Death....And Love, Continued- Irene the Irrepressable

Irene has faced the horrific reality that her husband is dying...but she is not giving up. By that, I do not mean to imply that she feels she can stop or even at this point slow the cancer in James, but that she has found goals and objectives that keep her motivated.

As a widow, I can testify that one of the worst parts about watching your spouse die is the total feeling of helplessness. You are in that small boat, heading towards a monstrous waterfall...with no paddle. I spent the last two weeks of Tim's life basically in a state of shock, trying to control the small things that I could, and not really understanding how close we were to the falls.

Irene is a strong lady and a formidable opponent, if she perceives you that way. Since my last post she has been taking on Medicare, the NOVA hospital system, the nursing home, the Kaiser oncology department, and James' caseworker. I am happy to report she is making progress.

She has found a source of ready to eat meals for James to be delivered to her home, at a very reasonable cost. She has a commitment for a nurse to come out to the house to check on James, since he is unable to even sit up in his wheel chair for a few minutes, much less travel for doctor's appointments without an ambulance. She has found an electrician to look at the 20-year old hospital bed she has upstairs that she wants to move downstairs for James, to troubleshoot. She has even got the electrician to round up enough people to help him move the bed downstairs, for a fee, of course.

She has also met with setbacks. A clogged pipe in her laundry room sink prompted an unskilled wannabe plumber to attempt to repair the problem, despite her direct order "not to touch anything regarding the plumbing". Now she has a clogged sink and a broken pipe that she is holding together with electrical tape. Since James is incontinent, this is no small matter, as she changes and washes bedding every day.

I can only assume that the wannabe plumber was under the mistaken impression that he could ignore Irene, an 80-year old lady, in her best interest. He should live so long, and if he ever sets foot on her doorstep again, he may not.

Irene, as she puts it, has found goals to accomplish "because you have to keep moving forward". She is creating paddles, and her determination is putting them to use.

So now my self pity kicks in. I have not been able to help her with any of these tasks, despite repeated calls and messages to the oncology department. I am so grateful to my friend John, who repeatedly took the time to go up to the house from Charlottesville (they live about 100 miles away from us) and completed the bathroom for James.

I cannot carry hospital beds, I am apparently ineffectual in reaching his doctor, and what is worse, my current condition comes with large memory lapses. I can't remember when the next appointment is scheduled, her doctor's name, and the sequence of events. I know now I should write them down, but I forget to do that as well. I can't stay in their house because of my allergies, and I cannot afford to stay at a hotel, or even offer money to help them out.

In other words, I'm not sure what support I truly offer, despite all of your kind words. So I do what I know I can, which is to call, make my meager suggestions, and then call back again.

But this is not about me and how I feel, this is about James, and for me, mostly about Irene. If there is one thing I can do, it is to admire her courage and intractability.

I learn more about courage every time I speak to her.