I Hate Goodbyes

My neighbor is dying of cancer. In fact, he may have passed away by the time this posts. He is mostly unresponsive and is under palliative care, which is a fancy way of saying they're just trying to keep him pain free. Mr. John has spent the last two years battling cancer, and he put up a good fight. Better than most. In fact, I don't know anyone who has fought cancer harder than he has. He lost a leg in the process, learning how to use an artificial limb and tearing up the neighborhood in his motorized scooter. I nearly fell over back in the summer when I looked outside and saw him mowing with the riding mower. I just knew he'd turn over the dadgum thing and cause great excitement, but he didn't. And although it often terrified her, his wife got used to his shenanigans and would just shake her head and pray for the best. He would zip up and down the street, talking to all the neighbors and giving Hubby all kinds of advice on yard work. He volunteered at his church, and back in October, he spent his weekends helping out at the local pumpkin patch and laughing with all the little kids who came there for Halloween pumpkins and hayrides. The Vietnam veteran was unstoppable. Until last week.


His cancer resurged recently, and he'd been undergoing experimental treatments when he developed a fever right before Christmas Day. Not wanting to be in the hospital at Christmas and during their 30th wedding anniversary he held off going to the doctor until he knew it was inevitable. Sure enough. They sent him from the Veteran's Hospital by ambulance to another hospital for more intensive care. He knew his time was up, and he started preparing his wife for the inevitable. He's actually been preparing her for months. He spent most of the past year, getting things done around the house to make it low maintenance for her when he's gone. He spent a lot of money on rubberized mulch, so she wouldn't have to drag and scoop mulch around their extensive landscaping. He paid for new windows, gutters and other improvements that were going to be needed in the next few years. He sold stuff he couldn't use anymore to eliminate some of the stuff she'd have to go through and sell. And he talked about dying.

I think he talked about it to help take away the fear for her. He wasn't afraid. He never was. Or at least he didn't act like it. I really think he had little fear. He is a Christian man who is strong in his faith, and it showed in his war against cancer and in his surrender this week. He confidently told his wife a few days ago, he was ready to go.

It also showed in the way he lived his life these past few years. He and his wife traveled and did things they wanted to do. He volunteered at many activities and basically enjoyed each day. And he didn't complain about his disease. If you had never asked him about his leg or scooter you wouldn't have known he was sick. I've often pondered the matter of fact way he has dealt with all that has happened to him in the past two years. If I am ever unfortunate enough to have a terminal illness, I hope I have the courage to put up the same kind of fight. Was he perfect? No, but he was good. I will miss seeing him fly across our yard on that scooter to find out what's going on whenever Hubby is in the middle of a project. He and another elderly neighbor stood at the edge of our pool last year, overseeing and debating its construction while the workers dug the hole and moved dirt and concrete. I wish I had taken a picture of them.

Last year, we bought Mr. John's Christmas lights. It was a pretty elaborate set of life sized nativity figures, complete with camels and donkeys. He had reached the point where he couldn't maintain them anymore. He helped Hubby put them up in the yard last November, and it made him proud to see them on display. I hate that we didn't get them up this year. With Papa T.'s hospital stays and life's craziness, we just couldn't find the time to set them up. I know Mr. John would have enjoyed seeing them one last time. We plan to have the displays refurbished this year with new bulbs and to do a little electrical work so that it's easier to set them up in the yard. We want them to be ready to go when November rolls back around. And when I'll look at that bright glow of Mary, Joseph, baby Jesus and all those camels I shall think of Mr. John, a life well lived and a life well ended. I should be so lucky.

Bare Your Chest

Since yesterday’s post was so juvenile, I thought perhaps I should be a little more mature today. I don’t FEEL very mature, but I’ll try. Several folks have been posting this month about breast cancer awareness. I’m jumping on the bandwagon because I really care about this issue. Swamp Witch has a good series about her battle against breast cancer. You should check it out. Television is full of stories about survivors and treatments. It’s a regular mammogram fest on the morning news shows this month. And that’s a good thing, because some of you out there are still not taking the time to get the boob squash. As women, we often spend so much time taking care of those around us that we put off preventive health measures for ourselves, especially the tests that aren’t exactly pleasant. Can you say pap smear? I just had my mammogram, and it really was not bad. I swear. I don’t know why there are so many horror stories about those things. Granted, having your ta-ta pressed between two plates while holding your breath and standing perfectly still is not exactly comfortable, but it’s not THAT bad. I promise. Just close your eyes, bare your chest, pretend that you’re a twenty year old on spring break and that a crowd of bodacious, hot men are cheering you on. Ignore the fact that you are so old you have to lift your skirt to show your boobies. Or that you need reading glasses to fill out the paperwork. Just do it, and if you’re really good we’ll go for ice cream afterwards.

A couple of years ago, my mother got a call from a woman she had been BFF with since they were very young. Helen had been very sick for a few days and wanted mama’s help in getting to a doctor to see about her flu-like symptoms. Mama, a retired nurse, drove to Helen’s house and started helping her to get dressed. When Helen’s robe fell open a large lump in her breast was visible to the naked eye. Mama was alarmed and quizzed her about it, but Helen brushed it off and changed the subject back to her stomach. Mama told her she wasn’t nearly as concerned about the stomach as she was the lump and drove Helen directly to the emergency room. The ER doc had the same reaction when he saw Helen. Within two days Helen had been diagnosed with breast cancer and undergone surgery. It seems Helen had avoided regular check-ups and getting the lump checked out because she didn’t have health insurance and couldn’t afford it. In the weeks following her surgery, she fretted more over the cost of her treatments and how she would pay for it than over her body. She was sick with cancer, but she was made sicker by the worries over cost. The cancer had too big of a grip on her by the time they had found it. She never responded very well to the chemo and within months Helen was dead.

I could go on an on about the cost and quality of health care in this country and how the poor and middle class suffer because of it, but that’s a rant for another day. Today, I’m pitching the importance of preventive care. Thousands of women are diagnosed each year with breast cancer….and survive. But usually it’s because they caught it early through self exams, a visit to the gynecologist or mammograms. I can’t help but think Helen might be alive today if she had been to the doctor much earlier. So ladies, I encourage you to tie one on (a pink ribbon that is) this month and schedule your mammogram if you haven’t already. When you get to the boobie smasher, close your eyes. Envision yourself on a balcony in the French Quarter. It’s Mardi Gras, and the crowd below is shouting at you. Go ahead, fling open your robe with gusto. Just don’t expect the nurse to throw you any beads when it’s over. Hmm. That was almost mature, don’t you think?