- Joined
- Sep 2, 2013
- Messages
- 8,422
Warning. This is a downer post. I would avoid it. I'm just getting this off myself. No foul if you choose to skip it, I will still love you. This is just a bit of cathartic release for me to write it all down, I guess.
It's been a hard year for many of us. I know there have been several deaths of loved ones, not only for myself but other board members. I am looking at yet again, saying goodbye to someone I love.
Last year in March my friend Mike was diagnosed with prostate cancer. Right at Halloween we received the even more frightening news: the cancer had spread to his bones. I had a Day of the Dead party planned. I quickly canceled. He and his wife Linda came over anyway and we ate in stunned silence. I had hidden the sugar skulls I'd made festooned with all our names. They seemed somehow morbidly inappropriate, even with the black humour we all shared. The holidays were quiet events, as his health grew increasing worse.
In February Mike was given two weeks to live. My sisters, all having befriended Mike and Linda after I brought them home some 20 years ago, rushed to the hospital to sit with Linda, Poopsie and I. While we watched Mike possibly die. They've been longtime friends and more like family. We wanted to see it out with them. And then Mike surprised us all, even the doctor. He took a dangerous chemotherapy treatment that had thus far killed 90-95% percent of the patients who risked it. Not Mike though. He lived.
It has been difficult, and I've tried to help Linda as much as I can. A chore made easier by the fact they own the farm next door. When I found my land in 1998, I went home and told them all about it, and how there was more land available. We all went and checked out the area that night. The next day they bought five acres there. We were together. Mom joked we had a commune. In the past few months we have found that the cancer has spread to his organs. He has struggled, but fought forward. We knew time was limited. Mike began to become confused, and disoriented. We suspected the cancer had spread to his brain.
Tests came back inconclusive, but he got worse and worse. Mike started to get words mixed up, like one day, everything was a 'router'. The cats, the car, Linda's leg... they were all 'routers'. Every day he has become more disoriented. He keeps getting in the tub and just sitting there, fully clothed. Then he can't get out and Linda will spend hours struggling to get him out. Worse yet he's gotten outside and we live next to a 6000 acre national park. If he got lost... well. It would be bad. In the meantime another longtime friend, Ken, lost his own battle with lung cancer after six years. He told Mike he would see him soon. His last words. We knew it was bad.
They came for a visit, Mike struggled to walk the short distance to our house. He was happy, but seemed to be on another plane, interacting with people we could not see. At one point he took a bowl of large faceted crystals Ken had brought me from Arkansas. He kept fiddling with it. Finally Linda asked him what he was doing and Mike claimed the bowl was ice cream I had given him and he was waiting for a spoon. I felt heartbroken. Mike was always a keen intellect. Seeing him like that was hurtful.
So it all came down to Saturday morning. Mike fell and Linda just couldn't get him up. He needed to go to the ER. We knew he wouldn't go in an ambulance, we tried that before and he just flat refused. So for over an hour we begged, pleaded and pulled. Thanks to the strong Mr Hank, we got him to the truck. We pushed and pulled and it was sadly obvious that wasn't gonna work. We couldn't get him in the vehicle. I called an ambulance anyway and they sweet talked him into going to the hospital. They were great fellows. Once at the hospital, the news got worse though. He has a significant brain tumor, causing him a good deal of trouble, as well as liquid on his brain. How they missed it previously, who knows. The doctor said two to six weeks and this time, no chemo will save him.
And maybe it's for the best. Mike isn't Mike anymore, and probably will never return. The tumor has him babbling nonsense. He doesn't know what's going on.
So we have to say goodbye. And he won't even understand us. I find myself feeling very small and helpless.
It's been a hard year for many of us. I know there have been several deaths of loved ones, not only for myself but other board members. I am looking at yet again, saying goodbye to someone I love.
Last year in March my friend Mike was diagnosed with prostate cancer. Right at Halloween we received the even more frightening news: the cancer had spread to his bones. I had a Day of the Dead party planned. I quickly canceled. He and his wife Linda came over anyway and we ate in stunned silence. I had hidden the sugar skulls I'd made festooned with all our names. They seemed somehow morbidly inappropriate, even with the black humour we all shared. The holidays were quiet events, as his health grew increasing worse.
In February Mike was given two weeks to live. My sisters, all having befriended Mike and Linda after I brought them home some 20 years ago, rushed to the hospital to sit with Linda, Poopsie and I. While we watched Mike possibly die. They've been longtime friends and more like family. We wanted to see it out with them. And then Mike surprised us all, even the doctor. He took a dangerous chemotherapy treatment that had thus far killed 90-95% percent of the patients who risked it. Not Mike though. He lived.
It has been difficult, and I've tried to help Linda as much as I can. A chore made easier by the fact they own the farm next door. When I found my land in 1998, I went home and told them all about it, and how there was more land available. We all went and checked out the area that night. The next day they bought five acres there. We were together. Mom joked we had a commune. In the past few months we have found that the cancer has spread to his organs. He has struggled, but fought forward. We knew time was limited. Mike began to become confused, and disoriented. We suspected the cancer had spread to his brain.
Tests came back inconclusive, but he got worse and worse. Mike started to get words mixed up, like one day, everything was a 'router'. The cats, the car, Linda's leg... they were all 'routers'. Every day he has become more disoriented. He keeps getting in the tub and just sitting there, fully clothed. Then he can't get out and Linda will spend hours struggling to get him out. Worse yet he's gotten outside and we live next to a 6000 acre national park. If he got lost... well. It would be bad. In the meantime another longtime friend, Ken, lost his own battle with lung cancer after six years. He told Mike he would see him soon. His last words. We knew it was bad.
They came for a visit, Mike struggled to walk the short distance to our house. He was happy, but seemed to be on another plane, interacting with people we could not see. At one point he took a bowl of large faceted crystals Ken had brought me from Arkansas. He kept fiddling with it. Finally Linda asked him what he was doing and Mike claimed the bowl was ice cream I had given him and he was waiting for a spoon. I felt heartbroken. Mike was always a keen intellect. Seeing him like that was hurtful.
So it all came down to Saturday morning. Mike fell and Linda just couldn't get him up. He needed to go to the ER. We knew he wouldn't go in an ambulance, we tried that before and he just flat refused. So for over an hour we begged, pleaded and pulled. Thanks to the strong Mr Hank, we got him to the truck. We pushed and pulled and it was sadly obvious that wasn't gonna work. We couldn't get him in the vehicle. I called an ambulance anyway and they sweet talked him into going to the hospital. They were great fellows. Once at the hospital, the news got worse though. He has a significant brain tumor, causing him a good deal of trouble, as well as liquid on his brain. How they missed it previously, who knows. The doctor said two to six weeks and this time, no chemo will save him.
And maybe it's for the best. Mike isn't Mike anymore, and probably will never return. The tumor has him babbling nonsense. He doesn't know what's going on.
So we have to say goodbye. And he won't even understand us. I find myself feeling very small and helpless.
Last edited:
. It is always awfull to see person in so bad shape 
