Monthly Archives: October 2009

The comedian

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Nate, the serious lawyer, is morphing into a comedian these days. Unfortunately, his “jokes” are unintentional. Yesterday he asked if there were any male-female couples in our immediate family that he hadn’t yet met. I quizzed him again and again to be sure I’d understood him correctly, but I had. Finally I said, “You’ve met each of them: Nelson, Lars, Linnea, Adam, Klaus, Hans, Katy, Louisa and Birgitta.”

He responded with satisfaction and a nod, “Good. I just wanted to be sure.”

I had to laugh, but at the same time it wasn’t laughable. His comments in the last few days are a bit off, not always, but often. I try not to think about the possibility of his cancer being responsible, but my mind goes back to a conversation I had privately with his doctor two weeks ago. I’d asked him if the cancer could go to Nate’s brain. Instead of giving me a “yes” or “no”, the doctor had said, “It’s in his pancreas, liver, lungs, bones and blood. What do you think?”

We haven’t changed his meds in two weeks. Although I’d like to blame the drugs for his new off-kilter comments, most likely they’re not responsible. We’ve watched Nate lose weight and strength, lose his appetite and energy, and lose the ability to write and read. But watching him lose common sense and prior knowledge is the worst of all.

Nate has always been a walking, talking encyclopedia. We didn’t need Britannica or World Book with him sitting at our dinner table. He’s been exceptional at remembering history’s dates and places, names and faces. Where has all that gone? Is his mental slate gradually being erased?

Yesterday we were expecting a visit from one of the Hospice nurses, and he asked me seven times who was coming and at what time. This is a man who never forgot an appointment and kept his whole life straight with a few Post-it notes and a very sharp brain. It’s not easy to see him become forgetful and confused.

Sometimes he recognizes he’s said something off-the-wall. When that happens, he’ll shake his head, as if to disperse the fog, and say, “I don’t know what I’m talking about.” Hospice tells us he’ll soon cross over a mental line after which he won’t realize when he gets his facts mixed up. This, they say, will be a relief to us and a gift to him. Who knows. He may come up with all kinds of interesting knowledge and counsel we never knew was in him. On the other hand, he could end up saying whatever is on his mind without any social filter, possibly causing offense or embarrassment. These adventures lie ahead of us in the not-to-distant future.

I’ve asked two doctors and several nurses how we should handle this. All have said we ought to “get into the fantasy” with him. Attempting to bring him back to reality will only agitate him further.

Proverbs 12:25 says, “Anxiety in a man’s heart weighs it down, but a good word makes it glad.”

Maybe our “good words” will be those that go along with Nate’s confusion. Such a tactic might decrease his anxiety and even our own about what is causing him to lose mental ground. As always, it does no good to dwell on the losses. Instead we’ll continue to appreciate the Nate we are privileged to have today.

Lately, it’s become difficult for him to work his cell phone, but this afternoon he managed to pull up a voice mail left by a friend. “I should call him back,” he said. “Can you get him on the line for me?”

I dialed the number and put the phone to his ear. He listened quietly, eyes locked with mine in an expression of deep thought. All of a sudden he said, “I just really want to get this over with.”

I was shocked. Was he referencing his battle with cancer? Inviting him to talk further, I said, “Get what over with?”

Screwing up his face like a little boy who’d just sucked on a lemon, he said, “This phone call.” I laughed and took the phone from him, snapping it shut.

“Done,” I said.

“Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting
away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light
and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that
far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen,
but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is
unseen is eternal.” (2 Corinthians 4:16-18)

Edible gifts

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I don’t like to cook. Maybe that’s because I’ve had to do so much of it with a large family. Moms do what they have to do, though, and I’ve been thankful that those at our table have been content with simple “three-pile” meals (meat, starch, veggie).

While growing up, I had no interest in watching Mom prepare meals and was irritated when she asked me to help. The truth is, I don’t think she liked to cook either. She loved having guests and was a champion at the people-part of hostessing but usually forgot the rolls in the oven and often used ingredients well past their expiration dates. I’m sure I picked up on her negative cooking vibe and ever after have viewed meal prep as a never-ending chore.

Being the wife of someone with a rapidly growing cancer has taken my usual chore list, cut it into pieces and thrown those pieces into the wind. Although I can keep medical appointments straight, I fail to pre-heat the oven. I can remember which pills should be given when, but forget the grocery list when I go to the store.

But during the last month, all food-confusion has been replaced with order. Better than that, we are eating like royalty. I haven’t had to cook for four weeks, because relatives, friends and neighbors have been doing it for me. Its spaghetti one night, cranberry chicken the next and bar-b-qued meatballs after that. The kitchen counter looks like a bakery laden with lemon bars, apple crisp, fudge and chocolate chip cookies.

Linnea has spear-headed the cooking, or should I say the re-heating, in our little kitchen, starting each morning with her happy question, “What should we have for dinner tonight?” As she asks, she’s looking into a freezer/refrigerator jam-packed with food made by women in other kitchens. It reminds me of the biblical children of Israel who entered the Promised Land in awe of God’s delightful description:

“The houses will be richly stocked with goods you did not produce. You will draw water from cisterns you did not dig, and you will eat from vineyards and olive trees you did not plant.” (Deuteronomy 6:11)

That perfectly describes our family during these days of fabulous eating! Our kitchen is “richly stocked” with food we “did not produce.” Although it’s humbling to accept edible gifts  in such ongoing volume, this blessing has freed me up to sit with Nate. As I get whiffs of pot roast or honey ham floating from the kitchen, my heart sings, and the words “Dinner’s ready!” are the lyrics to that song.

Nate isn’t eating much these days, but what he does eat is nourishing, home-made goodness, thanks to our food angels. Many of the cooks have told me they’ve packed their food with prayers and longings for God’s supernatural touch on our situation. Their cooking and giving is a marvel to me. And we are literally gobbling up God’s blessings.

“O taste and see that the Lord is good. How blessed is the [person] who takes refuge in him! O fear the Lord, you his saints, for to those who fear him there is no want.” (Psalm 34:8-9)

And to those of you who’ve baked, boiled and brought these consumable gifts, here’s what the Lord thinks of you:

“To do good and share, forget not, for with such sacrifices God is well pleased.” (Hebrews 13:16)

God is well pleased with you, and so are we! THANK YOU!

Being nervous

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What would it feel like to have a doctor say, “There’s nothing more we can do for you. Go home and get your affairs in order.”

Nate wasn’t told those exact words, but getting things in order is what he’s been doing during this last month since he learned he had terminal cancer. Most of us have categories in our lives that we set aside for later, things like redoing an address list or cleaning out old files. We procrastinate at balancing our checkbooks and washing out our refrigerators. If I were to die tomorrow, I’d be mortified to have other people rummaging through my dresser drawers and seeing the disarray there. My things aren’t in order.

Nate has been trying to square off with each procrastinated category in his life. It has been overwhelming, yet he’s done valiantly. One of the most difficult parts about setting his affairs in order has been discovering he couldn’t accomplish it alone. He’s had to humble himself enough to accept the help he’s been offered by those who love him, no easy task. We’d all rather be the helpers than the helped.

As he has acquiesced to the efforts of others, I’ve seen a fresh calm come into his life. Maybe this is what Jesus meant when he said, “Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28) Maybe the rest Jesus meant was the relief that sets in when we let others help us.

Whatever the case, Nate has worked to set his affairs in order and to touch base with those who are important to him. Time is slipping away, and he is well aware of it. Today we drove two hours back to our old church so he could meet with Pastor Colin Smith. Linnea accompanied us, and although no one verbalized it, we all knew it would be Nate’s last visit there. His fatigue is escalating rapidly, and I’d prayed he would be alert and focused during the meeting, able to settle any lingering spiritual questions.

Linnea and I sat on a bench outside the room as they met, praying for clarity and the Holy Spirit’s power to move within both Nate and Pastor Colin. On the drive home, we tried to get him talking about what had gone on during the meeting, but Nate was exhausted and non-communicative. Later, however, during our bedtime conversation, some of his thoughts bubbled to the surface.

“Life has a precarious nature to it, but we don’t realize it on a daily basis. I’m realizing it now, because of the crisis I’m in.”

We talked a little more, and then I asked, “Are you afraid of anything?”

He thought for a minute, fingers-to-fingers as always, and said, “I’m not afraid, really. But I’m nervous.”

“About what?” I asked.

“Well, not about what’s going to happen after I die but before that.”

“You mean the cancer? You’re wondering what the cancer is going to do to you?”

“Yes.”

We talked about the Hospice ladies and their assurance he won’t have to suffer any great pain. He nodded in approval, but didn’t seem convinced. Then he said something that gave a clue to his meeting with Pastor Colin.

“I guess eventually God takes everything away except faith. That’s the one thing that can’t be taken away.”

We looked up the verses about God shaking everything that can be shaken to show us the things that can’t be shaken. (Hebrews 12:26-28) I sensed a type of little-boy nervousness in Nate, completely understandable under the circumstances, and thought it would be good to quote that wonderful promise in Romans 8:28 for unshakable reassurance. “And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are called according to his purpose.”

“That’s you,” I said. “This whole mess is going to work out for good… for you. You’re going to beat me to heaven, and heaven is about as good as it gets. You’re going to be freed of your constant back pain and every bit of this awful cancer while I struggle along probably into my 90’s, becoming a burden to everyone and wondering why I couldn’t get to heaven as fast as you did.”

He smiled and said, “Do you think you could squeeze into this little bed next to me?” (the hospital bed)

It was tantamount to a comedy routine, but it was worth the effort. He was asleep in a few quick moments. Moving my hand across his chest, I could feel the small tumors now erupting randomly on his skin like dime-sized boils. I’m nervous, just like Nate is, and my thought paralleled his: what is this cancer going to do to him before the end?

“I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God’s love. Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, nor powers, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow—not even the powers of hell can separate us from God’s love.” (….and not cancer, either) (Romans 8:38)