The Unexpected Gift

 I can't fully describe the depth of gratitude that I feel ... but because I write, I'll try to begin. 

The last few weeks have been a blur of being surrounded by the love, support, encouragement, and generosity of people. Some I barely know. Others, I have known for years, even decades. And yet, it blows me away every time someone reaches out with offers of help, with food, chores, and yes, money.

In such a time of need, a couple of my friends decided to create a GoFundMe page in my name. They asked me for a photo of my husband, which I am showing here:

 

This guy.  This guy is my heart, my soul, my life. He's my very best friend on this earth. And I'm his best friend too. We've been married for only 45 years this past June. I was counting on 70. And ... maybe I'll get it, and enjoy every last moment. Of all the recent photos I have of him, this is my favourite because it was the week right after he got his 2nd cataract operation done (May 2026) and he could see me clearly from five feet away. Before, I had to get six inches away for him to make out my features. 

I won't repeat what is in the GoFundMe page, but I'll include the link to it so that you can see for yourself that we are in need of help to make whatever time he has with us worth living with respect to his quality of life. We've been making do with a little 5 foot by 7 foot bathroom, the only one in the house. And now, he can't take a shower in it (because he is afraid of falling in the slippery tub-shower). And the Integrated Palliative Care team occupational therapist can only recommend a bath transfer bench that allows him to sit on the edge of the tub and put his feet in there. Like an invalid. Like some 90-year-old doddering old man. He's not even 74 yet. 

So without further ado, I will share the link to the fundraiser here which will open in a new window for you. Please visit the page and look at the story. With the price of everything going up exponentially in the last year or so, (THANKS tRump!) the cost of materials and labour has skyrocketed. And please keep in mind that donations to GoFundMe are quite possibly tax-deductible when you do your income taxes.

And that is all I have to say at the moment. Please share this post and/or the link to as many platforms as you can. More people asked means more donors. And God knows we need generous people like you, my readers, to contribute to something we couldn't possibly pay for ourselves. 

I have never asked you for help before. God willing, I won't ever have to ask again.  

Thank you! 

 

To the Adventure!

The last week has been ... interesting to say the least. Hubby started chemotherapy yesterday morning. His schedule was given to us at that time. So his next chemo treatment is on July 29 (Wednesday), and then he gets a 1.5-week-long break from it. In between each treatment, usually during the run of a week, there are blood tests, oncology consultations, home visits from Home Care nursing, physiotherapist, occupational therapist, dietician, and on and on the merry-go-round goes.  Then he goes back on August 10th for the first treatment of his next cycle. 

I'm learning the vocabulary of cancer treatment. At first it was confusing, but I'm catching on.  

The time between the first treatment of one period of time and the first treatment of the next period of time (usually 4 weeks but in this case it's 3 weeks) is called a cycle. The period of time between the first treatment of the first cycle and the last treatment of the last cycle (which is 3 months) is called a round.

Free image from Pixabay

After the first round of treatment cycles, he will have a CT scan to determine if the drugs have had a shrinking effect on the tumors and lumps. If it is working, we go to the beginning of the next (3-month) round. Perhaps at that time, they'll move to a 4-week cycle (3 treatments, 1 per week, followed by a fourth week off). It depends on how well he handles the medications. There are at-home medications for him to take for the day of treatment and for the 2 days after treatment.

So far, after only one treatment, he seems well. He is not bothered by nausea at all, and if he is, then we have medications for him to take as needed for that. The best thing so far is that after we reduced his pain medication so that he wasn't quite so "out of it", he is more alert ... and even with the reduced medication, his pain seems to be less. What a relief!

On July 30, he will see a radio-oncologist to address the oozing / bleeding in the stomach cancer that was observed on July 8th. We'll probably set up some sessions to irradiate that specific area (that is, hit it with radiation) and get the bleeding under control (perhaps) as a result. I have no idea what that will look like or how often he will need to have these radiation treatments. Once I know, I hope I will have the strength to keep my readers informed. 

Caring for someone as close as my husband is to me - he is my best friend, after all - is taxing. Not only do I need to look after his nutrition and medication needs, I need to watch him closely so that he is sure to follow the requirements for looking after his toileting ... specific procedures like sitting to pee, closing the toilet lid, flushing twice, and then washing his hands. These procedures are to help to protect the other people in the house from exposure to his bodily fluids, as they don't know what the long-term effects of that exposure would be for those NOT in treatment. I also have to make sure that if he soils his clothing, it is kept separate from our laundry and double-washed.

And that is heaped up on top of all the things that need to be done to run a household, which, to my shame, has all been handled by my husband - until he was no longer able. Now, my daughter and I have to share the chores: dishes, sweeping, laundry, trash, cat's boxes, feeding the animals, keeping them hydrated, letting the dog out several times a day, groceries ... and also the unexpected duties that crop up. Neighbors have offered and still are blessing us with things we can't handle, like the lawn. Some have dropped off food. It all helps, but the day-to-day can be tiring.

There is much we don't know about all of this. For example, we are not sure if our insurance will cover the cost of the medications they are giving him, or if they do, how much they will cover (and how much they initially cost!!) and even though we have applied for PEI's Catastrophic Drug program, we have not heard whether he will qualify for it. 

At any rate, we are determined to be transparent about his journey and our own parallel journey as we walk this road beside him. His attitude is positive, and so far, so is ours. We surround ourselves with people and music and news that is/are positive, and we speak healing (see previous post) daily into his body. We know so many others are praying for him and sending him healing vibes. And I know that he is loved - so much more than he would ever believe - so very much by so very many. 

In a sense, even though we live on a fixed income, we feel rich, because we have the love and support of family, friends, and neighbors. And we are looked after by our Higher Power. What more could we ask for?  

The Waiting Room ... Again

 Since my last post, most of the time has been spent in waiting. Day-to-day duties and chores are getting done, even if a bit late at times. The main feature of our moments has been hubby's pain management, as the tumour on the pancreas presses in on his spine and causes nerve pain, which we are managing with prescribed pain-killers. 

We have been charting the little victories: the chiropractor whose treatments and whose prayers over him have reduced the severity of the pain - as the muscles around the area are very tight and increase the pain, and discouragement also increases the pain - and we look forward to those sessions.

Free photo from Pixabay

I've been waiting specifically for any contact from Oncology. Thankfully, two days ago (Friday, July 3) we got a call from the Cancer Centre with the information we'd been waiting to hear: he has appointments this coming week - July 6, 7, and 8 - culminating with a consultation with the medical (chemo) oncologist who will be working with us. I say "us" because we are just as much a part of hubby's treatment as the chemotherapy drugs will be. 

We've been asked to bring a few things: his health care card, his medical insurance number, and his pills (including supplements and over-the-counter meds) in their actual pill bottles. That leads me to believe that they will be billing his medical insurance for the chemotherapy drugs, and they are NOT CHEAP. Since his plan covers only 80% of the cost, there will be a cost to him for the treatments that have the purpose of trying to kill the cancer while saving his life. 

Wow. Just ... wow.

To ask for help is not in our nature, so I'm not going to do so at the moment. People have been very kind, offering help in tangible ways like mowing the grass or transporting garbage bins, etc., and we are grateful for every single act of love and support we have been receiving, knowing full well that there is no way we can repay anyone for their kindness. We are so humbled by their generosity. We are so blessed by their love and their prayers and positive thoughts toward us. 

Nobody has been negative - at least, not on purpose - and we are grateful for that as well. We can feel the love holding us up, the prayers acting like a life-jacket in deep water, the social media likes and comments that remind us that we are not in this alone. It all helps. So, even though it feels so NOT enough for me to say, I say it anyway: THANK YOU ALL. 

We still believe in miracles, whether they come instantly or gradually. And we look forward to what our Higher Power will do through those whom He has gifted with special talents and gifts.   

Love Heals More

The last few weeks has been somewhat of a whirlwind combined with a nightmare. My daughter and I have been concerned about my husband's weight loss and loss of appetite, especially after he stopped trying to lose weight, because his appetite has stayed near zero and his weight loss continued. 

Finally, while consulting for low iron, the doctor ordered a colonoscopy, which revealed no internal bleeding. Yet the numbers were still low. So, he ordered a CT scan of his head and of his torso (shoulders to pelvis). The scan was on a Friday. The following Monday, we were called into the doctor's office and told that there was a 7.2 cm mass on the tail of the pancreas, and some suspicious "spots" on his liver and on his right adrenal gland. The next few minutes were a blur of talking about Oncology and about a biopsy they needed from the liver site, as the pancreas could not be reached by the type of biopsy they were planning to do.

Telling our daughter was hard. Losing one (or both) of us was her worst fear. She kind of knew when she hadn't received a text from me ... but it was still hard to see the sadness in her eyes. We wondered when the biopsy would be. "Sooner rather than later," the doctor said. 

The biopsy occurred within a week. And we waited, hoping that the results would be benign.

They weren't. Another trip to the doctor to discuss findings, this time with our daughter. Metastatic pancreatic carcinoma, with spread to the liver and that adrenal gland, we heard. 

I felt the sudden rush of panic I had felt in the first meeting, but I saw it coming and decided to compartmentalize my own fear for his sake. For their sake.

No amount of preparation or bracing can prepare you for that kind of news. It's like having nightmares of monsters, finally relaxing because someone is there to chase them away, and then realizing that they came for the one who chased them down. There's fear, panic, grief, sadness, anger, and pain all bound up into one entity that I try to push away from me because it's too much all at once. 

I am the ultimate catastrophizer, the quintessential awfulizer. I can imagine scenarios upon scenarios if I let myself. I have a vivid imagination, and sometimes, it turns on me. I can't imagine living without him, and yet, now that imagination leads me to that place where I feel forced to do just that.

And yes, I know it's not healthy. As a counsellor, I can identify all the negative patterns of thought. But I also understand that those feelings are absolutely normal for what the situation is. 

Free image from Pixabay dot com

As a practicing Jesus-Christian, I believe in divine healing, absolutely! And from the moment this first became "a thing," I've been speaking healing, strength and life into my husband's body, telling the cancer to cower, to shrink and to be expelled in Jesus' Name. Dozens, maybe even hundreds are praying for his healing as well. Those who don't believe the way we do are still sending positive thoughts and vibes toward him and toward our little family. 

And some of those who are able ... have offered help in tangible ways. Mowing the lawn, for example. Neither I nor our daughter can do it because of allergies, so others have offered and we have accepted their offers.  The hardest part of that is accepting the help and learning to receive it, because he has always been the one to give to others. So now, we've started telling him that it's HIS turn to benefit from being given to. So when our daughter or I do the dishes or take out the trash or whatever... it is one less thing that HE has to do (see "Every Snowflake Counts", my feature post, visible on your PC.) 

And we are grateful for every single day. All of us. Because love - that is the only thing that heals. And it heals more than all the pills, injections, and treatments can do. It's healing us all on the inside, where it counts. 

And all I can do - all we can do - is be grateful. 

 

 

The Child Within

 She's been with me ever since I can remember.

The child - me as a child.

She wants to be cherished, loved unconditionally, and protected.

She's learned that the world isn't like that. 

Free image from Pixabay

She's afraid, self-conscious, shy, lonely, and at times even suspicious. Suspicious of new things, of new people, of letting her light shine.

Afraid of others' judgment, she hides and defines herself the way her abusers did: small, insignificant, a country mouse, a bumpkin, unworthy of belonging. Or love.

She and I have gotten to know each other lately. I helped her see her abuse as not her fault, and as a mistake her abuser made. I told her she was brave, and that her heart was loving and sincere. She started to believe me. I want her to believe that she has something worthwhile to say. But she still shies away from the spotlight; she has for decades.

And now, we face another time when she and I will face the spotlight again. In a few weeks, I'll be giving a presentation I created at a national conference in Halifax, NS for the counselling association I belong to. And I'm bringing her with me. I'm being intentional about inviting her to watch, to see how people react, to experience this honour with me. 

Now, I know that that little girl turned into the woman I am now; I haven't lost my marbles (haha). However, that small child, that afraid little girl, is real to me. I can see her plainly in my mind. She learned early on to cower ... because cowering made her safer. And I'm trying to teach her that while cowering kept her safe then, it doesn't serve her well now. I've been giving her something she never got: compassion, love, and a sense of belonging. She's learned to trust me (that is, grown-up me) ... but she's still unsure about others, even though I have been telling her that they care. Now, I believe she needs to SEE that caring, in action, to understand that she IS worthy of love and belonging, of positive attention, of the gratitude she never got.

I'm not sure if any of this has made sense. I just needed to write it.