A little bit louder, and a little bit worse.
As we enter day 489 of MIL vs. the Cancer, I find that I have a new use – chauffeur. Last Thursday, she fell and sprained her ankle. My husband dropped everything at work, rushed to her job (yes, she still manages to get in a few hours as an accountant) and drove her back to our house –stopping at quizzno's on the way because, well, she has to eat. He called and made a doctor's appointment for her at 7:30, bright and early. A friend upgraded her cane to a walker later that day. She's getting around a lot faster now. The next morning, she's up and around, the ankle obviously not broken as she had asserted the day before. My husband still takes her to the doctor so that he can astutely diagnose that, 'nope, its not broken.' Thank you Captain Obvious, she walked in on it...
*sigh*
So this week, she has declared that she can no longer drive to work. So, I take her in, Will picks her up. This is now our life. I find it strange, how two perfectly healthy people, have to put their lives on hold for one person who is dying. I'm not completely crazy or selfish, but the one person dying would rather die. She would rather lie in bed moping. This isn't like the movies. She is not an inspirational person. And I am no Florence Nightingale either.
I guess its sad. I've watched so many movies, and so many television shows that I am completely numb to the real world. People dying in Myanmar, agh, that's nothing, have you seen The Day After Tomorrow? Nothing is real anymore. Nothing. And so, of course, when life hands Cancer to someone close to me, what do I expect? Cute happy things, like The Bucket List (which I haven't actually seen), but from the previews expect a semi-bumpy story where the affable hero comes to terms with his own demise as we grow to love him; sad but slightly happy, we experience his journey with him, the ups, the downs. And watch as he passes away, happy with his own full life. Not so. Cancer sucks. There was no ceremonious cutting of the hair. It started falling off, slowly at first, until after a week, we needed a full bottle of drano to get the drain working. I thought I would be able to share my love of cooking with her. Will says that she wasn't the greatest cook, maybe she will be impressed with my meals. I don't even think so. I think I would have had better luck feeding my food to the pickiest eight year old I could find. She would have none of it. The radiation made her stomach sensitive, so she got food without seasoning. She complained that it was bland. Once radiation was over, she got to eat what we eat. She didn't like that either. I didn't exactly get a reason.
I thought it would be an experience, having her live with us. I thought she would see and appreciate the relationship her son has with his wife. Yeah, right. I really thought she would be strong and fight. She does neither. It has not been until she was prescribed an anti-depressant under the guise of "nerve therapy" that she has finally lightened up. Of course when we said that the 55-year old woman who cried every time we told her we wouldn't go get her a Diet Dr. Pepper from Sonic was depressed, her doctor disagreed with us.
Oh well.
Life isn't. Plain and simple. Sadly, I am afraid that I will have to go through this again. Cancer seems to run in my husband's family. The difference being, I will love my patient. And I have made vows to him.
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