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It�s been quite a weekend.
Friday night, after I posted my entry, I was about to log off when I got an IM from Pussypants in response to an email I�d sent her. Feeling that sleep was still far away from me, I welcomed the diversion. Two hours later, I finally shut my computer off. By the time I fell asleep, it was after 3:00.
My alarm went off at 8, and I dragged my sorry ass out of bed and into the shower, where I promptly once again fell asleep. When the hot water ran out, I woke up quickly enough. By 9, I was on my way to my mom�s house to cover for her at her Longaberger associates meeting, since she�d decided she couldn�t see herself making small talk with the other Longaberger ladies and their branch advisor. They were due to arrive at 10. When I walked into the house at 9:45, she was on the phone, laughing and crying simultaneously.
She hung up and sat down on the bed, burying her face in her hands. I froze, fearing the worst. All week, I�ve been secretly (silently) afraid that my grandmother would die before I got a chance to see her. Somehow, I made my legs carry me into Mom�s bedroom.
�That was Dr. Bering,� my mom sniffled. �She got the results of the CT scan back, and it�s not good. The cancer has spread to her liver, and it�s aggressive. She doesn�t feel it�s going to take a long time to��
I sat and held my mom�s hand, the unspoken end of her sentence hanging in between us. When she could finally talk again, she continued. �The radiation only treated a small area, and it spread before they could contain it. They can�t radiate her liver, and radiating the other areas now is pointless. There�s one other drug they can try--I asked Dr. Bering about it, and she said there�s a possibility it may help Nana, but it�s a crapshoot. It might give her some good, quality time. It might also make her sick.�
Dr. Bering had been in to see my grandmother on Saturday morning. Nana hadn�t asked her about the CT results, and Dr. Bering didn�t offer the news. She figured it would be better not to tell her while she was alone.
Two minutes after Mom finished telling me all of this, while the two of us were sitting on the bed, crying together, the doorbell rang. The Longaberger ladies had begun arriving.
Mom decided to stay at the meeting, I think welcoming the diversion. I stayed, too, and learned about all the new products and offered some �outside� advice. I could quite happily spend every penny I make on new baskets and pottery and wrought iron and accessories from the Longaberger catalog and never regret one purchase. It�s a sickness, I know, but there it is.
Once the last car had left the driveway, Mom and I did a quick cleanup and headed for Chuck E. Cheese in Attleboro. My cousin�s daughter was celebrating her third birthday there, and we�d promised we�d attend. We stopped to get a present on the way, a sweatshirt and pair of girlie-girl pajamas from the Gap, then went into the Hallmark store to get a card.
Once we walked in, we thought we ought to get a card for Nana, too, to bring up today, although we didn�t want one that said �happy birthday� on it�how do you wish someone with a terminal disease a �happy� birthday. We know she won�t be here to celebrate her next one�how could this one possibly be happy?!
We walked through the store, rejecting card after card and getting more and more upset. Finally, I picked up a blank one with multicolored hearts on the front. Mom agreed. �We�ll just write �we love you� on the inside�what else is there to say?�
We paid quickly and left. It was only once we were back in the car and on the way to the party that we realized we�d forgotten a card for Delenn.
We were almost two hours late for the party.
Delenn loved her present. I knew she would. She�s a girlie-girl after my own heart.
While I climbed through the tunnels and played in the balls with my cousins� kids, my mom pulled her brother and sister-in-law (Delenn�s grandparents) aside and told them about the latest Nana news. The noise from the kids playing covered the sound of my uncle sobbing. Mostly. Unless, like me, you were listening for it.
We finally got home again at about 7:00. David, my stepfather, was getting anxious. We walked in and Mom told him the whole story. Then she called her other brother and repeated it again. By the time she was done, she�d lost any ability to talk altogether. I ended dup on the phone with cousin after cousin as the news spread through my family.
I crawled into bed at 9:30, exhausted. Somewhere after Midnight, I fell asleep. At 4:30, the sound of the snowplows woke me up. At 5:15, when I finally gave up on falling back to sleep, I met my mother in the hall on the way to the bathroom. We went downstairs and made our first cups of tea. At last count, today I�ve had 14.
Mom, David, my stepbrother Jay and I sat in the kitchen and waited out the storm. At Noon, David and Jay went out and shoveled out the cars. By 12:30, David, Mom and I were on the road to the hospital.
Nana�s in a room with two other patients. When we arrived, one had two visitors. The other was behind her bed�s curtain with a nurse, experiencing uncontrolled diarrhea. The whole hospital room smelled like shit all day.
Di and Erik were already there, along with my cousin Tony, my uncle Bobby and his wife. Mom, David and I squeezed in to Nana�s area of the room. She looked tiny there in the hospital bed, with all of us around her. Her arms are covered with IV hookup needles, identification and information wristbands and countless bruises from countless needless drawing out countless tubes of blood for countless different tests. She�d just woken up and was all groggy, but happy to see us nonetheless. At least, I think she was.
We talked to her and to each other. We ate the manicotti my mom had brought up, and the Italian pastries and cupcakes my uncle and cousin had supplied. We laughed. My uncle offered sweets to the other patients in the room and got reprimanded by the nurse because one of them was diabetic. We almost pretended nothing was wrong.
After about an hour, my uncle and aunt and cousins all packed up and left us alone with Nana. Mom told her what Dr. Bering had said.
Nana looked at my mother, who was trying so hard to keep control, and said, �I guess that�s it, then. I�m done fighting it, Marie. I�m too tired.�
�You don�t have to make a decision about the drug right now, Mum,� she said. �Dr. Bering will be in to talk to you in the morning.�
Dr. Bering can talk all she wants. I think my grandmother has made up her mind.
We stayed n her hospital room for about five hours. Some of that time was spent crying. Some of it was spent laughing. Like all our family gatherings, a lot of it was spent eating. I told Nana about David�s and my adoption plan. We talked about the birthday party the day before, and about the Kiss Kiss bears on sale at Hallmark stores until Valentine�s Day, and about old friends and family we hadn�t seen in ages.
Throughout it all, I sat in the hard hospital chair and tried to imagine my life without my grandmother.
So far, I just can�t do it.
When we left the hospital, the nurses were coming in to inflict her with another breathing treatment.
I still say it�s truly not fair.
We stopped at Nana�s house on the way home to talk to Di and Erik and pull together some things for Di to bring her at the hospital tomorrow. I stood in the kitchen of her house, the house my grandfather built, the house that has only existed as HER house, and tried to imagine never coming there again, tried to imagine it full of strangers. I just can�t do that, either.
We got in the car again. David turned on the Radio. Classic Rock, WZLX. First, they played �Don�t fear the Reaper.� Next, �No Time Left for You.� The radio gods were not on my side.
Now, I�m home again, in my own house, in my own bed. We have no hot water, as the water heater broke some time last night. Chris shoveled out a spot for me right in front of the house�he�s such a good friend. The Boyfriend, who left before any of this happened, called me from Florida and left a cell phone number for me to call him back at, but I�ve gotten nothing but the voicemail all night. It�s 11:15. I�ve been up now for almost 19 hours, for more than 38 of the last 48. I�m not even the least bit sleepy, although I am exhausted.
Tomorrow, I�ll get up and take a frigid shower, then head to work long enough to do payroll. Hopefully, from there, I�ll come home and take a nap before I drive out to Logan to pick the Boyfriend up.
I could really use some sleep.
My grandmother is dying. Actively.
And I�m just not ready to lose her yet.
And she certainly isn�t ready to go.
I just can�t believe this is real.
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