When Chuck was formally diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, back in early 2008, I was still working. There were no thoughts of retiring for either of us, although I had begun to fantasize about being footloose and fancy free. Teaching was my main career, and I had been doing it for many, many years. However, with his diagnosis that all changed and while Chuck abruptly stopped working because he was ill and under doctor’s care, I continued to work that year. In the beginning, Chuck was able to do most normal activities, but once we decided on his course of treatment, he was generally tired after each chemo session. We would have many 911 calls and ambulance rides to the hospital as 2008 wore on. I even remember Chuck’s doctor asking him if all of his affairs were in order, because he almost died after a serious health emergency related to his illness, one day late in May. One afternoon, Dr. Reidy called me into her office and just told me point blank that there would be a few more sessions, and then he would inevitably end up on hospice care. She said he had made it thus far because of me. He was trying to survive for me. I cried and, because there weren’t any tissues around I wiped my face on my hands and clothing. He was standing in a hall outside of her office and I didn’t want him to see my tears. When I came out, he asked me what was wrong, I took hold of his arm and just walked with him in silence to an awaiting car that would take us home.
He was given several clinical trials that were at first encouraging, but as time wore on, it was evident that there would be no long-term positive outcome. It just bought us time together, that’s all. As for me, I was in a bubble of my own, and that was the only way I could manage Chuck’s illness, his care, and my sanity. I would go to work and my colleagues were very supportive, kind, and empathetic. I remember a close friend telling me that people were asking her what they should say to me. She told them to ask about my son, my work, my mother but to not mention Chuck. I’d already had someone who was wanting me to face the reality of our situation, but I couldn’t handle that and I had asked my boss to not have anyone speak to me about Chuck’s illness. After all, it was stage four pancreatic cancer and Chuck and I were riding on hope and I couldn’t bear to have that thread cut. That same person, however, would one day corner me with some urgent advice, which I would heed, saving me a lifetime of regret.
One of Chuck’s brothers was great and a part of our support system. When he could, he would accompany his brother to chemo sessions along with me and many times in my stead. We relied on each other and he never disappointed. We would come out of the bubble to discuss any pertinent matters, and then we’d go right back in holding onto hope. The last day of chemo, I could not bear to go and so Chuck’s brother, took hold of the reins, and went with him on that day.
In the meantime, I had decided to retire from teaching, and although I had more than enough years to do so, it was a bit earlier than I would have planned and I was still young, which is all relative. I had learned the hard way that life throws us many curveballs. Thus, I retired to be fully there for my husband. After all, it was for better or worse and this was the worst. Cancer is tricky, because most days as Chuck’s health declined, his body weakened, but his mind was always alert. Chuck was a very strong minded individual and he remained aware and talkative even up to the day that he passed away.
In June of that year, it was decided that Chuck would go on hospice care at home. Now, we were about to have nurses attending to Chuck’s every need. I was always in a space that was the same, strong, organized, taking care of Chuck’s needs, attending to the details, and meeting and greeting doctors, nurses and caretakers on a regular basis. My life was no longer normal and our lives had been shattered by this rude, intrusive illness. Although I knew it was taking a toll on me, I refused respites offered because I felt that the toll on me was nothing compared to what my husband was bearing. He had excruciating pain., tons of needle pricks, and his own realization that he was going to die. The gradual loss of his bodily functions, as much as it was unbearable to witness ,I felt, was nothing compared to what Chuck was having to experience firsthand.
Right before things began to take a quick downturn, I had an offer from someone to look after Chuck, giving me a break. It was from his best friend in the world, and I knew that this would give him and his friend an opportunity to have precious last moments alone. The break for me was much needed, and Chuck seemed to have more energy than usual that day so I decided to accept the offer.
I leaned into what I was feeling and I knew that I wanted to be alone and to feel carefree again. So I went up to a mall in Westchester, New York. I so remember that day, as I’d decided to not think about my reality. So I settled into a new bubble as I strolled through the mall. It was the most beautiful day, and the sun shone brightly through the skylights on the top floor of the mall.
I remember going to Nordstrom’s and getting a new mattress, as the one that we had was becoming worn and Chuck was sleeping uncomfortably. As I made the purchase of a Heavenly Mattress, just like the ones Chuck and I had slept on in several hotels over the years, I spotted a tiger striped storage box, fell in love, and added it to my purchase. I thought it would be a nice touch to our lovely bedroom, with it’s cherry sleigh bed and accompanying pieces.
I remember feeling buoyed that day and although I checked in on Chuck, the beautiful sun and my opportunity to be alone while shopping, almost made me forget my stark reality. I even began to feel hopeful again. I remember walking from shop to shop and grabbing a bite to eat. I took a rest in one of the seating areas, and I felt good, better than I had in many, many months. As I sat there soaking in the sun feeling encouraged, hopeful and free, I was in my own world. Then suddenly my phone rang, and it was a hospice nurse who’d been assigned to Chuck’s case. She was telling me that she was due to come the next day and she wanted to set up a time. That phone call shocked me back into reality as I knew that this was going to be the beginning of our new normal going forward. I was shaken out of my false reverie and secretly wished that she could save his life. I was now back in reality and I felt my glass house shatter.
Days later, when the mattress arrived, it ended up it wasn’t very comfortable or heavenly and had to be sent back. The tiger printed storage box, however, was a keeper, just right, and I managed to incorporate it into our décor. Chuck was ordinarily not a fan of animal prints, but he took a liking to it. It would store precious items that we needed to have close during those hard days ahead. After Chuck was gone it would hold memorabilia and pictures of Chuck and our life together. It was carried and moved from room to room, and although it weathered with time, it held up pretty well for the most part. This storage box represented a time in my life when I grabbed a few precious moments for myself. It also reminds me of that period when, after a few short months, Chuck’s sister would arrive from Texas, as we knew the end was near.
After that one escape from my real life, I would feel that I wanted to be near him most of the time, so I didn’t take any more respites. I wanted to savor each moment we had left. We never really discussed his ultimate departure from this planet, as Chuck felt that those conversations were very negative, so we decided to just go about each day hoping it wouldn’t be his last.
Sometimes treasured items can block the future, so when you know that it’s time to let them go, do that. As for me, letting go of this beautiful storage box, which has been a part of my old and new life, has expanded my path forward and given me a respite from my past.
