Jump to content
Grief Healing Discussion Groups

jo got the keys?

Contributor
  • Posts

    22
  • Joined

  • Last visited

Previous Fields

  • Date of Death
    May 12, 2009
  • Name/Location of Hospice if they were involved:
    NA

Profile Information

  • Your gender
    Female
  • Location (city, state)
    Spain

Recent Profile Visitors

336 profile views
  1. Gracias, Boo! Especialmente salud!!!! Y para ti tambien, corazón.
  2. Just came back to wish you all a Happy New Year, and was drawn to this topic. Although I have been absent for quite a while now, your sentiments resound in me as well. I could never forget the warmth and wisdom of your collective welcome when I came crawling to you back in the summer, totally devastated by everything that had hit me. I do not exaggerate when I say that I don't know what I would have done without your caring concern. And I hope to be back again soon. I was forced to put my grieving on a shelf, as I had to concentrate totally on my own treatment, but that does not mean that the work is not there, demanding to be done, and I would hope to be able to count on your help once again. I found it soooooo beneficial. Although I have been working with a number of therapists for the past two years, nothing I have experienced there was even close to what your posts were able to transmit, and soothe. Thank you, once again. May we all find serenity, health and some form of happiness in this new year. As they say here in Spain, a new year, a new life. Let's hope it's so! Much love to all, Susan PS Should probably tell you that my body's response to the treatments has been very good, and although I have been very, very ill, the prognosis is good. But somehow, and I'm sure you'll understand, spending my first Christmas without Jo overshadowed the good news. Hope my spirits will pick up after the holiday season is over.
  3. A bright, shiny special hello to all of you who queried about me here, as well as a shame-faced "Please forgive me!" to everyone who picked me up, brushed me off, set me off tottering on my path and to whom I never looked back at months ago. My only excuse: I was crazy with grief and fear. But I do remember that when I wanted to get back on and check in with all of you after a time (especially to thank you from the bottom of my heart), I then saw that the thread was closed, and it was debiltating, nay, crushing! I was overwhelmed, and absolutely unable to imagine how to continue that one or start a new on. How stupid of me. Since then, my treatments, hospitalizations, illness and attempts at coping have kept me very, very busy. To those who wondered, I am being treated here in Spain, although not at the same hospital where my husband was. Instead, his friend (the anaesthesilogist) got me past the waiting lists at the hospital where he works. Have I regretted my decision? Probably daily, and especially during the times I was hospitalized. It ain`t pretty, but with all the current global attention on "socialized" vs private health care, the debate has come at a time in my life when I have absolutely no palate for discussing pros and cons. It is what it is. My only consolation is that I have stayed near my son and daughter, and allowed them to be a part of this, albeit minimally, as they are still dodging most of it. My only way to describe them is still that they remind me of deer in the headlights. Unfortunately, not much has changed there. My oncologist (a nice lady but not someone that inspires great confidence) tells me that there are no guarantees, but that the tumor is limited and hopefully will respond well to the simultaneous chemo and radiotherapy. I just finished the latter, so expect to begin feeling better some time soon. However, there have been many interruptions, complications and setbacks, including two lengthy hospital stays, one of which taught me a great deal about being alone in the world. And that brings me to THAT ... the other looming issue in my life. I have somehow managed to push it to the back of my mind, although I know that it is all artificial. The only real emotions with which I seem to struggle constantly are anger and loneliness-when-in-need. Well, and trying to re-establish the family constellation, if you will. We no longer know who we are without Jose, and without his buffering through the rough times, we are much more exposed and raw. I only hope that, once the disease is conquered, we will be able to take out all those pent up emotions and deal with them somehow. Hopefully, the experience will give us the maturity and stability needed to handle all of the hurt and frustration, rage and sense of permanent loss. But enough of all that. I hope you are well, coping and learning to live life as best you can. I am reminded often of the blessing that some see in cancer, as a true giver of life. In my case, I hope that is true, but I am certainly convinced that there are many ways to learn the lesson of the true meaning of our time here. One of those is what we all have in common here in our bereavement. May that we learn that lesson well, both for us left behind as well as those who have preceded us. We all know that they would want it thus. Deep and meaningful healing to all ...
  4. My heart bleeds for you, Shyman. I cannot imagine the loss of your wife after that of your brother. I, myself, am facing my own double whammy, and I feel I can somehow feel your anger, rage and anguish, but I stress the somehow, as each of us has a different journey wiith different stops on the way. But what I can assure you is the healing touch of the words that the people on this forum offer. My suggestion ... allow yourself to be surrounded by the great love and caring present here. Believe me, if you give them time, they will work their magic on you! I wish you tranquility ... in some form ... and much love.
  5. I can't reply. All your beautiful, caring, loving messages, with such meaningful words of encouragement and offers of help have brought on a much-needed bout of hysterical tears. I have pulled myself together enough to write this, but feel exhausted. Just thank you, thank you, thank you. I truly, truly feel the warmth of your generousr world-wide circle, and it is glorious! Thank you.
  6. I just re-read that post, and I am so sorry about how incoherent most of it is, and totally unconnected to the diagnosis. In fact, in reading it again, it occurred to me that much of that built-up resentment that has festered in me for who-knows-how-many years must be what caused both my husband's and my cancer. After all, we quit smoking over ten years ago. Or could it be something in the environment, or even in our home. I remember the particleboard ceilings he put up that I was so unhappy with years ago, and breathed a sigh of relief when we finally had money to replace them. Or maybe it was a cable we let the electric company run along the side of our house, right outside the bedroom window. Oh, what difference does it make!?!? But this certainly does seem to betray the law of averages. Again, thanks for being there. Maybe I should journal all this ... Probably a good idea now, but I fear I need to feel that I am not babbling to myself.
  7. When I first went into the psychiatrist's back in December of 2007, I broke down and blubbered, "My life has been a huge mistake. I have made nothing but mistakes, and have never known how to correct them. I was given so many opportunities, but I never took advantage of a single one." I am reminded of that now. It is lung cancer. My husband's friend called to tell me so. He was horribly blunt, telling me that I am an intelligent person and need to know, to be told like it is. The good news, according to him, is that it is treatable. But as I cried over the phone, he was so ... I dunno, professional, I guess. His belief is opposite what I believe; he says that I am in the hands of the doctors, and there is little I can do to change the course of events. He will set up an appointment with an onocologist for me, but when I asked him to make it as soon as possible, he just laughed at me, telling me that he is doing everything he can for me, and how could I question him? The truth is, I think that he was very nervous, as he kept laughing, for instance, when he told me that my life expectancy was less than his, but he is a mountain climber, so who knows? He says it is not the same type that my husband has, but not to worry ... all of them are bad! I have only told my daughter, but we didn't have time to talk about it, as we ran into her grandmother just as we left the house for lunch, and couln't get away from her. That is my ex-husband's mother, and there is quite a story there, but I won't go into it. But when I asked her if she could give me a lift to my son's apartment, she barked that she was running late. Again, nerves, ok ... but what about a bit of compassion, or mere manners? When I opened with reference to the lost opportunities, it is because I am here in a country I have wanted to leave for over ten years, beginning a battle with the same disease that killed my husband less than three months ago, with friends and children who don't seem very supportive or sympathetic. I can't go back to the States for treatment because I have no private health insurance, and our NHS won't cover it overseas. I ranted and raved against this system while caring for my husband, but he was adamant about staying, plus we had the same problem with the insurance. Sorry ... this is raw emotion. I have come here first, probably in a desperate effort to work through my feelings. Plus, I have been betrayed by a close family friend (from Derby, btw, Boo), who I now truly realize was just taking advantage of us all through his divorce. I called to ask him if he was going to be here because my son had to finish a course in the French Alps, and he said yes, but has never called back to offer anything. But he just sent a text to say he has passed an exam, and let's celebrate. He always bemoaned not having made any friends here, but I certainly understand now just why that is. I just tossed a mug he bought my husband with "Grandfather" on it. While sweeping up the pieces, it felt good to have allowed myself that gesture, although insignificant. Anyway, I started this with a lament of lost opportunities. That has been a theme all throughout my depression, and indeed, has been the source of much anger. I feel that I just took it for granted that everything would turn out well, and never studied my situation with a cool head, looking for the best outcome for my children and myself. If I had followed my heart, I would have gone back to the States with them many, many years ago. But I stayed by my second husband's side, tried to make the best of a long series of very difficult situations, and now am left like this. It just isn't fair. And I know, I know, life never is, but I just feel that I have thrown all my opportunities to the wind. And like with our friend from Derby, have let many folks simply do as they please with me, including my closest family members. And now, I must contact my brothers back in the States, who have been nothing but wonderful to me, and break the sad news. I am not sure how to do that. Thanks for reading. I really must look for a different forum, as the whole focus of my life has switched from bereaving the loss of my husband to mourning my own. All the best to each.
  8. I haven't words to thank you all for your support, and wonderful as it is (and indeed it truly is!), the best thing is that it has helped me to reach out to folks near and dear. I had been wallowing in my own misery, and somehow today I had the strength to seek out my neighbor. She never encroaches on my privacy, understanding that I need time alone, but when I appeared at her door, she hugged me and hugged me while I bawled like a baby. Then later, a dear friend who teaches yoga in London and has been battling with AIDS for many years called with many good wishes. Last, but absolutely best, I picked up my cell phone and answered it without looking at who was calling, and it was my dear dad. My brother had called earlier (since we haven't talked in over a month), but when I saw his number, I couldn't answer. But when I picked up without thinking and heard my dad's voice, I was elated. He said he had called to tell me he was feeling "lousy", but then when I asked him to tell me why, with a chuckle, he said it wasn't worth going into. After all, he's 94! But we chatted for just a short while, and I was amazed that I could talk to him without alluding to my fear and dread, as when I finally called to let my family back in the States know about Jose’s cancer, I got my dad on the phone and I just sobbed and sobbed, babbling incoherently. Poor man, I felt so badly about crying that way with him. I am his only daughter, and I just broke down, feeling like a little girl after all these years who needed her dad to straighten things out. Strange, but I had expected to be even worse if I had to break the news about myself, but somehow I was calm and able to avoid saying anything. Just so very happy to hear him, and to once more have the chance to tell each other “I love you”. It was wonderful, and has certainly given me new hope and strength. But again, I am certain that all that is in great part thanks to your support and good advice. Many of you said to seek help, and I thank you for telling me so. At times like these, I disgust myself, but I feel totally helpless, snivelling and in need of a guide. I am glad you can understand … but I do so look forward to becoming myself again. I will hopefully have the results tomorrow, and will be sure to post here as soon as possible. Good cheer to each, and may you have a great Monday. And I do so wish you peace of heart … as I have found today. PS Please excuse the stilted English. I don’t normally speak it here, and there are times that I feel I am making up words! Snivelling? Not sure …
  9. Never would I have believed things could be this bad. I have sunk to depths never dreamt of during my depression. I can barely get off the couch, won't answer the phone or the door, and do nothing but argue with my daughter. She is a terrible housekeeper and I have been staying with her in the city, as she needs a babysitter for the baby, since my son is in the Alps on his final week of a course. So I tell myself that when we get to Jose's and my home in the village at the weekend, things will look up. But no ... not true. José's wheelchair, which he only used once between hospital stays. is still sitting in my office. reminding me of his pain and suffering. All of the half-finished projects in the house (and there are many!), which I had told myself I would finish for his sake and the family's, now seem pointless, and I am just angry, angry, angry. We worked non-stop on this home for over 20 years, doing all the work ourselves, envisioning so many dreams here which are now nothing: a pony for the granddaughter, a wine 'n' art business, more great meals around the huge new dining room table, continuing with the organic garden. I can't even think properly. Plus I find myself remembering things that I had somehow entirely forgotten about his illness and passing. How I gave him water with a soaked gauze the last night he was conscious ... he could not even drink with a straw ... and how very, very thirsty he was. How well he bore the humiliation of being paralyzed from the waist down, having the nurses change his diaper, and rolling him this way and that to clean him up. And his last meal. For the last week or so, he could only eat pureed food, and his sister brought him pureed strawberries. He was enjoying them so much, but choked and coughed them up. I thought he was hemmorhaging, and ran to the nurses station, scared to pieces. And how horrified I was to sign the papers to sedate him, yet did so because his friend Paco (the anesthesioligist) had promised him that he wouldn't suffocate like our neighbor did. And yet, it was my decision. And I never saw that he was dying. I was so totally positive that we were doing everything right and he would come through. Paco dragged me out into the hall and told me he wouldn't last the night. I laughed at him, telling him that I had heard my father breathe like that dozens of times. He told me that the sooner I accepted it, the better it would be for both of us, and I had to help him "die well". It was true that accepting made it easier. and that night we spent alone, holding hands all night long. The night doctor did not want to sedate him, saying that he would not need it, as he was "shutting down" little by little. I could see that, and neither of us were frightened, but rather peaceful. But Paco called in the morning, and reminded me of his promise, so the morning doctor sedated him, and he lasted another 36 hours. The end was a blessing. It was so peaceful, and so easy for him to slip away. I had been in the hallway, and just noticed "something" when I came back in the room. I sat next to him, and bent my head to his, and began to whisper, telling him that everything would be fine, that we loved him, and that his mom and mine were waiting for him. His sister, my son and a close family friend were at the foot of the bed. Before it seemed possible, he was gone. I felt it was a privilege to have been able to be with him, and to have been able to whisper him out of this world. unlike when my mother died ... just as my last flight home was landing. I had so wanted to just be able to hold her hand, but I believe she wanted to save me the suffering. I have to stop. I know I shouldn't be dwelling on these things now, but I am in such a turmoil, and I find that I can't get my mind off them. Please forgive me for being so graphic, and pardon me for being so negative. I am truly sorry, and hope I haven't upset anyone. I should probably delete, but will send anyway. Thanks so much for all your concern, kind words and good advice. I just wish I were better at taking it. Maybe tomorrow.
  10. I had the second bronchoscope done this morning and have spent the day on the couch, watching cartoons. My husband's friend was there to do the general anesthesia, but there are so many things playing in my mind that I wasn't really even comfortable with that. He says I was out for over an hour and they took seven biopsies; the results will be in next week. But he told me flat out that there is a tumor there - the only question is what type. How can the doctors be so ... I don't know ... objective? blatant? straightforward? insensitive? Later he sent me a text telling me that I am not alone, that my kids and friends are there for me. But I do feel so very alone; my best friend and closest companion is no longer here. I so need to be able to cry on his shoulder, to have him hold me against his chest. I know people tell me that for my own good, but they don't understand. My daughter yelled at me today that he is not coming back. Of course I know that, but why can't they understand that not only do I miss him in my grief, but also in my panic? And one pain is just as strong as the other. And how can my daughter take my comment about missing him so personally? I am certainly not getting anywhere with these feelings, but just going around and around. In some ways, I feel numb, yet my emotions crash one way and another, and if I examine them, I could type all night. But I am exhausted, and need to try to get some rest. Peace and health to each, and again, thanks for all your good will and allowing me to vent.
  11. Yes, back from the doctor's, and in a state of shock. Still no diagnosis. They want to go in for another bronchoscope the day after tomorrow. I can't believe it! According to the doctor who did it, everything came back from the lab negative, but they are convinced that there is something there, and want to give me a stronger sedative and go in more deeply. Why didn´t they just do that the first time? What are the X-rays and CAT scans good for then? Why do I have to go through this continued waiting, wondering? At some point, I think that I need to look for a new forum. Grieving seems to have lost its focus. I need something on people facing a terminal illness within a system of socialized medicine alone after having lost their dear spouse to same. Sorry ... please forgive my cynicism. I am just so angry! At everything and everyone, and believe it or not, at Jose for having left me alone to face this in his country. Were it not for him, I would long ago have been back home. And yet, still deep within me, I look for the positive, knowing that something will happen when it should, like the pup who came to another poster here. Sorry, I can't recall her name right now. And too, like finding this forum when I did. I know that I would have lost my sanity had I not had this outlet for my emotions. Many, many, many thanks to all of you who have sent your support and love. I am sure that it is working its magic within me!!!
  12. Hi, Mary Linda, And please allow me to add myself to the number of people wishing you the very best with your new pup. I just wanted to say that love doesn´t enter (or exit, as we know) our lives at our convenience nor with the best timing in mind. I only say that in light of your comment about waiting until after vacation. But rather, it comes when we need it most, I believe. Now, leaving---well, that is another story, isn't it? Regardless, I am positive that you and your pup were meant for one another, and that the laws of the universe have made your paths cross. Live the love, and may it be healing, as well.
  13. This is not supposed to be happening! I am sitting here tonight, scared to pieces of what they will tell me tomorrow, and trying not to think back of this night exactly two months ago when we came back from the hospital after Jose passed away. IT IS BEYOND BELIEF!!! My mind is numb with all the feelings, but I just can't believe what I am going through. And I can't believe I am facing it without José's support, my oak, my constant consoler. i never left him alone for a minute after his diagnosis, and now I am at a total loss without him. My mother, bless her soul, passed away at the age of 87. My father is 94. Nobody in my family has ever had cancer, nor has anyone had any serious illnesses. Everyone on both sides died of natural causes at a ripe old age. Maybe many would say that we have been very lucky, and now I know they would be right. But nothing, nothing could have ever made me think that I would be contemplating this. What have I done wrong? I have been going over everything in my depression, knowing that I made my husband miserable, and now he's gone, and I am up against this. Is it all my fault, something I have brought on myself? But my psychologists and counsellors supported me in my vindications, and yet, none of that seems at all important now. I am so frightened. I can't bear my granddaughter's presence right now. Just the thought that she may grow up without either of us crushes me. I JUST CAN'T BELIEVE IT, and there is no solace, no relief, I wish I still drank. I gave that up with the depression meds. I would love to drink myself into total oblivion.
  14. How you know, Valley, and how right you are. Although I always considered myself a "people person", over the years here, and especially during my depression, I isolated myself, relying only on my husband and children. While my husband was ill, I snapped out of it, and was forced to be in constant contact with people: friends, family, and here, the custom is to stay in the hospital 24/7, helping in caring for the family member. This I did, although with much heartache and stress. But afterwards, and espcially after hearing the possible diagnosis, I have fallen right back into the isolation. But today, some friends dropped by unexpectedly, and because my daughter was here, she let them in. (I would have ignored the doorbell; I rarely answer the phone, either.) And I poured my heart out to them, and now feel so much better! They have infused me with their optimism, and I can now go to bed with a light heart ... except for missing Jose. Which reminds me ... wow, what a roller coaster this is! Earlier today, I had one of the bitterest moments since his death. I was sitting in the side room (which we just finished last year) and thought my daughter was at the back, in the kitchen. Suddenly, the front door opened and my heart soared. It's hard to describe, but in a split second, my mind tricked me into thinking it was Jose, and I caught myself getting up to run to him and cry out to him for a hug, burning to tell him all the troubles I had been having, and knowing he would make it all better. Suddenly, my whole world had brightened. When I realized, I became hysterical, just racking with sobs, which lasted for at least an hour. Of course, my daughter, who had just walked in the door, had no idea what was going on. Nor did she ask me, as she is totally at a loss on how to help me in any way. People had warned me that I might see him, out of force of habit. But this was something different. Has anything similar happened to any of you? Sorry for rambling so. Once again, thanks to all for being there, and hugs to each. May your Sunday be peaceful.
  15. I am sorry to intrude here without knowing you, but I just have to add my "Welcome to the world" to your beautiful baby, and especially being you are fellow Pennsylvanians! I know nothing about you and your circumstances, for which I apologise, but I can assure you that your lovely daughter will bring you all the joy in the world. My granddaughter's oatmeal kisses are the only thing that takes my hurt away! All the best to you and the baby, and congratulations!
×
×
  • Create New...