I will forever have a photo in my mind of Leroy in the chemo room. It rotates with the still frame of him on a gurney, waiting to be rolled into the O-R. I can see him on the radiation bed with that gigantic machine hovering over him. I see him in phlebotomy getting blood drawn and I see him stopped in the hallway at Hopkins by a young couple, who just want to say “thank you” to him for writing his “MY Cancer” blog. These images, and they are in the hundreds, maybe thousands, float through my mind at various times of the day and night. They are a part of me now, just like breathing in and breathing out.
When you’re the care-giver, that’s what you do, you record images of a changed life.
These images are so specific. I see his eyes under the control of the chemo drugs. I see his fist clenched so the blood draw goes smoothly. I see the fatigue in his body as the radiation zaps his strength. The strongest guy in the room, who held up his 6-foot 5-inch frame effortlessly, had met his match.
And yet, I was just the care-giver. He went through this ordeal with fearlessness and determination.
These images will always be a testament to that courage.
April 18, 2012 @ 3:58 pm
I was listening while driving to a radio interview about “unsung heroes” and the interviewee was asked his definition of “hero”, a word so often mis-used. He had two definitions, he said; one describes the stereotypical person who commits a spontaneous act of bravery, while the other defines the person who endures. In this context, that word “endure” has, of course, more than one meaning. It strikes me that it is a fine descriptor of caregivers: those who, unheralded, seeking nothing in return, running on too little sleep, are ever giving, endure for the sake of their loved one(s). No caregiver is ever “just” a caregiver; in them love and hope endure.
April 18, 2012 @ 1:24 pm
All of you have me in tears… Al, so beautifully, loving, and truly written! You expressed how I feel as a patient better than I ever could. Laurie and Kathie, you remind us how much we are loved by our caregivers. I am still here because of my caregiver almost more than because of my doctors. I remind him of that often. Sasha, you continue to “blow me away”! I am deeply honored that you feel comfortable sharing your memories with us, as there was a time when it was awfully difficult for you to do so. Thank you!
April 18, 2012 @ 6:39 am
When I think of John, which is all the time, I try to focus on the “Well” John not the John with Cancer. However, the memories are all too vivid. For me the worse memory was the day he died. He closed his eyes around twelve noon and never opened them again. He died at eleven fifteen that Sunday Night. He spent his last week on a recliner in a semi-upright position because the tumors had invaded his lungs and he could not breath. You were able to hear him gurgling from the next room. He actually sounded like he was drowning. I remember him being bent over to one side because the cancer had destroyed his rib cage. I can remember the look on my children’s faces that day. We sent the nurse home that morning because we knew we would not be needing her anymore. Yes………..some memories are all too vivid and painful. This is my worst memory. Sometimes when I get in bed at night, I relive that entire day………..very painful. I’m glad I’m able to share this here…………….still lifting
April 17, 2012 @ 7:54 pm
Laurie you paint such a vivid picture of Leroy so I can imagine how vivid the memories are in your mind. I have the same slide show that plays over and over and I’m scared to death that one day I won’t have it. I know it’s a really personal moment but I don’t think I will ever forget the moment Jim opened his eyes and looked at me before he passed away. I know I can share this here and you all will understand how it haunts me and comforts me at the same time.
Al..you are the kindest man and write such lovely thoughts.
April 17, 2012 @ 7:05 pm
Trust me when I say that there was no less courage shown by the efforts of you and all of the caregivers to make the journey of your loved ones as easy as could be. Courage can be a quiet thing…..just being there emotionally, physically and spiritually but it is no less courageous. Sometimes it requires you to place your feelings secondary only to never have the opportunity to express them because of another crisis. A quiet warrior who will do anything and go to extremes to help your loved one make it through a night or perhaps a day in the chemo room. The images that you see and remember now as if they are real now have been paid for by your devotion, care and love. Wear them, remember them and cherish them for you have earned them, every one of them. They are precious memories even though they bring back very difficult times. Sometimes in war movies the soldier is asked “How do you think you’ll respond in the heat of battle?” There is often an answer that is a wish and hope but never knowing for sure. You , Laurie, and all of the other caregivers know the answer. Each of you responded as best you could to the circumstances and the battle your loved on was fighting. It was your fight as well. Courage comes in all forms but it is easily recognizable when you see it. Each of your loved ones, now gone, saw it, cherished it and gave thanks that you all were by their sides in this fight. They would not have chosen otherwise.
I know of what I speak because I live with such a person today and have been blessed to have her by my side through the darkness and the light. I salute all caregivers everywhere….angels who walk among us!!!!!