I realized last night, when I flopped exhausted on the couch to snuggle up with my 50 pound boxer and watch a little TV that I’ve been “freelance” caregiving. One of my dearest friends in the world, if not my lifetime, has Stage IV cancer.
Three weeks ago I sat with her while she paced around, rested, paced some more, never letting on that she was anything more than “uncomfortable.” It wasn’t until she told me she didn’t want to live this way, and that she hadn’t slept more than three hours at a time in about a week, that I realized her level of pain was way beyond acceptable.
We got to her doctor for re-evaluation of her pain meds. That got taken care of, and she managed to drag herself onto an airplane for the five hour flight to Hawaii. She had never been there. She and her sister had planned this trip last spring, and she was going. It was touch and go until the morning of. She was not in great shape, but at least she was going to see Hawaii.
I should explain that her cancer is rather rare and slow growing, so for about 12 years we have been complacent. Then, like a switch had been turned on, and right on schedule, the cancer started to move. Into her lungs. Recently into her bones and liver. Part of her above-mentioned pain was due to a spontaneous fracture of her arm.
I take care of her family, too.
Her son had been putting off his visits for more important things - like friends coming into town. I extended myself to write him an email, sort of a written “cold glass of water in the face,” because at age 21 he was not tuned into exactly what is going on with his mother. I have known him since he was little, but it was still very difficult for me to take the risk of “waking him up.” Apparently my words reached him because he was waiting when I brought her home from the airport after Hawaii. It was emotional for me because, for the first time, his eyes reflected the sadness of a man who understood the great sorrows of life - the innocent little boy was gone forever now.
I also help out with her 89 year old mother who lives in the same house - I take her to doctor’s appointments, grocery shopping, pick up prescriptions, that type of thing. She is very very very slow! It requires much patience and love. I’m always on call it seems.
Then, last week, I hit the wall when bad news struck again…
Part 2 of The Gift of Tears is coming soon.
Written by Mary Horton Sondag
Mary Horton Sondag, BSPT lives in Lafayette, California with her husband, Alan, where they raised their three sons. She is a physical therapist, specializing in geriatric care in the acute, rehab and home settings for 30 years. Caregiver training is an integral part of her daily work in all settings. She enjoys travel, quilting, writing, singing and sometimes just doing nothing at all!
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