“Will he heal? What’s the prognosis?” Family and friends asked that question often when Gary received a diagnosis Pseudomyxoma Peritonei (PMP) in December 2002. I felt exhausted trying to explain what I did not know. Once I shared my meager knowledge with a friend, she proceeded like the old gossip game. By the time she’d told three people what I hadn’t said, her statements gathered momentum and when someone repeated back to me what she told them, I didn’t recognize my friends question or my answer. 

Now I’m the subject of the questions. What’s next? What did the doctor say? How much tissue was removed? Is it malignant? When will you return to work? What about your trip to Oregon? Then comes the, “You poor dear, whatever will you do?” 

So what do I know? The surgeon’s office called last evening and said to call today at 11. I just called, no report yet. The receptionist is to call me later this afternoon. She also scheduled me to see the doctor tomorrow at 9:30 a.m.  

Oh and how do I handle all the questions? Same as I did when husband was sick, write answers. If my answers don’t make sense, oh well.  

Years ago my friend Bobbie gave me an adorable ceramic donkey—it still sits in my living room, she also told me the donkey’s story:  

There once were two men and a donkey headed to market. The men loaded their backpacks and started to town one on each side of the donkey. A man met them on the way and said, “That looks pretty silly to me, you have a good animal. Why not ride?”One man climbed on the donkeys back. They walked further and met another man who shook his head and muttered, “Perfectly good animal and you are walking?”The men looked at each other and both climbed on the back of the donkey. They walked further and met a woman who glared at the men. “You two ought to be ashamed of yourselves. Two of you on that humble animal. You’ll kill your beast.”

Both men slid off the donkey in embarrassment.  

The moral of the story: No matter what your choice, you cannot please all the people all the time. With that I think I’ll rip the bandages off and take a shower. Think I’ll color my hair, too. Looking young will give my moral a boost.

Life is one big comfort zone for me. Give me a lion, soft comfy shirt and a pillow to prop me up. Do you see I found a super long, navy blue, polka dotted scarf to tie me together. Look happy as a lark, don’t you think? Now I wait.

It’s the wait that gets to me. This morning I decided to crawl out of bed at 5:30 a.m. just to listen to Joyce Meyer. I figured she’d have something worth listening to, and she did. 

“You can count on this. You are not your feelings.” Those words were a great comfort. I’m still in wait mode, if I sat around in “feeling zone” I’d have done nothing. Instead I called my old friend Esther in California. Woke her up and you know she didn’t even care. We laughed over old times, hashed a few memories and talked about her caregiving experiences. Read the rest of this entry »

This weekend I grabbed my coffee and studied mission statements. I wanted to share a concise reason for my giving Capsules of Hope Caregiver Seminars. Writing a mission statement isn’t new to me, still I couldn’t define my goals simply.

When I finished the project I felt empowered. Want to see that mission statement, check out the Mission statement page here, or pop over to see my post on STRAIGHT FROM THE LIONS MOUTH 

Build your own, find strength and purpose in knowning where you are headed and why. Choose to make a difference.

Help! Hope! Healing!

 

 

  

HALF

Half cannot begin to describe the amount of time a caregiver gives. Whole is a must. Never half. Not in between. The patient is on the mind of the caregiver twenty-four/seven.

 The first days of Gary’s hospital stay I didn’t try and spend nights at the hospital. He had good care, I needed to sleep. And I did. When he came home the burden changed.

Like the latest TV craze, reality is known by extremes, whether it’s extreme makeovers of houses and bodies, weight loss, or the well-known Survivor Series. The caregiver is a passionate reality fanatic.

The word passionate has evolved to something sexual in today’s world. The true meaning of passion is suffering. The caregiver cannot give half—they cannot stand on the fringes and not feel the pain. The one truly giving of self will work with a wholehearted passion. Totally involved. Never half. Read the rest of this entry »