Facing the Rising Sun

The veil of thick fog that rolled in during Roy’s cancer battle dissipates enough at times for me to occasionally have a 360-degree glimpse of life. Our home office once fairly neat and organized held the bits and pieces of my developing story through an avalanche of mail and papers that covered the desktop. Boxes and bags of displaced items were stacked on the floor by thoughtful family members and friends who rearranged the house for Roy’s hospice care. I can attest to the fact that the body and mind do a complicated dance; I had put off cleaning out the office knowing intuitively that it held many of the documents and pieces of paper that would confirm Roy’s illness and death.

Last weekend as the July 4^th holiday approached, I felt the need to dig through the mound of papers to reclaim the desk and office. The piles of unopened mail and unfiled papers were a reminder that for six short weeks my life ran at full throttle survival mode, much of it rushed by unattended to and forgotten. Part of my journey now requires me to put the pieces of those six weeks into perspective and to remember. I am grateful for my resilience and the confidence to know that I will find myself standing upright after such a traumatic loss.

I found a receipt from the Embassy Suites in San Diego at the top of the mound. I had reluctantly left for a weeklong conference on aging Monday, March 10. Roy was not feeling well but managed to drive me to the Mt. Baker lightrail station. He looked haggard and worn, but assured me he would be okay. He had already been to the doctor a few days before and was waiting for the results of the initial tests. We were both expecting to hear a diagnosis of giardia or another type of parasitic infection picked up on our February vacation to Belize. Sometime during that week the results came back negative no parasites, no infection. Another piece of paper torn haphazardly out of a notebook, a list of probiotics; he was having trouble finding food and beverages that would ease his chronic upset stomach. Our phone conversations that week were a back and forth banter about various low acid foods, and herbal tea. I was concerned that he was not getting better. Sometime in the middle of that horrible week the doctor ordered an X-ray of his abdomen. I was still in San Diego when he called to tell me that the X-ray revealed a mass located where the esophagus joins the stomach. My heart stopped. “Well did they give you any indication of what it could be?” I asked, intuitively suspecting a cancer.

“Maybe an infection they just don’t know,” he said with a little fear in his voice. “They are trying to get me scheduled for an endoscopy on Friday.”

“Did they mention anything about cancer?” I asked, trying to mask my fear.

“The doctor said that cancer is one possibility, but they want to do the procedure to rule it out.”

We left the conversation there and moved onto the fact that our friend Charles was coming from Vancouver on Friday night and I would return on Saturday.

As it turned out he could not get scheduled for the endoscopy until Monday, March 17. His pallor and hair were the same shade of white and he looked weak as they wheeled him into the day surgery room where the endoscopy procedure would take place. My daughter and I waited anxiously for his return. Roy was still sleeping in the recovery room when the doctor came in. The horrific look on the doctor’s face said everything. I introduced myself and asked the inevitable question. “Is it cancer?”

“Yes, he said avoiding eye contact.” I started to cry; “We’ve been married for forty-two years…”

“Well, that is why we have to get him better!”

“What stage?” The doctor paused at my question, I was certain he knew the answer.

“We need more tests to determine that, he said, then turned around and left the room.

Evidence of many of our ‘last times’ were revealed as I worked my way to a clean desk. My tears flowed endlessly as I read through old bills, cards, and pictures that had found there way to the pile.

The last time Roy drove a car was to pick me up from the airport on Saturday night, March 15. Charles and I shared a look of impeding doom on Sunday as we watched Roy reeling in pain on the couch trying to find a comfortable position. I offered to drive him to the emergency room and voiced anger at the doctor who did not prescribe any pain medication to get him through the weekend.

Our last vacation in the United States, ironically on my bucket list, was a road trip to Yellowstone and Old Faithful. Roy had been there earlier in his life before we met. A receipt from the Snake River Lodge in Jackson Hole reminded me of that vacation and his deep commitment to his work and family. A meeting at SpaceLabs was scheduled in the middle of our vacation; he left me and the car in Wyoming, flew to Seattle to attend the meeting, and then flew back to Wyoming to continue our trip.

Durfort France was the last of our many trips to Europe; a souvenir book from the Grotte de Niaux was still on the desk.

The last scheduled doctor’s appointment before he was admitted to the hospital was scribbled down on a piece of paper; PET scan March 21 we arrived at 7 am that morning. Roy was concerned that he might not have the capacity to drink the amount of barium required for the scan. He managed, however the nurse navigator was so concerned about his weaken body and pain that she got the doctor’s orders to admit him immediately to the oncology ward.

I picked up a purple and pink card beautifully decorated with bejeweled flowers and a purple silk bow, inside it read:

“Wishing you a Birthday As Lovely and Wonderful as You Are. Happy 62^nd!

 Love, Roy”

 The last birthday card I will ever receive from him…