetite is all but vanquished, and her tolerance for various flavors and textures is an ever changing concept.  That still doesn’t stop her from acting and raving like she’s eating at five star restaurant when Jess made a couple deviled eggs.  She has passed the cooking reins to dad, and the best cook I’ve ever known now swears up and down that dad has apparently been the better chef all along.  What she can eat, she eats sparsely, though she did ask for IHOP French Toast by name Sunday morning, and ate three whole (half) pieces.  So there was that…

Mom spent most of the weekend asking Jess how we were, and what is on our horizon.  We shared an incredible moment Sunday after dinner, one that’s going to stick with all of us forever.  A sad Patrick called Sunday not knowing how much longer he’d be playing hockey for, and Grammie spent a half hour trying to counsel her older grandson and let him know everything would be ok.  From my experience, I have no question he got off the phone feeling a little better than when he got on the phone.

Long story short:  Nothing is different, and nothing is the same.  I’m so incredibly and profoundly sad for what she’s going through, yet so incredibly and profoundly proud of how she’s doing this.

This is without question my favorite picture of mom.  This is a legitimately candid picture taken by Michelle when she came across this Kodak heartwarming scene.  If I’m remembering the story right, she was sweeping up in the kitchen when one of the quads came crawling up to her.  She went down to the floor with one, and before she knew it, three more were crawling over clamoring for Grammie’s attention.  There’s always been something about that picture that I’ve loved.  Maybe it’s the smirk on Emma’s face because she was the one that won the race to get a hug from Grammie…. maybe it’s Becca forcing her way onto the lap as well.  It could be Patrick climbing up her legs, or Sammy just chilling out…. or it could be Grammie.

That’s mom.  People come to her with good or bad, and she maintains everything about who she is.  When Patrick called Sunday night, he got the Grammie long before cancer ever came into the picture and she’d never let it happen any other way.

My weekend with mom ran the emotional spectrum.  I laughed because she’s kept her fantastic sense of humor and would still take a sarcastic shot at me when I deserved it.  I cried when I saw the physical toll this has taken, and the efforts that go into the mundane of every day.  I thought a lot, especially when having to ask if she will ever see Jess again.  And I smiled a lot when I saw my regular ol’ mom.  Physical changes aside, it’s still just mom with that constant decree of “Cancer doesn’t change who she is,” ringing more true than ever before.

I will be down to see her again, and I’m sure there will be more visible effects,…. but I can also guarantee you that it’ll still be the same mom,… and that’s frankly all anyone could ever want.

-Todd