26 Aug In Hospice
When Jill stopped chemo nearly three months ago, her oncologist said she had about six months left. Since then, things have gone sideways. Actually, more like a tailspin. I’ve taken Jill to the ER five times in the last three weeks. She’s now in hospice.
When I alone was taking care of her, I set up a room for her on the first floor. It seemed we were ready to go the distance. But then Jill started experiencing delirium and I’d find her sometimes flat on her back on the floor. She’d say she didn’t know she got there. And she couldn’t get up. One day I found her like this three times. It’d take 30-40 minutes to maneuver her back into bed. Exhausted, I was afraid of pulling out my back. You can understand, then, why I’m relieved that she’s in a safe place with full-time care.
When I took her to the ER this last time, she said, through tears, “I’m not coming back, am I?” And just today, before they transported her from the ER to the hospice facility, she whispered, “Such a beautiful home—I’m never going to see it again.” She wanted to do in-home hospice but her medical team said, “No way!” So did her social worker. And her psychologist. And my therapist. I had to agree.
For four and a half years cancer has dismantled my life, piece by piece; and now that it’s nearly done with its dirty work, I must attempt to reassemble what I can. That’s why, a few days ago, I surrendered our sweet bassets, Maisie and Oliver, for adoption. I bawled and bawled. But here’s the thing: they were always underfoot, always waiting, watching, wanting, their expressions asking, Hey, what are you doing, is that for me? I could use a treat. Wait, I have to pee. No, wait, are you going somewhere? Can we go with? How long are you gonna be? What about me? Is that a treat? Can we eat now? Did I just pee on the floor for the third time today? Don’t leave us alone too long. Are you paying attention? Wait, what about me? Are you paying attention?”
I just couldn’t pay attention anymore. They are now settled–contentedly, it seems–with a lady who has two other, older dogs. A happy pack, I hope.
Mine is now a very quiet household. It will take me a while to straighten it out and accustom myself to my solitude. Yesterday for the first time in a long, long while, I simply sat outside and watched the sun setting. As much as I have to do, I didn’t want to do one damned thing. It felt good to be useless for that short while.
I will visit Jill every day, of course. She’s so weak she can hardly talk. Please understand that she can’t take visitors or phone calls. Sadly, she’s hoping to return home if only she can gain enough strength, but you know as well as I the fate of such dreaming.
Jill’s Go-Fund-Me page
Help if you can–our final ask!