Monthly Archives: March 2018

Four months plus a day

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I drove up to Chattanooga Tuesday to see my brother Henry in the hospital. Before I left I called his wife Terry to get the latest. She said the doctor told them that the cancer was growing so fast in Henry’s liver that there was nothing more they could do for him, and they were going to send him home with hospice care. He should go home Wednesday, the day of this post.

When I got to the hospital, there were four people in Henry’s room in addition to Terry. One of them was one of Henry’s fellow pastors. I talked to him a little in the hall. He was familiar with Henry’s hope to make a cherry chest of drawers for his younger son, who was recently married. He also happens to be at least a semi-skilled carpenter. He suggested that maybe he and someone with a little more skill could make the chest under Henry’s supervision. I said I hoped that could happen. It won’t be the same as a chest made by Henry’s own hands, but it will be his design and his wood, and it will be an indication of the regard that Henry’s friends have for him. That will mean something.

Henry’s older son was going to drive up to Chattanooga from Atlanta after rush hour. He plans to stay a few days. His younger son and hopefully his new daughter-in-law are supposed to come down from Washington this weekend. I hope it’s not too late.

Four months in

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My brother is currently on his second type of chemotherapy treatment for metastatic pancreatic cancer. The first, which was a conventional type, did essentially nothing but make him lose his hair. The results of the second, a targeted therapy given orally, are not known yet. However, he has been having some significant pain, probably due to a tumor pressing on a nerve. He has been on morphine and oxycodone, which gives an idea of the level of the pain.

The last time I went to Chattanooga, he was pretty much his old self, but had been having enough pain that he took his pain pills. As the afternoon wore on, his pain subsided, but so did his alertness. But the time I left, he was half dozing in the living room, occasionally waking up enough to make confused comments that conflated his dreams with the conversation the rest of us were having.

We spoke to him on the phone Sunday evening. He voice sounded terrible and he sounded confused. I think it was partly due to the effect of his therapy, which makes him hoarse, and partly due to the effects of the pain medication he’s on. He said he felt pretty bad. His wife suggested that we call back right after lunch on Monday, which we did. He didn’t answer. Later Monday evening his wife texted us that he had gone to the hospital, where they had found elevated bilirubin levels. This could be caused by a tumor blocking a bile duct.

I’m planning to drive up to Chattanooga Tuesday (the day of this post) to visit him in the hospital. I hope they know something by the time I get there.

My brother was diagnosed just before Thanksgiving, so about four months ago. The median survival rate for untreated cancer at his stage is about three and a half months. With “good” treatment this increases to about eight months.

My brother’s younger son and his new wife were planning a family week at the beach next week, but it’s not looking like that will not happen.

Pet sitter tales

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I’ve learned a couple of things in the last few days.

The first is that a whole lot of people who want to be pet sitters read the local newspaper. We really need a pet sitter, so we bought an ad for a month. So far more than a dozen people have responded. We have met four so far.

There’s the divorced mother of one who lives with her own mother down at the other end of Texas Valley. Then there’s the young woman who just moved to town. She works part time at a chain bookstore and plans to give her two weeks’ notice on another part-time job. She has a degree in meteorology and geography. Another young woman does bookwork for her brother’s business.

We just talked to a woman who also lives in Texas Valley who lost her husband in a car wreck last year. She went to a pet store to buy some cat collars and ended up adopting a black lab mix. She said she thought when she heard the dog’s story that she was going to rescue the dog, but the dog ended up rescuing her.

Another woman had rescued about 40 cats some years ago. She got them spayed and neutered and then took care of them until, one by one, they all died of old age.

I found out when I worked as a reporter many years ago that everyone has a story, and they all want to tell it. All you have to do is listen. They aren’t necessarily big stories, but they’re big enough to them. And, sometimes, it really is a big story. I used to live down the street from an older couple. I usually spoke to them when I walked my dog past their house. Eventually I learned that the man had been on a Southern Airways flight from Huntsville, Al, to Atlanta in 1977 when it ran into a severe thunderstorm over Rome, lost both engines, and then crash landed on a rural highway in the little town of New Hope. He told about walking out of the plane, shielding his face from the flames with his hands, while other passengers sat in their seats, struggling to get out without realizing that their seatbelts were still fastened. Seventy-two people died, including seven on the ground.

So, if you listen long enough, you hear the story, big or small.

But that’s not the other thing I learned. That other thing I learned is that I would really like to say yes to all the people who want to pet sit for us, or at least most of them. Unfortunately, we just need one. We’re leaning toward the divorced mother of one, but we still have five possibilities to interview.

I wish we could get someone to find a pet sitter for us so we wouldn’t have to say no to anyone. But then we wouldn’t get to hear their stories.

Daffodils

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What are they looking at anyway?

Every time I go past them I have to glance over in the same direction to see if there’s anything worth looking at. Oh, that’s south. They’re looking at the sun.

I planted the bulbs just a few weeks ago. I was surprised when they started coming up, and here they are, all flowery and everything. I hope the freezes we have coming up in the next few days don’t damage them.

Catching up with the cats

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It’s been far too long since we posted a bunch of cat photos, so here goes.

Silly cat games: which leg is this? Or did Sylvester grow a leg sticking out of the front of his chest?

It’s been a long day, full of eating, sleeping and … well, sleeping.

Toaster ovens are nice to sit behind.

Why do cats like to drink nasty water from a house plant? In Mollie’s case, it’s because the water is the same color as her coat, and she really, really likes her coat.

“Don’t be shy, little kitty. You have a beautiful coat. Almost as beautiful as mine.”

The back of a couch is a good place to sleep. But then, pretty much any place is a good place to sleep.

“Here’s the fierce vulture sitting on a tree limb waiting for a victim …”

Smokey and Mollie like to play, but Smokey likes to lie down even more than he likes to play.

Mollie on the bed in the guest bedroom.

The Teddy Bear is Leah’s from 60-plus years ago. She remembers her family having three sisters from a local orphanage for Christmas many years ago. The youngest saw her Teddy and picked it up. She called it “her Teddy Bar.” Leah still feels a little guilty about not giving it to the girl, but, after all, Leah was just a little girl herself.