Crap on a cracker
Over the past year since my very good friend has been diagnosed with lung cancer, our outlook has been hopeful. Her, with optimistic denial, me with pessimistic worry. Every time I asked about the latest scan or treatment, she was all "I'm feeling pretty good/it's working/no growth/it shrunk..." Her admissions - too numerous to count - for blood transfusions, IV fluids with hefty doses of potassium, pneumonia, liver/spleen/kidney issues - all met with a big shrug-off. Hair loss, weight loss, inability to control body temperature... "I'm doing great," said she. I didn't believe her. She wouldn't allow me to assume otherwise. What could I do? Smile, and keep my fingers crossed.
She phoned me Tuesday night; would I like to come over on my next day off, and maybe pick through some of her old clothes that didn't fit any more? I saw a glimpse of a red flag on the horizon. She sounded great, said she felt good, had been sewing and quilting again. Finished some projects she just hadn't had the energy for.
On Wednesday, she was in the hospital.
Visits to the ICU suck. She is not doing great. Her sister, the one with balls of steel, is living in reality. Her husband and sons are in denial. The nurses are awesome. I am... well, I just am.
When I left today, she was being sedated to be put on a ventilator.
I can't get my mind off of how she looked, with the tubes and the machines, thrashing in the bed, trying to get a breath, her family numb with shock, strong men with tears in their eyes.
And yet we still hope.
She phoned me Tuesday night; would I like to come over on my next day off, and maybe pick through some of her old clothes that didn't fit any more? I saw a glimpse of a red flag on the horizon. She sounded great, said she felt good, had been sewing and quilting again. Finished some projects she just hadn't had the energy for.
On Wednesday, she was in the hospital.
Visits to the ICU suck. She is not doing great. Her sister, the one with balls of steel, is living in reality. Her husband and sons are in denial. The nurses are awesome. I am... well, I just am.
When I left today, she was being sedated to be put on a ventilator.
I can't get my mind off of how she looked, with the tubes and the machines, thrashing in the bed, trying to get a breath, her family numb with shock, strong men with tears in their eyes.
And yet we still hope.
posted by Julie at 10:11 PM
3 Comments:
I am so sorry Julie. I will be thinking of you as you travel these steps with your friend. I hope her optimism is enough to deliver her heart's dream and I hope her suffering is short lived and that she gets off that vent and home. (((hugs)))
Thank you for your kind words, Jill. (((hugs)))
Her family and I were discussing her coping during the past year, and know that she was trying to protect us during the process. Even though we 'knew', it was easier to just pretend. At least she had been comfortable up to this point, and this suffering will be short.
What a tough road for her, her family and you, too. I am so sorry that your friend is suffering like this. Thinking of you all.
Post a Comment
<< Home