Life after Death

A multi-part journal

Last July 2022, I lost my best traveling companion.

People ask “How are you doing?” My stock answer is; “It’s an adjustment.”

Some days are better than most. My husband was not a great provider, raconteur, or helper around the house, but he was a kind man who loved me totally and unconditionally. He ran up debts like some people eat potato chips, he had a joy of life and the finer things, and no lack of money was going to deter him.

We travelled well together and explored most of these beautiful United States from Northern Maine to Washington and Oregon. North Dakota to Texas.

Dying is a learning process, unfortunately, finite for the departing, but somewhat overwhelming for those left behind. There is a lot of emotional support available but it is the daily living and dealing with what comes up that is the hardest. It is not necessarily emotional support that is needed. There are so many nuts and bolts with which one is left to deal. In an attempt to help those left behind, and perhaps avoid some of the pitfalls, I shall present in this series, a journal of his last days and the floundering times after he, in dog lingo, passed over the rainbow bridge.

September of 2021 we took a trip out west. I had wanted to go to Yellowstone, he had wanted to visit the Cody Firearms museum. He was sicker then than any of us realized at the time. As he liked to say he was, in the words of Springsteen, Tougher than the rest. The chronicle of our final trip together can be found in other postings here.

He was on a downward slide but it was not what I wanted to see. So, I didn’t.

By the time we got to the Cody Firearms museum his back caused him so much pain, we were forced to borrow a wheelchair, which thankfully the museum provides. The photos taken during what was a happy time show that we both knew it was our last trip together. He put up with my traipsing the Oregon Trail, and we fulfilled his dream of going to the Cody Firearms Museum and staying at the Irma Hotel.

Soon after our return, he was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma and our travels changed to a world of trips to Nashua, NH for Radiation and Brigham and Women’s/Dana Farber, in Boston for Chemo. The Radiation helped and we felt optimistic that this might be treatable. After all, we had other friends who were living with cancer.

The Boston trips were 3 weeks on and 1 week off. I drove the hour and 20 minutes back and forth. Our Fridays were consumed with Brigham and Womens/Dana Farber. Hospitals are no one’s favorite. We were in the cancer center. While many might see it as a place of hope, and as an optimist I did so try, it is a sad and moving place. There were couples, one in treatment, one just trying to hold up and be supportive. Hands clutched as if it would help to never have to let go. Grown children wishing they could go back to healthier days when their parent ruled their world. Saddest of all were those alone, or with a caregiver, facing the journey on their own.

The parking lot is below the hospital and it always seemed strange to drive down into the parking. We amused ourselves by checking the number of slots open on P1 and P2, these days we looked for humor in the little things. P3 was where we always parked. I had to take a picture of our parking slot as invariably after 4 hours, we would dispute where the car sat.

We were still in the throes of Covid so Sarge’s wonderful cousin made us a variety of masks so we could be fashionable. Not that we looked so as the hospital required their own yukky hospital issued blue ones. I sometimes put my fashionable mask over but they did not appreciate it.

I got pretty efficient at checking us in, either at the Kiosk, or on my cell beforehand. We then proceeded to a human who gave us our tags and asked what treatment we were there to receive. Depending on the schedule, we proceeded to get his blood test and then on up to wait, a very long time, for him to go into Chemo. Once drawn, the results of the test had to be analyzed and then they would make his Chemo Cocktail. This could leave us sitting together for over an hour before he walked through the Chemo door and left me behind. I do not sit well and came prepared with books and my laptop to work on my other blog. Eventually, rather than sitting for 4 hours or so it took him to be treated, , I started to wander Boston. I joined the MFA for those nasty weather days and as an avid hiker, explored Boston. I highly recommend this over sitting in the waiting room.

Once a month we would meet with the PA for an update on how he was doing. The radiation and the chemo seemed to be working and his “numbers” were coming down. There is no cure for Multiple Myeloma, but it can be managed, somewhat. In hindsight, when we would ask how many more chemo treatments he would need they usually answered, about 8 months. They were right. About 8 months later he would be off chemo and in hospice care.

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