Thankful

Another Thanksgiving day closes. We had a small feast prepared, nothing grand, but enough to satisfy our palates. After several continuous days of rain, we are blessed with bright sunshine, mild weather, and a cooling tropical breeze. The colors of the day are starkly beautiful. What a great day to eat on the lanai!

It was a beautiful day last year, too. Papa took some time to sit out in the yard while the dogs roamed.

This was a great day. To see Papa out, to be able to walk, to sit up on his own . . . 

Around this time last year, we were waiting for Papa to get a CAT scan of his chest and a bone scan. After spending all of October 2018 in the hospital, he was found to have urothelial cancer. We were waiting to find out if any of it spread. A month in the hospital and his diagnosis took its toll. 

But we were grateful. After a month of not knowing, we finally had an answer. It wasn't what we wanted but, at least, we knew and we could move forward with what needed doing.

The scans showed that there was some metastasis - to his arm and to his lungs. It was tough waiting for that first chemo to begin.

Then three days after this picture was taken, he started having problems breathing. We decided that he needed to go the emergency room. Hannah and I got him in the car and we headed to Hilo. While at a stoplight, like in a slow motion segment of a movie, I see a tow truck behind us start sliding sideways, its back end heading straight towards us. I moved forward slightly, unable to move too much farther out or we would hit oncoming traffic. Then a loud bang!

That slight move forward saved us from anything more serious. I shudder to think of it. Hannah was sitting in the back. The truck hit us but, gratefully, we were all uninjured. I had to call 911 to get an ambulance to take Papa to the ER, but with some duct tape, we were able to drive the car to the hospital.

About 3 weeks later, Papa finally sees the oncologist for the first time. More than a month after his diagnosis! But we were thankful. So many emotions . . . relief, sadness, helplessness, guilt . . . 

We were all together, though. Together as a family.

Almost two weeks after this appointment, Papa was back in the ER.

What followed after this was a string of hard days, very hard days. I was desperately looking for a hospital bed. Papa wouldn't eat and could barely move to change positions. 

Then miraculously, he felt better. He was eating and looking more vibrant.

Once more, he was back in the yard, enjoying the sunshine.

Several months later, in April of this year, his "severely enlarged abdominal aortic aneurysm" is repaired. He amazingly does well.

And he is ecstatic to return home.

 Every day has been precious and a blessing to us. Papa has his days and he is now on immunotherapy. He has lab draws and doctors appointments, but we are grateful. He has projects that he slowly works on. He is currently working on a cover for our water pump. He finds things to keep him busy.

We were able to celebrate Thanksgiving together again as a family this year. We said our prayers of Thanksgiving, but we have been thankful for every day. Inspite of hardships and life challenges, everyday has been a blessing.

When you can show up to dinner with your hair uncombed and your face unmade, that's something to be thankful for, too, because you know the people around you love you regardless.

Serenity

The sweet singing of birds . . . The gentle stirring of the trees . . . The tropical breeze in my hair, its soft currents caressing me, bringing scents of pine and ocean . . . The soothing green of the pine trees against the sky . . .  The stark whiteness of clouds against a bright blue yonder  . . . Bella’s rhythmic breathing of peaceful slumber, the soft feel of her fur as I slowly pet her . . . 

I sink comfortably onto the cushions of the couch, enjoying the serenity of this very moment. I close my eyes and listen . . . Smell . . . Feel . . . Breathe deeply . . . I soak in this peaceful slice of time and let it fill my very being. I will remain this way for a little longer.  Let it fill my spirit with calmness and rejuvenation.  

Anytime now, my hectic schedule will come to claim me and we will have to continue on making x marks on the never ending checklists of this life.

Day 31 Senescence

“These fragments I have shored against my ruins” 

― T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land and Other Poems

These flags fly proudly in front of a home for elderly veterans. There was a brisk breeze when I took this picture. The flags made sharp snapping sounds as the breeze buffets them. They reminded me of military men in formation as they snap to a salute. 

I once walked into the room of an old veteran who was so infirm that he relied upon the nursing home staff to take care of his most basic bodily functions. Covering his walls were pictures of his family and many of him in his Marine uniform in various stages of action. There was a picture of his wedding day, both bride and groom with glowing smiles. Once he was young and vital. Age has claimed his body and, in his physical state, I was glad that his mind went along with his health and he wasn't aware of his weakened, incapable body.

My mother told me once when she worked in ICU that, in her elderly patients' rooms, she purposefully displayed pictures of their families and of the young, vital men and women they once were. She told me that it was to remind the nursing staff and herself to see beyond the sick patient and think of them when they were once us - strong,  productive, full of dreams.

I have cared for many old veterans in my career. I have cared for many an elderly. A 93-year old retired Army man was brought in by his great-granddaughter into the ER. When the doctor asked what was wrong with him, he said, "Where do you want me to start, young man? What's wrong with me is that I'm old."

No wonder billions of dollars are spent in an attempt to postpone aging and hold on to our younger selves for just a little bit longer.

Age claims us all eventually but I do believe in aging well. I think I'll live my days as if I'm never getting old, until my body and mind tell me that it is time . . . I will live as Gandhi said, "Live as if you were to die tomorrow. Learn as if you will live forever."

Day 30 A Million Dollar Question

I remember a game my father used to play with my sister and I when we were kids. We called it The Million Bucks game. The rules were very simple. My dad would ask, "If you had a million bucks, what would you do with it?" There were no wrong or better answers. We would let our imaginations run and could talk about it for hours. The point of the exercise was to encourage dreaming. My dad used to say that there was no harm in dreaming. Let your mind go wild and think of all possibilities. My sister and I would sometimes change things up and say, 'hey, what if you can't get that, what would you get instead?' Ah, good times. . .

I don't know why I was reminded of this game when I saw this boat on my way home from work. I laughed out loud. A brand new boat parked in front of, well, at least on the exterior, a dilapidated house.

It's a "Caption this Photo" moment. My first thought was "Everyone has priorities." And laughed again.  A shiny new boat or fix a house on the brink of collapse. I was amused and laughed again.

If you had a million bucks, what would you do with it?

Day 29 The Chair Man

A wheelchair sat alone in the hallway. The unit, now empty. Moments before, a patient sat in that wheelchair. I think of him now and I am overwhelmed with emotion. The memory of our interaction rose in my memory . . .

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He smiled at me. Told me 'Thank You.' His hand trembled as he laid it on my arm.

His voice was raspy. A smoker who quit out of necessity. He coughed. The damage to his lungs apparent. His clothes sagged on his bony frame. His chest caved in underneath.

He looked at me and smiled again. His eyes were yellow. His lips were dry and cracked.

I was gentle with the wheelchair as I headed to the car ramp where we would meet his wife. He was going home that day.

His wife showed me a picture of him in his Navy uniform taken years ago. He looked so youthful, strong, confident. Eyes undulled and bright with promise.  His medical problems plagued him now. His mind invaded by Post-Traumatic Stress. 

While waiting for his wife to come around the ramp with their car, we had several minutes to talk. He saw a picture of Tom in his Special Reaction Team uniform on my phone as I checked for messages. He told me that he was once a special forces operator. His eyes brightened as he told me of places he's been to and the people he met. After a few minutes, his eyes dulled again. He looked at the Veteran's office across the street, and to no one in particular said, "Yeah. Good times." I heard the ghosts in his voice, of a past filled with bad memories, and a present full of nightmares. 

I helped him stand and, unsteadily, he reached for something to hold on to inside the car. He winced, grimaced. Pain caught him off guard and he was unable to mask it. A little short of breath, he settled onto the car seat. I barely heard him whisper, "I will never quit. I persevere and thrive on adversity."

I snapped his seatbelt on. He looked up at me once more. Held my hand and with a smile, he said, "Thank your husband for me . . . for his service . . . " Then he closed the car door. A few minutes later, I watched their car as it made a left towards the main road.

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Out of curiosity, I typed in the phrase I heard him say. It is from the Navy SEAL ethos. I think of him now and thank God for men like him and hope that somewhere in the world, he is well.

To our Navy SEALs. Thank you for your service.

Day 28 Longing for Home

“A man travels the world over in search of what he needs

and returns home to find it."

~ George Augustus Moore ~

"There is no denying the heart what it longs for – especially when it longs for home."
~Nicole Sobon~

Red and orange stubbornly cling to the sky. 

The gray of night slowly creeps in. 

Blue and red lights blink on the runway and the jet turbines of our airplane roar as it takes off. 

Shadows deepen as only the whitecaps of the ocean remain visible as we rise up in the air. 

I close my eyes and wait for sleep to take me. 

When I open my eyes, I shall look longingly to see the lights of Hilo

and breathe the air of home.

The light at the end

 

It is not in my nature to give up so I go on. I traverse this tunnel, still hopeful to reach the end. The light at the end teases me. This journey . . . it is a challenge. Sadness fills me at the moment . . . and doubt . . . That light . . . is it the end that holds redemption . . . or is it damnation . . . that I shall never reach it but forever think I will . . .