That’s what the weekend was for Pat…and Brad, her husband.
A pit stop.
An evening with my husband and me was just one of many pit stops along the race car track that is now Pat, and Brad’s, life. On their way to The Mayo Clinic in Minnesota, they paid us a brief visit…to recharge and refuel…for the road ahead. It’s sure to have many challenges, both known and unknown.
As we made our way to where we would meet Pat and Brad in the baggage claim area at SeaTac Airport, I hurriedly scrambled for a piece of cardboard I’d stashed in my purse. It was the backing for a Mother’s Day card my husband had bought for his sister. While walking along, I managed to write their last name on the cardboard with a pen. Thank goodness there were only 4 letters. I filled them in with squiggly lines trying to make the name more visible. Beneath it I drew short, squat arrows, filling them in as well.
I kept a lookout for them at the top of the escalator. Hubby meanwhile wandered off to check on something. Spying Pat and Brad at the foot of the escalator I quickly called for my husband to “Hurry up! They’re here!” Holding the sign above our heads, we pretended to be their limousine service come to pick them up.
Walking towards one another we all laughed at my crazy antic. There were warm hugs all around as we exchanged our hellos. Moving toward the luggage carousel, the guys ahead of us, I motioned for Pat to join me in sitting down on nearby chairs. I did so because she seemed on the verge of tears.
Pat revealed she’d been frustrated and angry the last couple of weeks. As she said later when we again had a few moments to ourselves…Pat realizes “I am fighting for my life!” And she is. The prognosis for multiple myeloma is 7 years. I was reminded of that in a recent TV piece about Tom Brokaw, a former news anchor. He too is battling MM.
Something else Pat said which resonated with me. After spending time with family and friends, she said “They get to go back to their own lives. I’ll never go back to my life as it had been.”
It’s true. Pat’s new life is still unfolding.
The most important people in my sister-in-law’s life now are the doctors and other health care providers who are working to save her life. They are her lifeline. Literally.
Unlike my husband, I am a fatalist. Beneath my positive veneer lies an acceptance that life is finite. I can only credit it to being raised by a single parent, a mom whose love seemed conditioned on how she was feeling. If things were fine with her, she was fine with me. If not, her love could be taken away. Nonetheless, she was all I had so I made the best of it. A survival mechanism that has served me well. As well as can be, despite some obvious drawbacks…like trust issues.
In a text message sent off to Pat this morning, I wrote…
Thinking of you. And you’re wrong. I haven’t been able to go back to my life. Physically, yes. Mentally…you’re always…and I mean always in my thoughts. Keep wondering what you’re doing…how you’re feeling…what you’re thinking. Same way I was with my daughter. If I lived in Hawaii, I’d probably make a nuisance of myself. Hope you can come and spend a few days before you go back to Minnesota for the transplant. Let me know how it’s going…
Earlier I’d texted…”Call me if you need to unload or just need a boost. Think of me as your booster shot.”
In response, Pat texted…
Can’t thank you enough for last night. It was just the boost that I needed to be able to face this coming week. I feel like this is just the beginning which is hard to fathom after 16 weeks of chemo.
We appreciate everything you’ve done so far and your unwavering support and love. I look forward to seeing you and my brother again and I can’t wait to see your remodel. And yes…I can pull weeds! (In my text I had said she could help me pull weeds when she came again. And I’d pay her!)
A little levity is just the “spoonful of sugar to help the medicine go down…the medicine go down” as touted by everyone’s favorite English nanny, Mary Poppins.
When you think about it…we’re all dying. A few know when and how; most have no clue. The lesson for all of us?
…live our best lives…right here, right now…
…after all…the glass IS half-full.
Pat is certainly a fighter and I admire here deeply for that. I admire you deeply for being so supportive. Also, I hope your daughter continues to regain perfect health. Bless all of you. 🙂
These are good days for both Pat and my daughter. Thank you. All we can do is live…one day at a time. hugs…
We are a part of you Pat……our lives have also changed. Thoughts of your well being are constant and always hopeful.
Life is a moment in time……at this time I can offer you my love and support always.
Well said, Mary…well said. mahalo…