Basically Betty

Daughter Becky here, reporting in from Seattle.

In September mom and I were talking on the phone and I asked her how she was feeling about her cancer diagnosis and the winding down of her life and she said "Becky, I don't want to get into the oven."

One thing about mom, when she does say something, she doesn't mince words.

I assured her a whole bunch of things would happen before she got in the oven, and that the most important of those things would be that she would actually be dead.

"Mom, you don't get in the oven until you're dead." 

She got it but it still bugged her.

Mom and I have always talked candidly and at length about all manner of things and the topic of her illness and the toll it's taking has been no exception.  I've followed her lead and mustered up the courage to get through whatever she's wanted to talk about, even though almost all the time it was me crying, not her. 

Strong.  Determined.  Stubborn.  She's all that and more. 

But back to the conversation about the oven.

To help aleviate her anxiety, we worked our way through what would probably happen over the coming weeks and I used daddy as our guide. 

In his last few weeks of living, his appetite diminished, he lost interest in his usual passions, then he couldn't walk, then he couldn't talk but he could still write, then he couldn't write but he still comprehended (blink once for yes, twice for no).  When that was gone, he could still hear and we knew it because his eyes would brighten, his respiration and facial expression would change.  Then came constant sleep.  Then uneven breath.  Then, finally, death. 

Then the oven.

I assured mom that, as long as nothing catastrophic took her out sooner (infection, organ failure, etc.) she'd probably follow a similar trajectory.

When I talked to mom yesterday, the only words she could say were "I don't know what's happening."  Tonight, she was only able to craggle out "I love you" and "that must have been good" when I described what Jimmy and I had for dinner.  I feel so lucky to have been able to hear her voice one more time and I fully expect that tomorrow, it will be gone.  At least on the demand of my call.

As mom's telephone friends have continued to call, they're having a one-sided conversation with her.  The phone rests by mom's ear and most of the time she's not able to respond verbally but, rest assured, she can hear you and it means the world to her to hear your voice.  A social butterfly her whole life, calls and emails have sustained her since she left Florida a couple years ago and more so now than ever before.     

As Pooge and I have made this journey with mom, we've tried to follow her lead in her openness, honesty and utter fearlessness in facing what's to come. 

We can't stop what's coming; we can't stop it for her and we can't stop it for any of us.  All we can do is keep talking, keep loving, keep reaching for each other.  Over the miles.  Through the phone.  Through prayer.

So, it's happening, it's been one thing, then another and then another.  And soon she'll be gone.  How lovely that she's spent so much time talking to you, thinking of you, praying for you as you've prayed for her, and here, at the end, still so happy to listen to what you have to say.

Thank you for that.  Please keep calling.

And Bonnie, your name was the last thing mom ever typed.  Isn't that great?

This from Joann:

Although I cannot claim to know the exact words Mom would use for this entry, I am reasonably sure of what she would write.  Five weeks ago today was the last time she walked a few steps using her walker.  Having been rolled to the hospital bed the day before in an office chiar - wait, it sounds worse than it was: she couldn't take another step, Becky and I couldn't carry her, the chair was nearby and we are always willing to use whatever is at hand when given a task.  She was comfortable overnight, but when the nurse visited the next day. Mom was ready to get up.  After walking ten feet and sitting in her chair for 5 minutes, she announced she was ready to go back to bed.   As Becky walked the nurse to her car, Mom looked at me and said, "I don't want to get up again."  She has since asked to and sometimes been frustrated that we won't allow it, but I have to believe somewhere she knows it is not possible; that it would do her more harm than good.

During these weeks, she has slowly lost her appetite; her ability to type, to read, to stay awake.  She doesn't move often - no more wiggling her feet as she's done her whole life.  In the last week, she has stated more than once that her beloved Rays don't have to win another game - she is satisfied with what they have achieved. Her deep, abiding interest in baseball is sliding away.  Since Tuesday, there has been no desire to check her email, which was the first, last, and most frequent request of every day.

Awake after a bed pan need in the early hours this morning, I was thinking of what the nurse told me this week.  Mom is in the habit of living.  Anyone over 80 is, as she sees it.  Her patients in their 50's and 60's would not still be alive if they had to deal with all the losses Mom has endured over the past two months.  But because one learns to adjust to 'surrendering the things of youth', one puts up with these great indignities.  Until this week, Mom nightly voiced her thoughts that the diagnosis was wrong.  Ignoring the confinement and other changes, she was using the fact that she wasn't in pain as a sign that she would get better.  A few nights ago, she said, "I'm not well and I don't like how this is going."  Clinging to life by habit, I believe she is now beginning to accept.  With that attitude change, physical problems have worsened.  Hospice thinks she may hold on as long as the Rays are playing.  I'm not so sure.  She seems to have realeased that.  So, we wait.

Becky, James, and Veronica are in touch throughout each day.  So many of you reading this have surrounded us with your prayers and encouragement.  Truly, I feel like we are in the Olympic Curling event, clearing the path for Mom to go where she is meant to be.

Love and prayers from here to there

Friday, Becky left to go back to Seattle and won't be able to come back here until after November 10th.  It has been so good to have her here every other week since the first week in September.  What a lot of crossing the country she has done for me. 

On Monday or Tuesday every week, Melidy, my Hospice nurse comes out to see me.  Makes sure I have enough medication, listens to my heart and lungs, asks me if I am in pain and never quite believes me when I say no.  Sometimes I am in a little bit, but I don't like to admit it.  This past week, though, has been the best because of the patch.  It is still working and I am thankful to all who are praying for me, because that is why God is keeping me from suffering, I am sure.  This week Melidy tried twice, but couldn't get a blood sample, so we will try again next week. 

Every other Friday, a different nurse, John, comes to see me.  He and Becky talk about what is going on: digestion problems, swelling, etc. and he suggests different medications, which always end up helping.  He was happy to see me looking so well yesterday.

When I woke Saturday a little after Noon, Joann told me I was going to have a surprise visitor.  I had her write down the names of everyone who has said they would be coming up this way and sure enough, one of my guesses, dear friend Bonnie, was the one who came.  Her time with us was precious and I am thankful to her family for making a special trip to bring her over.  She brought me her baseball that Rocco Baldelli signed. Now it is on the shelf with the ball cousins Matt and Sherry sent me last week with many of the player's signatures.  When the counselor from Hospice was out earlier in the week, she said my den looks like a teenage boy's bedroom.  By that, I think she meant my passion for baseball has never faded.  And she's right.  The last two games have been hard for me to watch, I get so upset, but I will tune in tomorrow with hope that we play well, no matter the outcome.  My Rays have truly been rays of sunshine to me this season and I am proud of them.

Good friends Sonja and Marion also visited today, over from South Carolina, bringing much fresh produce, flowers and a plant which I hope Joann can manage not to kill.  The companionship was good for me and I will have sweet dreams tonight.  Our Internet was out and the phone man was here in the midst of all the visiting and fixed it, so I was able to hear my messages tonight.  Thanks to all who wrote.  I will try to dictate some return emails tomorrow. 

Love and prayers from here to there

Dean Martin used to pump gas at the gas station by my house.

When I was about 10 years old and the weight of a jockey, I rode our neighbor's horses as trainers led them around the ring for exercise.  The granddaughter of the neighbors who owned the horses just came for a visit. 

There was a time that I left home in the morning for work, or was it school, make that school, and my parents lived at 634 Market Street and when I got home there was nobody in the house, and as it turns out they had moved from 634 to 640 and they'd neglected to tell me.  My Dad came running out saying "here we are, over here!"  When Daughter Becky asked if I'd ever emotionally recovered from this, I must admit that perhaps I haven't!

In sewing class, we had to make something so I made a white shorts all-one-piece set and there was a parade up Market Street and we were all out on our front porch to watch the parade and one of the neighbors called to tell my mother that I was out in my underwear.  Nosey neighbors.

Becky, you should comb your hair.  Don't type that.

After I held off marrying Freddy (because my mother got sick every time we said we were going to get married) he decided he would head to California to play ball and when he came to tell me that he was leaving, I grabbed his coat and the buttons on the front ripped off.  I felt so bad about it I bought him a new coat.  We ended up getting married and although my mother was sick the rest of her life, we were very happy. 

I was on vacation from my job at the mill and one day I went to pick up my friend Margaret who also worked at the mill, I was driving my dad's jeep, a real jeep, like the ones they used in the war.  I was wearing a strapless dress and all you could see was my shoulders, as I pulled up to the mill I drove between buildings with offices with windows, and the offices were full of men, many of whom thought I was driving a jeep without the benefit of wearing any clothes. 

The Italiains all lived in one area, the Polish in another area, so it was normal for everyone to be segregate, so it was also normal that Freddy and Deano would know each other.  Deano's uncle delivered milk and eventually Freddy and Dean helped.  Once we even went to Dean's uncle's farm to get milk and Freddy went to pick up a big can of milk out of a vat of ice cold water, he dropped it, it broke open and the milk came out and went into the water and the water went into the can. 

My mother never liked the man who collected the rent on the garage.  I'm not sure why.

I think that's enough for tonight.

Love and Prayers From Here to There

Another perfect day!  Watched the Rays Scorch the Sox.  13-4 tonight.  One more game in Boston.  I sure hope we can win that one. 

Today, three ladies from Hospice were out and that kept me from my usual long afternoon nap, so I am tired tonight. 

Something that makes me very happy: I've heard from so many of you about following the Rays.  Well, some of you were already fans but you are more interested because they are winning.  You are rooting for them like you are rooting for me.  But there are some of you who don't even like baseball, yet you are watching, cheering on my favorite team, and enjoying their success.  I really like that and I thank you for it. 

The other night, after we had lost one game at home against Boston, we had phone calls from Becky, watching in Seattle; Veronica watching in FL; James watching out West; and Veronica told us Matt was watching in Kuwait.  When BJ Upton hit that sacrifice fly in extra innings to win, our cheers surely were heard around the world.

If you ever get a chance, read a book written by Jeff Klinkenberg.  Any of his books would be a good choice. I was best friends with his mother, Bea, and he recently wrote an article about my love of the Rays for the St. Petersburg Times.  Joann called him to say I am ill and that I think the team is winning this season just for me and he took it from there.  Thanks to Jeff for his interest and such a nice article.

I am confined to my bed now for four weeks.  It is comfortable, but I am so tired of laying here.  I want to get up and walk, move a little.  Friend Barbara was over the other day and told me about the corn maze open this time of year just over the mountain.  I think while Joann and Becky are sleeping tonight (Becky has ear plugs and it is almost impossible to wake Joann even with no earplugs) I'll sneak out and take a trip around that maze by the light of the full moon. I'll let you know how it goes.

Love and prayers from here to there

Hello, Everyone.  It has been a while since I've been able to write.  And Joann is typing this for me because it is just too frustrating from my hospital bed to balance the keyboard.  BUT, last week Hospice changed my pain meds and I feel so much better.  I can think clearly, comprehend what I am reading, and stay awake to watch all (or most) of the ball games.  Now instead of swallowing a pill and waiting for it to work, I have a patch that slowly and constantly releases medication.  This is so much better I don't know why they didn't do it to begin with. 

What a game Saturday, extra innings, and we needed that win.  And tonight, beating Boston at Fenway including a homer by my favorite, Rocco Baldelli. 

Every day one of my daughters reads me the emails that many of you send.  I really like that part of the day.  Thank you all for your encouragement and prayers. About a year ago, I could no longer sit at the computer stand, so Bill and Joann made a long table sort of like what goes over the bed in the hospital.  One side is stationary with a swivel gadget and the other side has little wheels that let me pull the computer over the arms of my lift chair, close enough to be able to type and read.  Now, they have fixed that table snug up against the side of my bed so I can see the monitor all the time.  Becky put many pictures on it and they change all the time, so I can watch them when I'm awake.  Becky got back today just in time to watch the game with us.  I heard she and Joann talking about putting music on my computer next so I can listen.  Aren't computers wonderful?

I've gotten behind in answering my emails so Joann is going to send everyone a notice to read this.  And I'll try, starting tomorrow to answer each one.  Some of you did not see the picture of me with the Mohawk haircut in the paper.  I'm going to ask Becky if it can go on this site.  But I'll tell you how it happened.  My dear friend Bonnie challenged me: if I'd get a Mohawk, so would she.  Well, I wanted to make her think I got it, but not actually have my hair cut.  Joann wanted to cut it but I just couldn't let her.  Anyway, I tried drawing a picture, but that didn't work.  Then I asked Joann if she could take a picture of me and change the hair.  She didn't have the right software, or program, or something.  Then I decided to ask Becky and within a few hours, she had her tech guy make it up and I was thrilled.  I laughed for quite a while.  So I sent it to Bonnie and she went into a panic, thinking I really did it and now she would have to.  But I fessed up and we had a good laugh.

Tomorrow, I'll tell you how I ended up in the St. Petersburg Times.

Love and prayers from here to there