And Still It Goes...

The home telephone never rang last night.  So I called Hospice House this morning before getting out of bed to get a status report on John.  I was sad to hear that he is still breathing, albeit in short gasps.  There is no response, no sign of life other than his irregular pulse and his breath.
Before all of this started way back in January of last year, I was in favor of physician-assisted suicide in cases of terminal illness.  And I am affirmed in that belief.  However, John never made those same beliefs clear when it came to himself.  He was most clear on his wishes to withhold life support, including fluids and nutrition.  Unfortunately his body was so healthy...other than the bloody cancer...that his heart keeps beating and his organs keep functioning; with the exception of his kidneys which have greatly diminished in their output of urine.
So here I sit with Laura by John's bedside.  We've tried prayer, having a minister bless John, beg, threaten, released a balloon to the heavens...Nothing seems to help him.  I've asked John to open his heart to the love that is all around him; to reach his hand to those who will welcome him Home.
I love John Grigsby.  I ask God to love him, too...My thanks to you for your support and prayers...Nancy

Friends

Last night I called Laura, our neighbor and friend from our Bothell neighborhood, and asked if she would come spend a night or two with me.  True to form, she dropped everything, called work to say she would not be in for a couple of days, and came to Hospice House where we both spent the night with John.  (Granted there was time when this sleeping arrangement might have raised some eyebrows.  But Laura's a true friend who is not worried about her reputation.)  I was originally planning to go home last night, but around 10:00 we decided to stay.  And another friend of John's -- one of his wine buddies -- Alan French came from Ferndale prepared to sit the night with John as he thought I would not be here.  What a wonderful, kind gesture...And what wonderful friends John and I have!
John's night was spent with cheyne-stokes respiration and congestion settling into his lungs.  This morning, as Laura, the cats and I sit by his bedside, we are all praying that God will take John home now.  I sense the loving presence of others who have walked this path before John, waiting to welcome him.  So I'm asking all of you to pray, meditate or reflect that John will let go of his tired body and go to prepare a feast for us all that will be ready for us to share when our time comes.  There is strength in numbers...Let there be strength in prayer.  We are all better people for having walked this terrible journey together.  But we are also better people for having had John in our lives.  Once again, I thank you all for your help and I thank God for friends...Nancy

Help Along the Final Journey

Today John and I decided that it would be best for him to accept an additional drug:  Versed (prounounced ver-said).  This drug is used to produce sleepiness and is commonly used for outpatient procedures such as colonoscopies.  It also allows patients to forget unpleasantness or discomfort.  And it is used to assist terminally ill patients cope with the anxiety and pain that is sometimes associated with death.  The medication is administered via a picc line which is inserted midway up his right arm towards his collar bone.  This picc line does not invade as far as his previous chemo lines did.  Those went into his chest cavity near his heart.
John is now, basically, unresponsive although he did "wake up" when nurses changed his position earlier this evening.  I, along with his brother Ray, were with John during the picc insertion and I received one last gift.  John gently pulled me towards him, kissed me and his last words were, "I love you."
This journey has been life changing, horrible, spiritually awakening and extremely personal.  Everyone will travel their final steps in their own way and those accompanying the traveller with cope differently, too.  I have been told that I am "strong" and that some friends are "proud of me."  That is wrong.
All I have done, and hope that I can continue to do, is love my husband and honor to the best of my ability the vows I made on the day we married.  If I have appeared any way more than that, it is only because of the love and support from all of you.  When the time comes for you to take this final journey, if I can offer a hand, a kind word of support, or a shoulder to cry on then all of this has had some merit and I will be able to justify John's death.  For now I can only say thank you to all of you...And now we wait...There are no words to express my sorrow or gratitude.  Please know you are in my heart always...Nancy

Agitation

I got a call from Kari, one of John's nurses, this morning saying that John had a "rough night" last night.  He was more confused, more agitated and was asking for me.  She suggested that I might want to come in with the cats for a night or two to help him get through this "phase."  I understand that this "phase" is a normal part of the dying process.  So here we are.
John has been getting continual medication for both pain and nausea.  He has had nothing to eat for almost two weeks now; only water and his requests for that is diminishing.  One of his meds (Lorazapam) combats nausea but also makes you sleepy, and they've upped the frequency of his dosage.  As a result, it has been suggested that -- because of his growing confusion and agitation, as well as increased pain -- they might switch out to a medication that would be more sedative.  So John may not be as awake or as aware very much longer.  But I know he would not want to be in pain, physically or mentally, and I don't want him to suffer any more than he already has.  We'll see how tonight goes and judge from there.
Growing up we all heard stories about Mr. or Mrs. So-and-So whose spouse was ill for a lengthy time and they literally spent all their time either taking care of that person or at a hospital bed side.  I can remember my parents saying, "I just can't imagine how they can do that."  Well, I still can't imagine how they could do it either.  All I know is that you just DO it.  Those little words that we say when we get married, "For better or worse; for richer for poorer; in sickness and in health..." are just words that we have to say in order to be married.  We don't REALLY think about what we're saying at the time.  If I knew then what I know now, I would have really meant what I said.  "In sickness and in health..." I'd do it all again, for John.  With God's help, with the care of the totally amazing staff at Whatcom Hospice House, and with your love and support...That's how I'm doing it...Thank you...Nancy

Broken

I'm sitting in bed at nearly 10:00 p.m.  I want to update this blog, but I want to update with something positive.  Okay...
Yesterday John was fixated on numbers.  Don't ask me why, but I'm sure it's the morphine coupled with the dying process.  He wanted 28.
I asked, "Twenty-eight what?"
"Just 28," he slurred back.
"Well," I prompted, "what does 28 mean?"  John replied, "It's the winning numbers."  So I ventured further.
"Do you know what the numbers 2-6-8-2 mean?"
And then, quite lucidly, John said, "Those are the happiest numbers of my life."
Those numbers correspond to our wedding date.
For that little spark of reality, I am grateful...Tomorrow marks (I think) six weeks in hospice.  I didn't think John would be there more than three or four.  God asks much sometimes.  I hope I won't disappoint Him.  My love and thanks to you all...Nancy.

Valentines

I arrived this morning to find Alan French, one of John's wine tasting buds, visiting and John quite awake.  Although John was awake and talkative, what he was talking about didn't make much sense.  As of yesterday, all of his meds are now via his "sub Q" lines (under skin) as swallowing, particularly pills, is becoming very difficult.  He is able, however, to have sips of water.  He has not had anything to eat for about 10 days.  So lack of nutrition and the cancer itself is affecting John's "reality."
Sometimes it's easy to go along with what John says; to agree with him or offer a solution to an imaginary problem.  Other times, I have to leave the room and collect myself in the little chapel room here at Hospice House.  I am 100% convinced that we made the right decision to have John come here instead of returning home.  Our house, OUR home, can remain just that:  home.  Not a hospital or nursing home.
It's been well over a month since I've been home with the kitties.  They bring me great comfort, even when Token wakes me at 4:00 a.m. with his occasional nightly prowls around the house.  I know I will be okay. I know I have friends nearby.  And I know I have you all, walking this path of life with me, caring for John.  So I start another day at Hospice House.  You are all sitting with me in my heart, loving John and praying for peace soon...Once again, I thank you...Nancy.

Pain Control

There's not much to report.  John continues to change and his pain is increasing.  As a result, his morphine has been increased and that means he's sleeping even more.  He's awake very sporadically, is able to communicate on a very limited basis (yes/no answers and a faint, breathy "I love you") and that's about it.
Ray, John's brother, came up yesterday and stayed overnight.  We had lunch/dinner ("linner?") this afternoon.  I think it's the first time in 30 years that Ray and I have spent any time together one-on-one.  It was really nice.  I have empathy for him...He's lost his mom, dad and now his brother in less than five years.  That's a lot for anyone.  Fortunately he has a wonderful wife and extended in-law family who think think the world of Ray and will continue to be a great support for him.
I keep praying for a peaceful end to John's journey.  It's time.  It's PAST time.  I find it hard to trust in God, or "the Powers That Be," sometimes.  But trust and faith are what carry us through.  That and the love of friends and family...And I am fortunate to have lots of that...Love back to you all...Nancy