home

We are home now.
I woke up yesterday thinking it would be the worst day in my life. It was six AM so I called a dear friend in Quebec and cried for nearly 90 minutes: How will I find the strength to get through this day?? How does anyone find the strength to pick up their spouse at a hospital so that he can come home and die??

Once business hours came around I called the hospice organization and made sure that I would have plenty of support to get through this - assuring them this is not a situation with an elderly parent and plenty of siblings to share all the tasks. I told them he would have to die in the hospital if he and I couldn't be well supported by them - that I would need lots of people here to help.

They sort of reassured me. But more than anything Tad reassured me. He wanted to be home no matter what.

I must admit that my biggest fear - deep below the surface - was the simple idea of having him here getting sicker not healthier. How do you live with that? How do you maintain serenity in the middle of that?

I always thought during these many months of uncertainty -- wondering which treatment is best, which hospital or oncologist or even whether to treat -- that the pain would be less intense once the uncertainty was lifted. I was yearning for the serenity that comes from knowing either: 1 - he's going to get better or 2 - he's going to die.

Well now I have that certainty and it is no more comfortable. I still find myself wondering...just about different things.

Once we finally got home, got all the paper work and medication issues taken care of - we were able to just settle into watching back-to-back episodes of "True Blood". We actually declined the offers of support folks to come over. One friend dropped in and offered help. I found myself asking him if he would be willing to make us dinner (a wonderful Mexican dish another friend dropped off) and leaving us alone. He lovingly executed and went outdoors while we had dinner then came back through to collect the dirty dishes and wishes us good night.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It is 4 AM. I am lying in bed where Tad was just a few minutes ago.

He woke up to use the commode next to the bed and asked to go spend some time on the couch in the living room. For some reason the recent hospitalization created more pain, this time in his legs - hence he walks painfully and with a limp. But he was determined to get to the couch and sit up for a while. Within minutes he was back to sleep.


The hospice team seems to have finally found a level of pain meds that work to keep his pain at bay - a minor miracle in my book. My guess is that he has always needed a level that most doctors consider "dangerous" so they never actually had him fully out of pain. Now that the danger is no longer a danger - they can give him what he needs. He's a bit more chipper than usual but nothing radically different from his normal smiling self.

Tomorrow is another day.