GOODBYE, OWEN!

BEFORE THE NORTHERN CALIFORNIA contingent left, I fashioned a sign for Owen to hold up when he was telling a joke......sort of a rudimentary applause meter so that folks would know when to laugh when he was delivering his four year old witticisms. I don't know if it'll ever be used but he humored me enough to take it on home with him.

Packed up and ready to leave, down the hall they trudged, 

waited at the elevator,

down the road to their car,

G'bye, love. Come again soon!

"The prospect of going home is very appealing."David Ginola

REWIND TO DECEMBER 26

THERE WAS NO LET-DOWN feeling the day after Christmas, for that was the day our eldest and his family drove four hundred miles from Northern California to see us. Four year old Owen, always a charmer, has blossomed into full-blown boyhood, coming up with his own jokes and constantly building creations in his mind's eye. 

I asked his Dad if he thought Owen might grow up to be an inventor and Chris' response was, "Either that or terribly disappointed."

Because the two guestrooms here at the Manor had been booked previous to my request, our family needed to stay in our room which was perfectly fine with us, but let me explain our dormitory arrangement. Frances slept on our sofa. To minimize the footprint 

they leave behind, they come bearing their own sheets, pillows and towels. 

Owen sleeps in a sleeping bag atop a short-legged cot in the living room. At bedtime he snuggles down, amuses himself with his imagination before dropping off into slumber. Our kids never went to bed that mildly.


Christopher lays out his sleeping bag on the floor with his head to the mirrored closet doors and his feet in the kitchen. He's somewhere there in the red and black fabric.

One morning a soft knock sounded on the door at 5:30 a.m. No one had alerted us that anyone was coming to draw Mr. Bob's blood for a coumadin test, so we weren't expecting visitors. Chris untangled himself from his cocoon, got to the door on his knees, opened it and the nurse asked, "Mr. Humphrey?" which, after all, is indeed his name. Never mind that he looked too young to be living here. Luckily all health workers check a patient's birth date before starting any procedure.

Somehow she picked her way to the bedroom where the intended Mr. Humphrey withdrew his arm from the covers, offered it to her. Mission accomplished, she found her way to the front door and let herself out. 

Retirement home living is different in some ways and that was one of them. Friends express surprise that maintenance people and health workers have access to our rooms if we don't answer their knock. I, myself, am surprised that so many of the staff have found us in our nightclothes and various stages of undress.  These things matter less with age, I think.. My mother used to say, "If you see anything you haven't seen before, throw your old hat at it." So far no one's tossed a chapeau in our direction. 

WHAT CHRISTOPHER SAW

CHRIS SENT A NEW BATCH of pictures. The above is my favorite. It was taken minutes before I left for the hospital at 5:30 a.m. on my way to have a radical mastectomy. Since discovering the sizeable lump a couple of months ago, I've wished that Mr. Bob could show a little compassion and offer some comfort, but none was forthcoming because he's so understandably centered on his own battle with cancer. Intellectually, I could grasp that; emotionally I sobbed a lot. Amazingly, Chris caught the moment I so yearned for and I'll treasure it all the days of my life.

Minutes later I wended my way down the Hallowe'en decorated halls of the Manor on my way to the car. All three of our offspring went with me. Mr. Bob voiced the desire to go, but was voted down because we all felt that too many germs lurked in our destination.




Angels stand guard outside the Verdugo Hills Hospital, offering comfort. My mother died here, our first grandson greeted the world here, cataracts were removed, a hernia repaired. Let's say we have history with this place. It makes it no easier to go through its portals.


Something I've learned in my advancing years is that tempus does indeed fugit without our doing anything to hurry it along and soon enough I was in my hospital room although I don't remember that part very well.

There was some reassurance in the realization that I had come through what the doctor referred to as "High risk" surgery in my case, having to do with age, weight (ahem), problems with circulation, etc. There was some feeling of "Hooway!"

The next day Mr. Bob went to the oncologist's office for a day full of chemotherapy........seven hours of it. Chris accompanied him and saw to it that he drank the copious amounts of water recommended to guard against kidney damage with lunch added midday, after which he was driven home and tucked into bed for a long sleep in response to the battering his body had taken. Meanwhile, Susan and Tim were keeping me company at the hospital. 


And the next day it was time for me to go back home after Mr. Bob had his one hour treatment, more medical goings-on than we ever would have asked for, given a choice.

 














A week later, I'm trying to convince myself that I feel as good as I did upon homecoming. I really wasn't prepared for a surgical drain being necessary. I dislike the sight of it as much now as I did nearly a week ago. I think the tubes should be black with a little peek-a-boo window for the curious, of which I am not one.


Chris returned home yesterday. Was he really here a week? 

It went by in a blur and a hazy one, at that. The doctor called to tell me that of the twenty-five lymph nodes removed, only two showed cancer, which I take it was relatively good news. I'm a novice at this. Susan attended church today, while she was gone I made an attempt at getting dressed (we'll get through this, but we won't ever look the same), but she said, upon her return, that I could wait until tomorrow for make-up when I'm due to visit the doctor. Mr. Bob is sleeping and sleeping and sleeping as his body tries to cope. Quite honestly, this is not our finest hour. Or might it be, after all? One wonders.

"Adopting the right attitude can convert a negative stress into a positive one."
                                                                                         Hans Selye

THE DAY BEFORE THE DAY

THE CHILDREN HAVE COME HOME and I slept like a baby...... the whole night through which is unheard of. They all have lives of their own or I might coax them to move back in with us which would prove our dysfunctional nature beyond doubt.


What did we ever do before the modern day electronics? This morning we received a text from our elder Alaskan grandson with a picture to prove that they've had their first snow up there which is exciting each year. And on his Vietnamese bus ride, Chris sent us a little movie of the television entertainment (no subtitles and quite a lot of Asian music) with the caption "Are we there yet?" And now Susan and Chris are giggling their way through composing a song.


There's been talk of my upcoming "discomboobulation"....Tim gets credit for coining the phrase and while I fully expect to be discombobulated tomorrow morning as I enter the operating arena, the extra "o" is right on.


Something to remember is that much as I love all the interaction with you lovely people, I'm shy about having hospital visitors beyond immediate family. Every room at the hospital is private and very small and we easily fill up the room. Please don't think I'm being unfriendly.........false pride must enter into it somehow.




When I reminded the doctor that the surgery was scheduled on Hallowe'en he said he would be the one dressed as a surgeon and then he said, "And you"..............pause.............."will be Lady Godiva". Until that point, I'd pictured myself fully clothed during the coming ordeal.


Shelley, Mr. Bob's niece's daughter, joined us this morning for the Manor's Champagne Brunch in a sort of early hour Last Supper.

       So here's my immediate cheering section. I'm grateful that the good wishes fan out into your hearts and minds, too. Thanks for letting me know that.


I'll be back just as soon as I can.


Jane

HOMECOMING

I AROSE THIS MORNING, vowing that there be no tears today. Enough is really quite enough and I used over my quota yesterday. As I do every morning, first thing, I looked at the mail and the blog (always hungry for your precious comments which make me feel so connected to the outside world) and facebook. It was on facebook that I found the following and yes, I've cried already this morning but they were happy tears and I'm not even dressed yet!

Chris HumphreyToday I return home, to help my mother prepare for the first step in her journey as a breast cancer survivor.· · about an hour ago near Fairview, CA ·




Susan Humphrey I am at the Anchorage airport waiting for my departing flight to also return home to help my mohter, father, brothers feel supported during this important time.

GOD BLESS ALL OF YOU.......my cherished family, my dear friends, far and near, some of whom I've never even met face to face. You're all playing such an important part in this unfolding scenario. 


Help's coming, Bob and Tim! 


Thank you.
And again, thank you.


"Homecoming unites

 the past and the present."

                                     author unknown                   

BROTHER FRANK

DID YOU KNOW that I'm a big sister? Frank was born when I was four and I still remember soon after he came to live with us, hopping down from the breakfast table and taking my last bite of chewed toast out of my mouth and popping it into his wailing maw. Isn't that downright awful, not only the act, but that I would admit it to the world?

I don't write about him a whole lot partly because he's a very private person and partly because we're not as close as some siblings manage to be. As the Fifties turned into the Sixties, he was hip before it was hip to be hip. I was still a disgusting version of Goody Two Shoes. Two very different people. I admired, even if I couldn't emulate his life style. I think, and no wonder, that he found me a bit boring and downright disgusting.

His artistic abilities showed themselves early on and I always considered him to be the one and only artist in the family. Not until I was in my late sixties did I consider putting pen to paper to see what I could draw. He's no Sunday painter. He's a fine artist who enjoyed having a one-man exhibit at the Santa Barbara Museum of Art. His last career was designing posters, brochures and the like for UCSB and designing book covers. He's a clever man, no doubt about it.

Maxwell is his constant companion; a little dog with a big personality. Frank has a colorful past. At one time he was one of several artists who bought land adjacent to Mountain Drive. On his portion he built the most wonderful "hobbit house" into the side of the mountain. His taste is as monastic as mine is cluttery. This tiny house was a gem. Alas, I have no pictures of it to send you.

He now lives down in town and he writes that he's just lost 66 pounds.......envy, envy. The picture he sent last week shows him standing between 2/3 of a triptych he painted of the view he enjoyed in his Mountain Drive house.

No doubt about it, he IS the artist in the family. Oh, and by the way he and a friend have a morning radio show. It's called "Frank 'n' George". If you're interested, you can read all about it by following the link.

"Big sisters are the crab grass in the lawn of life."
                                                                          ~Charles M. Schulz

TUCKERED OUT

MR. BOB is downright perky following his ordeal. 

A good thing.

The rest of us are spent.

Susan went back home today.

Tim has declared tomorrow a day off.

Tempers thinned and flared briefly.

Words were uttered and misunderstood.

Tears flowed.

Amends were made.

Goodbyes were said.

Tomorrow's another day.

Life will continue.

"We cannot destroy kindred:  

our chains stretch a little sometimes, 

but they never break. " 

                                        Marquise de Sévigné

NEXT

WHAT A ROLLERCOASTER of emotions the last couple of days have been and I am not a fan of carnival rides. One minute I'm "up" and feeling positive and in no time I can find myself in a puddle of tears. The caring and support here at the Manor is a wonderful thing to experience, but at the same time it's a bit overwhelming to deal with so much interest all at once.

Mr. Bob almost seems perfectly well, except for needing oxygen. A team of five doctors has been put together and it's been determined that it's a stage 3 case with which they're dealing. The implantation of a port was scheduled for tonight, but the doses of Vitamin K he'd been given to counteract the Coumadin he takes had not quite gotten his blood to coagulate as quickly as was wanted, so the procedure was rescheduled for tomorrow morning at 7.

In the middle, the friend who volunteers
at the hospital and who was responsible
for bringing the doctor to meet me.

Having family with us has been such a gift. In fact, without their presence and support, I couldn't have functioned the past two weeks. Once Tim and Susan talked to Patient Services about the lack of sponge baths and bed changes, things changed and
without their concern, I'd not have had the presence of mind to insist on those services. I
think it's a generational thing (except that the family next door was constantly making demands with results).

We've laughed, we've wept and we've exchanged more hugs than we've shared in forever. 

What a strange and wondrous thing that a situation such as the one we're going through, brings out those precious times.

Poor precious; I've noticed more than once Mr. Bob's hospital issued socks get turned around so that the portion which makes them non-slip has worked its way around to the top of his feet. It's love that makes us adjust them so that we won't lose him to a fall. 

At noon dinnertime, when Susan and I came home for a break, so many people asked about Mr. Bob's condition that I finally shortened my answer to "He went into the hospital two weeks ago with congestive heart failure and he'll be back home tomorrow with lung cancer." Blunt, but concise. And as Edith Ann used to say, "And that's the truth".

“One's family is the most important thing in life. I look at it this way: One of these days I'll be over in a hospital somewhere with four walls around me. And the only people who'll be with me will be my family.”

Robert C. Byrd

EASTER SUNDAY

WE UNDERSTAND that we missed a splendid Easter brunch at the Manor, but previous arrangements had been made to be with Mr. Bob's family on Easter Sunday. They live far enough away that it's a rare thing to get together and because his sister, Margaret, and her daughter were coming down from Burlingame, there was no question where our loyalties lay.


Tim drove and took us on a beautiful route where the mustard was at its peak of bloom. Before the afternoon was over, the rain came down, but the only inconvenience was that the planned patio seating had to be moved inside for dinner. Not a problem.

Of six children, Mr. Bob and his sister are the only ones still living. Curious, that out of all the siblings, they were the only two redheads. Margaret will be 88 this summer and neither looks nor acts her age. I may be prejudiced, but I don't think her brother looks his 84 years, either, in spite of his red having turned to silver.

Tony and Sam were there. You may recall the time that I sat and talked to Tony for a half hour, showing him pictures on my iPhone to which there was virtually no response. When I went to get up, I said to those around me, "Don't watch me rise," Tony said there was little chance of it, since he was blind. I'd just thought Sam was a well-behaved dog, but he's a trained Guide dog. Tony spoke of being on a blind rowing team which recently rowed to Catalina Island, no mean trick.

Tim's cousins (either once removed or second or whatever) whom he knows better on Facebook than in person were there. They're the offspring of Charlene and Harvey, both of whom have had nearly insurmountable health problems of late. Pam (Margaret's daughter), Charlene and Tim are first cousins. Of that I'm sure.


There were young and old in attendance.

Lots
of new faces, good food,
a white lily and purple hyacinths. Who knows when we'll next be together?

Soon it was time to take Margaret and Pam to the Ontario Airport to catch the plane that would take them home. After dropping them off, we headed back along the mustard lined highway and detoured slightly to go to Din Tai Fung in the hope that they'd be open on Easter. The crowd outside told us we were in luck.

It was easily a forty-five minute wait and when we squeezed into the restaurant's small entry area, a young fellow quickly stood to give me his seat and immediately the man next to me inquired if it was our first time there. I told him it was probably our twelfth visit. An easy conversation ensued....among other subjects he told me he was going to pharmaceutical school at USC and that he was driving his mother home to San Francisco that very night. "Goodbye", I said, when our number was called. 

When their turn came, the man and his mother were shown to seats adjacent to ours and they agreed to having their pictures taken to document the experience. They even offered us a sample of their vegetarian dumplings. I couldn't resist the reminder to drive carefully as we departed to continue on our way to the Manor. It's a very nice place to come home to, but how I love our ventures into the outside world. No chocolate bunnies this year, but much else to deposit in our memory banks. 'Twas fun.