Some years ago I volunteered for hospice Toronto and worked with a woman who had ALS. She was an acquaintance that I knew outside of the hospice. Volunteering for her saw me doing everything from washing dishes and cleaning cat litter to lifting a woman (significantly taller than me) in and out of a wheelchair and feeding her through a “J-Tube”. In my time working with her I organized a fundraiser for her. With the help of people like Roben Goodfellow, Stephanie Lang, and many, many others, we successfully raised just over 12,000. I found a path to a new career. I learned many things and gained some perspective on some others.

After a 16 year battle with a disease that usually kills within two years, She died yesterday just before noon Toronto time.

She died about one hour too soon for me to visit her one last time.

I’m not terribly broken up about the fact that I did not get a chance to see her one last time. By all accounts she was not conscious and would not have been aware of my presence. And in truth I said goodbye to her quite some time ago.

Working with the dying can be a richly rewarding calling, but it is not for everyone and it is not always easy. When I first thought of someone “dying at home” an image came to mind of a united peaceful family gathered around the bed of the patient, incense and candles burning softly, harp music in the background.
The reality is not so pretty. The family is devastated, the patient is in pain, sometimes so weak and incapacitated they cannot toilet themselves.

The smells are not of incense and candles.

Unlike in the book “Tuesdays with Morrie” the dying patient is not necessarily at peace with their fate. My ALS Client was not ready to die. She fought death with a tenacity and spirit that was a wonder to behold. She chose interventions that I would not have tolerated, choosing to live with a respirator and a feeding tube rather than let death creep forward any faster than she could beat it back. I believe she lasted as long as she did because of the sheer force of her formidable will.

Even though I did have a chance to say goodbye to her there are some things I would have like to say again. I believe it’s possible that she may still be able to hear me. If that’s the case then this is my message to her:

I want to thank you for the time we had together. Even though it wasn’t always easy, it stretched me and challenged me and in many ways shaped me and changed my life.

You inspired me to create the fundraiser for you, we raised over 12,000 dollars and got responses from your former PR clients including Phill Collens, Liam Neeson, and Loreena Mckennitt. I saw astounding examples of generosity, kindness and altruism. I discovered leadership and organizational skills I had no idea I possessed.
You inspired me to go outside of my comfort zones to take on challenges. You also taught me to say no, to take care of myself, to define and stick to my boundaries. Through work I did with you I discovered that I was happiest when I was helping people and that lead me to the career I have now.

You made me think about my own mortality, and inspired conversations with my family and loved ones about our thoughts and wishes regarding resuscitation, end of life care and funeral arrangements.

I can’t say that I would have made the same choices that you did but in your presence I was reminded to not be judgemental, and to be respectful of someone else’s wishes, choices and beliefs.

In end I hope that life was not so much a battle, and that fear gave way to peace.
Rest well.

Here's to 2013.

I am trying to find the words my feelings during the beginning of 2013.

I have a number of friends who are really happy to see the ass end of 2012. There have been a number of people who have suffered dreadful loss, catastrophic illnesses pain and uncertainty. 

I can’t say that 2012 has been that bad for me.  My complaints about this year are on the scale of irritation rather than devastation.  I’ve been dealing with an ongoing low level of anxiety for about three or four months.  Its roots have to do with fears I have about the future, “Will I have enough money to retire?” – Not if I don’t win a lottery.  Can I be a massage therapist until…well… until I die? – I doubt it.

My fears are not entirely without merit, but it does me no good to fret now about things that are not going to be a serious issue for twenty years or more.   

Husband has been having an irritating year as well.  His job has been plagued by other departments seemingly doing everything possible to make his job impossible to do. He has been consistently working nine hour shifts, he hasn’t been able to regularly get out to the gym and his blood pressure may be climbing.  To add to his stress levels there have been three people fired in his office over the past year, and just last week his boss announced that he was quitting.

Husband has lost some sleep over the past week. Seeing my usually unflappable, calm, sweet husband need to vehemently snarl about his day and lose sleep over the office histrionics has been upsetting.  Truthfully it has not done fantastic things for my little anxiety issue either.

There are frank discussions being had about the future in husband’s office.  Discussions between husband and his employers about changes that should happen, (They love him and are well aware that they past few years have been trying),  Discussions between husband and myself about promises that his employers have made in the past and reneged on,  Discussions about contacting former co-workers and putting out feelers. 

Thus far 2013 is not perfect.  I am cautiously optimistic that things will change for the better.  I will get a grip, (or get a prescription) Husbands office will learn to kiss his ass and fix the mess that they have made or they will suffer the loss of husbands talents.  But more importantly in 2013 the people who have suffered a shitty 2012 will have a better year.

Those things would make me very happy.         

Dear PTB FOAD

Really.
Enough is enough already.
Shall I list the carnage that has been wrought upon my friends?

One heart attack.
One bowel disorder diagnosis.
Two massive abdominal infections.
Abdominal surgery to come.
-and all of the above is just one friend.

One gall bladder attack.
Two bowel obstructions.
Two bowel surgeries.
One horribly bitchy nurse.
More surgery to come.
-All of the above? another friend.

Two dead dogs.
One dead cat.
Two dieing mothers.
One mother diagnosed with Alzheimer's.
One batshit crazy mother. 
One more major surgery.

And theres more!  But I have been sworn to secrecy BECAUSE IT SUCKS SO MUCH!
  
Yeah.  Really. ENOUGH.
I would like some happy for these people.
Perhaps a lottery win. I don`t know... something EPICALLY GOOD! Because this had been more than enough SUCK.
THANK YOU VERY MUCH.

Good Bye

I don’t think that you were very fond of me, but in light of the news I heard this afternoon I feel the need to reach in to my heart and forgive you for any slights imagined or not. 

You did not have an easy life, but I hope that your passage across the veil is peaceful, and that you may find oneness with divinity and reunion with those who have gone before.

Blessed be.

Lightning inspiration

Bone white flash that turns gloom to short lived blaze of noon.
On its heels rolls the distant sound of your husband’s drums.
Cold is the wind that lifts and shifts and sends leaves and dust
scurrying like living things across my path and snaring in my hair.
Black rolling clouds unleash sudden rain
that whirling wind makes harsh and stinging.

Bone white flash of your sharp light - now
Chango’s drums roar in time with your dark dance.
I, drenched in your stinging blessing rain,
fear looking to the heavens and seeing your whirling black skirts.

Bone white flash illuminates your garden of tombs.
Oya I am yours.

The Weedy Front Yard...

Husband and I contemplate the weedy front yard.

Husband: Needs lots of weeding.

Me: Yup, and perhaps another tray of periwinkle.

Husband: Or perhaps some grenades.

Me: I was thinking flame thrower.

Husband: That’ll work too.

In time for Halloween

THE END OF RAVEN. BY EDGAR ALLEN POE'S CAT
On a night quite unenchanting, when the rain was downward slanting,
I awakened to the ranting of the man I catch mice for.
Tipsy and a bit unshaven, in a tone I found quite craven,
Poe was talking to a Raven perched above the chamber door.
"Raven's very tasty," thought I, as I tiptoed o'er the floor,
"There is nothing I like more."
Soft upon the rug I treaded, calm and careful as I headed
Towards his roost atop that dreaded bust of Pallas I deplore.
While the bard and birdie chattered, I made sure that nothing clattered,
Creaked, or snapped, or fell, or shattered, as I crossed the corridor;
For his house is crammed with trinkets, curios and weird decor -
Bric-a-brac and junk galore.
Still the Raven never fluttered, standing stock-still as he uttered,
In a voice that shrieked and sputtered, his two cents worth -
"Nevermore."
While this dirge the birdbrain kept up, oh, so silently I crept up,
Then I crouched and quickly leapt up, pouncing on the feather bore.
Soon he was a heap of plumage, and a little blood and gore -
Only this and not much more.
Then my pickled poet cried out, "Pussycat, it's time I dried out!"
Never sat I in my hideout talking to a bird before;
How I've wallowed in self-pity, while my gallant, valiant kitty.
Put an end to that damned ditty - then I heard him start to snore.
Back atop the door I clambered, eyed that statue I abhor,
Jumped - and smashed it on the floor.