We are one

Sharing the following words with you in this forum is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.  As I write these words my heart feels as though it is being pulled from my body and I’m glad I know the keyboard so well because I can’t really see what I’m typing.  Ok, so deep breath, here we go.

This past week as many of you know Wes had been experiencing what I always call extreme fatigue.  It’s an abnormal type of tired and deep down I knew that something was happening.  I would comment to him that I thought he should stay home from work to rest but he would insist that he wanted to be at Janzen’s.  And I believe that.  It wasn’t for any other reason than that he loves working there.  it is a job where he was able to constantly be with people and people he truly enjoyed being with.  After being in a truck by himself for over 30 years this new experience of building relationships was a real blessing for him.  Anyway, yes I’m stalling.

So, Thursday morning comes around and I wake up to a loud noise and run to the bathroom and I realize that Wes must have ‘dropped’ to his knees and little faster than he expected and was throwing up into the toilet.  I ran to get him a warm washcloth and got him cleaned up.  When he stood up I realized very quickly that he was now beyond extreme an fatigue to I’m not sure what to call it.  He walked to his chair in the living room and did not have the energy to move farther than that and our conversation was quickly becoming one or two words at best.  I got him some blankets to make him comfortable on the chair.  That’s also my little test for him.  If he rejects the blankets I know I’m over reacting and he just needs a moment, but if he accepts them I know he’s definitely feeling well.  He has never liked to be babied.  He accepted the blankets without hesitation and promptly fell asleep.  And my heart drops.

Shortly after he woke up from his nap he seemed even more restless and he was constantly rubbing his head which over the past few months he seemed to be doing more and more.  I asked if he had a headache.  No.  Are you feeling dizzy?  No.  What can I do for you?  He shrugs his shoulders.  Ok, I figured out that I needed to ask questions that he only needed to respond to with one word.  Do you want me to take you to the hospital? No.  Can you tell me what you’re feeling?  Shoulder shrug.  His mouth opens and closes, but nothing.  He shrugs his shoulders again as if that communicates to me what he’s thinking and slowly he turns his head and looks at me and again I know that’s my cue to maybe try to guess, to give him my words to describe what he’s feeling.  Ok so I already tried dizzy and pain.  Fuzzy?  Shake of a head. Nauseous?  Another shake of his head. Off?  Silence and then a slow nod and finally two words, “yeah, off”.  Ok, so again I say I should take you to the hospital?  “No.  Wait”  I understand.  If I take him to the hospital he is no longer in control.  I get it.  So, I rather help him get more comfortable in the chair and after he instantly falls asleep again I write an entry into my blog.  Fear causes my fingers to fly.  I know the atmosphere is changing.

He wakes up and all communication has stopped.  It’s nearly noon.  I ask if he’s hungry.  He nods.  I give him options, he motions as if he’s going to speak but doesn’t.  it’s like forming that one word has now become too difficult.  I mention again that I need to get him to hospital.  A slower head shake.  He’s a grown man so unless I can carry him to the vehicle he’s not going anywhere.  I begin to make some soup.  I did not have any chicken except a big Costco package in the freezer and I pray a quick prayer as I take a second look into the freezer.  Please Lord, I don’t want to wrestle with a whole pack, I just need two small pieces of chicken.  I open the door for the third time and look.  There sits a small pack of chicken breasts on the top shelf in plain view.  Thank you Father!  Yes, I talk to God about everything!

I quickly make soup as he falls into a deep sleep again.  When he wakes up I have a bowl waiting for him on the table.  He comes and sits down.  He always prays with me at every meal.  So we bow our heads and I wait.  Nothing.  I look up and I watch as he struggles to say something, anything.  I reach across and touch his hand, he looks up and I make a joke.  Inappropriate you might think?  Not really, that’s always  our 'go to' stress reliever.

“I know I’m not the world’s greatest cook, so you might want to ask God to bless it to keep you safe!”

He smiles and nods.  He closes his eyes and bows his head again.  I follow suit.  Silence.

I look up and he has tears in his eyes.

I reassure him, “It’s ok, if it’s too much to pray don’t worry about it”

He nods and reaches for his spoon, but did not have the strength to pick it up.  He looks up at me as his hand drops to his lap and the look he gives me is the one that rips the love right out of my heart and flies to him.  He needs my help.  I can see the 911 distress signal in his eyes.  And I drop my spoon.

“Wes?!?”

And the first seizure strikes.  I run for the bedroom to get the Lorazepam.  I quickly grab a tiny pill and work hard to get it into his clenched mouth.  I run for the phone and dial 911.  I confirm where I’m calling from and I can see the pill doing its thing.  The seizure is subsiding but the episode is far from over.  I confirm where I’m calling from, go through the checklist of what I need to have ready for the paramedics when they arrive and after telling the operator that I’m comfortable without her I hang up.  And promptly walk over to Wes who has not taken his eyes off of me and say, “I’m sorry baby!  You know I had to call right?”

He smiles a tiny smile and slowly nods.  Time to get dressed and wait for the ambulance.  He tries to put on two shirts.  I politely take one back.  He’s a bit confused.  It’s alright I assure him.  It’s all going to be alright.  He gets a pair of socks and walks to the door of the bedroom and turns around and looks at the room, then he steps out into the hallway and looks into the office and then the bathroom.  He’s looking at, I’m not sure what, was he thinking this would be his last walk through his own home?  What is going through his mind?  I give him his space.  He walks to the living room and sits to put on his socks and then faces the window to watch for the ambulance to come.  He’s accepted his fate.  I didn’t think my heart could break anymore.  It shatters and falls to the floor.

The ambulance arrives and they are outside getting all their gear and he gets up and I’m standing on the top step putting his medical card on the ledge so it’s handy for them and instead of taking a step he nearly walks off the top of the stairs.  I quickly pushed at him from the front before his foot landed into thin air and hold him back with all my might.

“No! Baby, you need you take a step!”  He pushes back a bit and I’m thankful he’s so weak because I’m able to shift my body up and behind him to hold him back.  

“You need to take a step baby!  The steps!  Hon, they are right here!”  He looks down and I see some spark of understanding.  He quietly nods and carefully puts down his foot and I don’t break my hold on him as he makes his way down the stairs.  

Now at this point in the story you might be wondering why didn’t she just convince him to wait at the top of the stairs for the paramedics?  Well, it’s simple.  He needed his dignity and I was going to give him that.  He had already lost all control because of that seizure and I was determined to give him the privilege of walking to meet the paramedics on his own steam.  

They come in and are compassionate and caring.  They get him to sit down in the corner on a chair in the entrance and begin their litany of questions.  No response.  He looks up at me and I see the tears coming to his eyes. 

“It’s ok Wes.  I’m right here!”

The tears begin to roll down his cheeks and he promptly goes into his second seizure.  She helps him through it with so much compassion and I am thankful for the caring paramedics we have.

They pack him up, it’s ice cold and crazy windy out there so they’ve bundled him up like a little baby.  Covering his head to make sure he’s completely protected.  All I see are his eyes and all I see is love.  Dear God I love that man!

I arrive at the ER desk and I see our paramedic filling out paperwork and she sees me.  She promptly hugs me and I break down.  She quietly whispers in my ear, “There’s someone behind you!”

I turn and there stands James Johnston from our church, he’s holding his brand new daughter in her carrier in one hand and reaches out to give me a warm hug with the other.  Not a lot of words, just a huge hug and a smile to encourage.  One of the reasons I love our church.  We’ve got a lot of loving, caring people!  

Well, to make a long story a bit shorter they do some tests and find out that the tumor has been bleeding which would explain why he was so ‘off’ all week.  They need to get him to Winnipeg, so they pack him up again and off they go.

Mark had been at the hospital with me again right from the start and there’s nothing better for a broken heart than your son being there to support and hug you through one of life’s storms.

Nicolas had called earlier to say that he was on his way to Winkler to see dad.  So, I quickly call him to say that they are now taking dad to Winnipeg, he laughs and says he’ll be at our house shortly and that he would wait for me.

I know I need to run home to get ready but I also know the truck is nearly empty on fuel.  I run to the church to get a few things done and then off the fill up the truck.  My phone rings.  It’s Nic and he says “Mom, you left a pot of soup cooking on the stove and the house really stinks!”

Oh crap!  How long were we gone?  Probably about 3 and a half hours, long enough to run burn a pot and smell up the house.  Great!  I run home and Nic has already got all the windows open, the pot is out of the house so I figured he had it under control.  I walk into the bedroom and he’s already pulled out my suitcase all I need to do is throw in a few clothes.  I’ve got good kids!

He assures me he’ll take care of the house and I should just go.

He calls me later to say that he had cleaned up the kitchen so that I had no spoiled food to deal with when we would come home and he had finished up the laundry I had started that morning.  Did I mention I have good kids?

I make it to the city a bit later than I would have liked but I make it despite the wind trying to blow me all over the road.

The waiting in the ER begins.  Thankfully Wes has stabilized and he’s been able to talk more.  But for anyone that has ever tried to rest in the ER, it’s not possible and HSC is crazy busy!  Lights are full on 24 hours, security is everywhere, people are everywhere and stretchers come and go so fast and people are in and out like a drive thru restaurant it's fascinating to watch.  Great nurses and doctors at every turn.  They have their hands full but they are working hard to get things done!

Finally at around 2 a.m. I get confirmation that the MRI will only happen the next morning.  Wes is worried that I need to get some sleep and though I’ve asked a few times he won’t share his stretcher - lol.  Not that it looked like a super comfortable option for him either with his feet hanging way over the edge.  We finally found a pillow for him, apparently the one nurse told me pillows are like gold in the ER but she would hunt one down and she did.  I got them to remove the backboard underneath his blanket so he was a little more comfortable, tucked him in and then Wes suggested that I go to the hotel in the hospital and get a room to get some rest.  Which I did.

The MRI happened the following morning and then we waited and waited.  About the middle of the afternoon the surgeon walked into our little area and I could tell by the look on his face it wasn’t good.  He slowly closed the curtain, oh boy, this really wasn't good.  He kindly explained that surgery was not an option at this point.  They would do more damage by going in than by leaving things as they were.  He said that at least now Wes was speaking again and if they did surgery that would probably disappear.  Though Wes’ thinking wasn’t completely clear it was much better than it was but if they would do surgery that too would be badly compromised.  And then he took a deep breath and said, “I sat and stared at his scans for over half an hour to see what was going on and yes, the tumor had been bleeding, but  I’m also sorry to tell you that we have found a second tumor, directly beneath the first.  I feel my control slipping; my world is sliding off its axis.

And, he takes another breath to continue.  There’s more?  Really?  The tumor is below where the old tumor was from 9 years ago and it is stretching, essentially growing across his brain.  And I weep.  Yup, the full on ugly cry.  He waits and offers tissue.

He tries to extend comfort in a situation that has no comfort zone.  That danger zone I was talking about in my previous blog entry?  Well, it turns out we made a detour out of that danger zone and straight into a war zone and we had no weapons to fight this war.  

There is nothing more we can do.

Nothing?

Nothing.

They will offer IV chemo, but, we have no clear understanding of what that may or may not do.  But we do know one thing.  It will not cure what’s going on in his head.

So, for the past coupe of days we have waited for oncology from the brain tumor clinic to make contact and we have conversations and we hold hands.  We tell each other how much we love each other.  We reminisce, we laugh, we cry, we sit in silence.

He’s such a good man and I’m not ready to let go.

God could cure him and we won’t stop asking but I always need to remind myself and others, he gave us 9 years that we were told we would never have.  That was a gift wrapped in God’s love.  We didn’t squander those 9 years, we treasured them, we travelled, we got a beautiful daughter-in-law and we have four gorgeous grandbabies, we made lots of memories with each other and with our kids whether it was at home in the backyard or camping or going to a hotel for a long weekend, we partied like it was 1999.  We knew there was always this possibility in the back of our minds.  We were never in denial about the future.  But, you always hope for more.  And God’s ok with us asking for more.  I will be like that persistent widow in the book of Luke that wouldn’t leave the judge alone.  I will continue to bombard Heaven’s gates with prayers.  But, I will also not misuse this time with my husband buried in grief and sorrow.  When I am alone in my hotel room I call out my pain, I cry out my sorrow, I weep until I think there’s nothing left and then I weep some more.  But, when we’re together I don’t waste our time with unhappiness.  We hold hands, we walk, we hold each other and we will love through whatever this piece of our lives looks like.

He’s the best man I’ve ever known – no lie.  He loves God with a quiet gentle spirit.  He’s kind, caring, and compassionate to everyone he meets.  He loves his family beyond our understanding.

He’s my husband

My lover

My best friend

Yesterday morning we were sitting on his bed, side by side and I looked down at our hands and I couldn’t see where one of us started and the other one ended.  I quickly put my phone on mute and took a few pics while he was looking the other way.  I wanted to remember this moment, this picture that was worth way more than a thousand words because when all is said and done this picture will be the best representation of the greatest weapon we have in our arsenal for this war.

Our love

And no one can take that away

We are one

Just like God said we would be

“Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as elaborate hairstyles and the wearing of gold jewelry or fine clothes. Rather, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God’s sight.”  1 Peter 3:3-4