Diary from a Cancer Ward: Just a Mother

Pat’s Journal

 6/21/85 continued

          I’m so alone. Cut off. The world continues to spin on course outside of my daughter’s window. I can see it, but cannot reach it. A glass jar has dropped down to contain us. We can see out, but we cannot get out.

          The air inside grows thin. I have to find a way out soon, or we will die.  

  From the woods behind our house

          It is now late into the night and everyone else is sound asleep. I have been sitting on Heidi’s bed since the latter part of the evening – and praying. Only the rows of stuffed animals that line the walls and cover the bed almost burying the sleeping child, keep me company. The wind blows through the window, gently moving the Holly-Hobbie curtains. Light from the street lamp filters in and softly illuminates the lavender walls.

          Heidi has not once stirred, nor asked why I am here. Her swollen face sinks heavily into the pillow and she does not move with the normal movements of a sleeping child. Instead, she lay there stone-like. Coma-like.

          I pray with every ounce of strength and longing that I can pull up. I reach further and further down until I can reach no farther, for that is all I can do. I am not a doctor. I am not a surgeon.

          I am only a mother.

          So, I pray…

…for what else is left for me to do?

The Last Survivor Is Gone

January 14, 2011

Chica died today.

Seven years to the day after Heidi died; I found her tiny parrot dead on the floor of the cage, back in the one place she never seemed to go.

Seven years. Exactly. Too strange to be coincidence.

Like with Heidi, I thought somehow we could help Chica become healthy again. For thirteen years, we never had a problem with Chica other than one time nicking a new feather and freaking out over the blood that seemed to pour out. The vet’s cure? Pull the feather out. Oh, and one time she got caught in a toy. Thankfully, I was home or she might have thrashed herself to death out of terror. She started feather picking because of that stress, but a full spectrum light and a cage so jammed with toys she could barely move seemed to help her out of that.

 We never saw her sick even for a day. She hung on the sides of her cage and bounced up and down looking for head “scritches” and shredding her tail feathers in the process. Her gentle disposition allowed me to “share” her with the children that came through our home. Expectancy and uncertainty fought in their eyes as they stretched out a finger trying not to snatch it back. I loved watching those eyes widen with delight as the colorful bird stepped up onto their hands, and turned her head sideways to look at them.

Heidi took great joy in her pets. They comforted her when human friends were often few. Becoming severely handicapped in childhood tends to chase away most of one’s peers. Differences can seems frightening for children and teens. But animals don’t care about those. If you love them and tend them, they love you back. Thankfully, most of the pets Heidi had in the last several years, survived, all except for the first parakeet, Mango. He died a couple of months before Heidi.

She tried to cultivate and accepting attitude towards his death, but she took it hard. A sense of foreboding came over me about Heidi when he died, and I wondered if she thought the same.

Then a few weeks after Heidi died, two of her three remaining little friends followed.

Tamiel, her eighteen-year-old chinchilla went home with our niece, Chrissy. But he wasn’t well. I suspect he had been sick for a good two years. He exhibited signs that I now know indicate a fatal GI disorder in chinchillas. At the time, Heidi’s illness overwhelmed us and slight behavioral changes in a pet barely registered. We did not know that like birds, chinchillas tend to hide their illness. Three weeks and many vet visits after Chrissy took him home, Tamiel died in her arms. I really think the Lord may have kept Tamiel alive just for Heidi.

Three weeks after Tamiel’s death, the second parakeet, Battie, died. That left Heidi’s much loved green-cheeked conure, Chica. Like Heidi, Chica loved everyone. For years, having her chirp and bounce in our house was like having just a little bit of Heidi still here.

Then as summer turned to fall, Mike noticed Chica fluffed up and shivering. But that passed. Although I did not know enough about birds to get her to a vet, I felt alarmed, yet suspected the same overactive imagination that warned me Heidi was sicker than I thought was back at it again. Unfortunately, once again, it was right. But I doubt we could have saved Chica. Like Heidi.

For weeks, through holidays, trips home for my youngest brother’s wedding and Christmas, we nursed Chica. Back and forth to the vet’s, and the bills mounted. We shook and measured and syringed medicine down her tiny throat. We cooked up mash and painstakingly hand fed her when she was too weak to eat. I found she liked pancakes. So three times a day I cooked a mini pancake for her. We sliced apples thin and bought blueberry muffins. Anything to get her to eat. And we carried her around the house, tucked under the edge of a sweatshirt or held her in our hands under the warmth of a light.

It seemed like she was getting stronger.

The last night, she did not want to go to bed. Mike held her forever that night. I took her out again at around 1 AM and carried her. When I put her back, she climbed right to the top of the cage and bounced up and down, her head feathered all ruffled up forward towards me. “Chica,” I laughed. “Silly bird. It’s late. Go to bed.”

I left a night light on for her. Covered up poor Reepicheep so he could get some sleep, and went to bed. Mike said she was asleep in her hut when he got up.

When I checked on her, I couldn’t find her, and panicked. Not in her hut. Not on a perch. Could she be jammed in something?

Then back, in the far left corner of the cage, a place she never went, I saw a small bundle of feathers. I reached in and lifted her out, the tears for Heidi I had tried to hold back flooding out. Seven years, to the day, almost to the hour…

Rewrite of Jagged Edges Prologue

Jagged Edges:

 Patricia Hammell Kashtock

Prologue

Jagged edges of the building, black glass and steel, push into the courtyard below. The sun, glinting off their angles, no longer seems to mock; but neither does it comfort. A woman stands contained within one of its edges, alone. Her sea-green eyes hold a hint of distant summers when watery ripples bubbled over her feet, sinking them into the warm sand.

Those days slip away from her memory and disappear. An angry ocean blots them out. The waves rise higher and higher. Then crash down.

Crushing, destroying, then calmly receding, the water drags all she once held dear off into its depths.

She stares over the edge. Crystalline images begin to dance on the speckled grass in the courtyard below her. Ponies jump and play dodge with barefoot children while puppies frisk between sun-kissed legs.

Her daughter turns a cartwheel among giant-sized daisies – then looks up. With eyes crackling and hair flying, she waves two-handed to her mother who stands at the window. Head thrown back, she laughs and spins with all the unbounded exuberance of seven going on eight. Suddenly she stops and leaps sideways to tag another scampering child.

Then, like soap bubbles bursting on the sidewalk, the children splinter off into nothingness.     

Slowly the images shift.

A different child dances there – the child of summers long gone. She speeds through complex steps, never faltering, never stumbling. Light sparks outward from the same-green eyes and gives strength to her steps. That joy will die too soon.

But for the moment, love enfolds the child’s dreams. The earth, moon, and stars are her tender playmates while two strong arms keep all her fears at bay.

Then suddenly, those arms are yanked away as a cannibalistic mass devours her mother’s brain.

Puppies and ponies and bare feet on the grass vanish in the cold wind.

The mother closes her eyes. Her shoulders slump as if they had lost the will to stand. For a moment, she rests her forehead in her hand; elbow supported by the other arm braced across her stomach. She tightens her mouth trying to resist those things that seem all too well known… and waits in the darkness that sometimes seems better than sight.

But the darkness cannot hold us. Slowly my eyelids open. Standing up straight, I turn my head back towards the child cocooned within the white sheets, no longer able to turn cartwheels on the lawn below. I stare. Lifelines intrude into my daughter and emerge out again. And I think:

 It wasn’t all so long ago…



Out of the Ashes - June 05, 2010

Families move on. Much like time, even great loss cannot force them to stand still. Often the wake from the loss surges forward and carries them to paces they do not want to go. Perhaps less frequently, it merely becomes a challenge one needs to tame.

But at no time, does it ever just go away.

Sometimes I wish it would. Then guilt pushes up through the choppy surface. And stares.

Yet to avoid celebrating new milestones in the wake of grief is to refuse the gifts from the Creator’s hand. While I am grateful that our initial heartbreak is a few years passed, I cringe thinking of a friend’ whose celebration comes while throes of unknowing grip her family.

Two families. Two weddings on the same day. One family where the loss of a child creates a persistent drone in the under currents. The other family living the nightmare of a son they cannot find.

We have moved on in a sort of a way, although often I feel tethered to something submerged just enough I cannot see its form. But I feel its weight as we drag it behind.

For the other family, at this point there is no place to move to because they do not yet know what they will move from – or whether they will have to move at all. Hope gives strength. But it can also be the knife that keeps the wound raw. Then again, when finality has torched one’s dreams, the acrid taste of the ashes left behind never quite goes away.

As I look and listen to our daughter-in-law to be, feelings of pride and tenderness fill my heart. Yet sorrow also resides there.

Mike will never walk his daughter down the aisle and place her hand into the hand of the young man God has chosen for her, knowing their Creator will watch over their life together. I will never joyously plan alongside of my daughter for that transitioning day when she steps into her new life.

We will never know the assurance of frequent time together a married daughter commonly retains. It seems that sons leave more firmly than daughters do.

And so I look forward with a mixture of pride and joy, and a sense of loss.

Horse Dreams

A song written and sung by a family friend, Jean Watson. Jean volunteers at True Vine, a stable dedicated to matching up rescued horses with special needs children. Jean says the bond that an incredible bond  forms between horse and child.

In her own words:

 I finally posted the "Horse Dreams" video made last summer at True Vine Equestrian Center. The song is a conversation between a 'special needs' child and a horse. I wrote it in memory of Jesse Branch who lost her leg to cancer but still found freedom on the back of a horse and eventually in the arms of her Savior. May we all come to realize that we were never meant to walk (or ride!) this life on our own!  

You can hear more of Jean's music at her website: http://www.jeanwatson.com/

Christmas 2009 – Bound Together by Floods of Snow

A warm glow of light hovered about two-thirds of the way up the walls of the sixth floor of Sibley Memorial Hospital. Carpet and acoustic ceiling hushed the ordinary sounds of waiting. A volunteer sat at the desk. He never called out a name. If he needed to talk to one of us, he shooshed over on quiet feet, his voice an undertone of ocean surf.

Sometimes things evolve differently than planned. This Christmas season promised rich celebration. Galen and Lacey were to spend Christmas with her family so they could visit extended family before Lacey’s parents had to move to Tennessee. So the two of them arranged flights to NYC in order spend the following week with our family in NJ. A whole week, through the New Year’s. Justin and Hillary were even going to be able to make it up for part of the time. This would probably be the last year Galen and Lacey could spend so long with each set of families. Lacey finishes grad school at the end of this school year, and Galen likely by the end of the next calendar year. Real-world jobs with short vacations comprise their next steps.

This time of year, if I think too closely, I sense the void left by Heidi’s loss. The joy found with our families softens the jagged edges inside this space. So I really looked forward to this Christmas week spent in that warm embrace. Then Mike’s pain from his neck became unbearable, and surgery became necessary. Mike would not be able to travel. Galen tried, but could not change the flights. Suddenly we faced the Christmas season largely alone.

Mary and Joseph also faced that first Christmas alone. Only, they did not know it was Christmas. Still, they had to journey far from their families and the support for the birthing those families offered. Had to be tough to be away from your Mom and your village when you are about to give birth to your first child. Nothing was familiar. No one, known. Certainly, the accommodations lacked polish. Not sure what I think of a donkey as a birth attendant.

I imagine Mary was a far better sport about it than I was. Though maybe she too cried some tears of loneliness.

But in the end, Mary and Joseph were not alone, and neither were we. After trying to find a solution, Galen and Lacey decided to come up a couple of days after Mike’s surgery. Those plans took an emergency turn as a blizzard swooped up the coast. Leaving things undone, they raced to outrun the storm as I ran back to the hospital to get Mike. And so we had part of Christmas a bit early instead of a bit late. And a very white Christmas at that. I enjoyed digging out the snow. Galen’s strong arms made short work of it, digging more than twice what I could in half the time.

I am grateful that Justin and Hillary live nearby. Love and warmth radiate from them and they bring us joy. They shared Christmas night with us, and we all curled up in the living room, kept warm from the cold and frozen ground outside.

Come June, all thoughts of snow will be gone as we travel to South Carolina for Galen and Lacey’s wedding. Both sets of parents married on June 19, 1976, so Galen and Lacey picked June 19, 2010 to wed. Justin and our nephew David will head down to cook for the rehearsal dinner. I’m sad the Caines family will have to move after that. SC doesn’t seem so far.

Life just does not care to cooperate with our plans.

Like those shepherds. There they were, minding their own business. Settled in for the night. Maybe having a drink or two. Or three. Suddenly the sky erupts with gigantic beings of light. And the course of those shepherds changed forever amid their wails of terror.

“Fear not!” The sky-quake boomed. The shepherds feared, anyway. “I bring you good news.”

Hmm? Maybe it is safe to look up, they thought. Like children, they peaked between their fingers to see a swarm of angels fill the heavens. “Follow the star. There you will find Him.”

Gripped with something between dread and awe, the shepherds stumbled into Bethlehem, probably annoying the villagers as they went. That was how Mary and Joseph came not to be alone that first Christmas night. Suddenly, a celebration swarmed into the birthing room. And they had a party. Which is as it should be, of course. It seems the Lord loves a good party. Some of us Marthas get that wrong. So we fear.

But if we determine to follow Him, we need not fear. The Lord says:

Don’t be afraid, for I will help you. I am the Lord, your Redeemer. I have chosen you and will not throw you away. I have called you back from the ends of the earth. Do not be afraid for I am your God. I will strengthen you. I will help you. I will hold you up with My victorious right hand. I am holding you by your right hand – I, the Lord your God. And I say to you, “Do not be afraid. I am here to help you.”

And I believe He would continue to say

-- Do not grow weary, although you are weary.

Do not lose heart, for I am with you.

Do not be afraid, for I will hold you up when your knees buckle, when you falter. I will see this through to the end. I just need your cooperation.

You need to determine to trust Me.

Don’t give up. Keep trusting Me. Follow My lead. I am leading you. I will lead you and I will not lead you astray if you look to Me above all others.

Nothing is too big for Me. Be not afraid. –

The shepherds and the Magi followed that bright star.  Like them, we can resolve to follow Him. And He will lead us by still waters - if we look to Him. Even if at times to reach that place of refreshment, He must lead us through the valley dark as the shadow of death, He has promised to never leave us or forsake us. And His name is called Faithful and True.

May you find Him fully in this year to come, and know the blessing of love He has for you.

All our love,

            Patty and Michael

Please Pray for Mike's Surgery Dec 17, 7:30 AM

Many things happen when one cares for a grown child who becomes increasingly incapacitated. You feel trapped in a never waking nightmare with each new downturn. You grieve each new loss, your child's pain, the loss of the future that should have been. The one you planned without realizing it when you looked into that child's perfect newborn face.

I suppose those are the things an astute person might realize would happen.

But there are somethings no one preps you for. Like the destruction of bits of your body from caring for someone who weighs the majority of what you do. Towards the end, I had trouble keeping Heidi upright. Sometimes, when I walked her by holding her arm and the gait belt that encircled her waist, her foot would suddenly turn under. She then pitched forward with incredible force. It took all my strength to keep her face from hitting the floor. And it seemed like it pulled my arm out of its socket. Pain shot through my lower back, as if I had been rear ended. And I was terrified I might drop her. 

It got so bad, Mike took over the physical care when he was home.

And ended up with both rotator cuffs torn.

I'm sure they were already in a fragile state, but the wear and yanking finished them off.

Tomorrow at 0-dark-early, he will have a disk in his neck replaced. I have to wonder if all the yanking played a part in this, too. But I don't know.

I do know I am grateful this surgery has been postponed until this month. Just a few months ago, he likely would have had to have his neck fused. For him, I suspect that would bring accelerated degeneration of the adjacent disks.

But disk replacement surgery has recently moved out of the investigational stage and into something covered by insurance. Thank You, Lord!

Please pray for the surgeon and Mike's good recovery.

Blessings,

Pat

The Two Trees: Dogwood and Christmas

The limbs of the dogwood tree meander gracefully outside our kitchen window. In the spring, flowers festoon its branches in clusters like puffs of pink snow. Heidi loved that tree.

And she loved the birds that sang from those branches. Her Nana gave her a birdfeeder one birthday. I hung it under the porch roof, right outside the kitchen’s window. Season after season, Heidi watched the birds in the dogwood tree as they waited their turn at the feeder.

One Sunday morning in January, as she sat confined to the wheelchair necessitated by a stroke, she said, “Mom – look! Look at the pretty bird!”

I glanced at the pile of equipment that overflowed the foyer, waiting to be loaded for the morning service. But a still, small voice said, “Sit. Have breakfast with your daughter.”

So I put the chore off and sat with her a few moments.

Church was glorious that morning. I could sense God’s presence permeating the worship in a sweet way that often eludes the one serving as the worship leader due to the nature of the work. But that morning, His nearness almost overwhelmed me, yet somehow I managed to keep leading and not turn into a voiceless puddle. The afterglow stayed with me the whole day.

After lunch, I asked Heidi if she wanted to take a nap or help me takedown the Christmas tree. Twelfth Night had passed, and now for our family Christmas was over. Normally Heidi would jump at the chance to help with the tree. Long-term radiation damage had become increasingly compromised her ability to do much with the ornaments. Still, she found a way to cradle one between her paralyzed left hand and her body, and use the functioning right hand to deal with the hook. Her chatter made for good company, and we both looked forward to these times together.

So I asked her, fully expecting her to opt for the tree. But she looked at me a long moment. Time seemed to suspend. Then she said, “Mom? I’m tired, now. I would like to go to sleep.”

Those were the last words I ever heard her speak…

The Happy Cardinal

I put off dealing with stonecutters. I just could not find what I wanted. I knew what I wanted: a

 cardinal, some dogwood blossoms and a cross, but I could not find a pattern that included those and I liked.

Especially for the cardinal. All the cardinals any of the stonecutters had to offer were either grim or prim. Not Heidi type cardinals at all. Even in the worst of times, she was never grim. And the only time you would get prim from her is if you crossed her sense of morality in just the wrong way. Then she would drag her head up and away from you with a, “Hmmmff…” and sashay off.

And stiff. All those cardinals were so stiff. I wanted a happy cardinal. One filled with joy because he had finally landed home.

So, in fits and starts, I drew one.

If you look closely, you will see he is smiling.

The stonecutter was excited when I handed him my home-drawn bird. He loved its joy and the movement, and said, “I can tell you what. I will certainly be using this again!”

I felt a little disheartened as I had drawn it for Heidi and liked the idea it would be unique, but also took joy in knowing my attempt would bring comfort to other families.

Dusty Pictures: Heidi Elizabeth Kashtock

Dusty Pictures

verse 1:

I dusted your picture today

and I remember

when life was full of promise

and the dreams we had

were something yet to be known

I look at you, your picture

with eyes of brown

a heart of gold and I remember,

I remember…

Chorus:

Oh, where did the time go

the child go

when did she leave?

I want to know

what happened

how did it happen

is it real?

Verse 2:

I reach out to hold you but all

I hold is a picture

your picture with the smile

that always warmed my heart

Must it be that I will never

see your eyes again sparkle

the way that they sparkled

in the sunlight? and I remember,

I remember…

Chorus:

Oh, where did the time go

the child go

when did she leave?

I want to know

what happened

how did it happen

is it real?

Bridge:

And I’m left here

askin’ all the questions

never hearing the answers

never hearing your laughter…

only the falling of dust

onto the rug

Chorus:

Oh, why did she go

must it be so

I will never…

I’ll never know

what happened

how it happened…

what might have been…

Patricia Hammell Kashtock