I took Winnie to the vet to be boarded while we go tomorrow to the Outer Banks to scatter Brenda's ashes. Winnie hated it and howled and thrashed in the old wire screen cat carrier we have had for 45 years.
Brenda, who was like a cat in many ways, also hated getting ready - especially in recent months when most of her trips were to doctor's offices and medical testing facilities. She felt too bad to thrash, but she did moan - at least when getting ready.
(Once in the car she always settled down and was brave - even on the last trip to the Hospice House.)
Of course the trip tomorrow is no problem. Her spirit, if you believe in that sort of thing, is already there. The rest of it (the material that we carry in a plastic bag in a wooden box) is just a placeholder for that which is beyond place.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Stuff
People live on in their stuff (at least for those who knew the people, know the stuff - the very essence of existential meaning).
I see Brenda's everyday bath towel (somewhat tattered - she always gave me the best ones) hanging over a shower curtain rod in the little bath room, and a vase of artificial daisies gathering dust on the top of a commode tank in the big bath room, and cat statues symmetrically placed on a shelf that I mounted on the kitchen wall just over the dinette table (these and two living cats watch me eat my odd bachelor meals).
And papers, especially papers.
I am going through the papers that Brenda accumulated on a desk, computer stand and two-drawer file at one end of Yancie's old bedroom. (It was Brenda's office - although nothing to compare with her last office at the Department of Transportation where she covered two desks and three or four tables with piles of neatly organized papers.)
There are a lot of old receipts, some clipped and marked in her neat handwriting "paid by me". I throw them away. There are also piles of papers from various charities. She favored animal causes and had a soft spot for cops, firemen, and soldiers. I throw these and other offerings away, even the unopened envelopes with trinkets designed to work on her guilt. She knew what they were doing, but still could not bring herself to discard the note cards, and coins, and necklaces made in China by Dakota Indian children. I throw them away.
Fighting back occasional waves of tears I only keep the best stuff which I will put into boxes that will probably go into Yancie's attic and acquire the status of sacred objects.
It feels like I am getting rid of Brenda again, like making her get into the car to go to the Hospice House to die. But perhaps I am just winnowing her away, parsing her for the ages.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Christmas Eve
Weird night, not sad or weepy - not so far anyway, just weird.
Maybe as weird as the Christmas Eve I spent alone in 1960 when my parents and sister went to Florida and I stayed at home because I had to work. I think I went out with Brenda Willis. This Brenda, like the Brenda I would marry nine months later was beautiful. She too had a throaty sexy voice. (If my Brenda was Kim Novak, this one was Marilyn Monroe.) We went to a movie and then came back to her house. We sat in the living room with the tree while the rest of the family did something Christmas related in another part of the house, coming out once I think to acknowledge me. Brenda Willis and I had dated several years earlier. I hoped to get her to my empty house. But she was more complicated and vulnerable than I remembered and I felt guilty.
When I started dating Brenda Moser I told her with great sincerity that she had lovely brown eyes. Turns out that Brenda Moser had blue eyes. It was Brenda Willis who had brown eyes. My Brenda always thought that was funny.
Tonight, 49 years later, I also went to a movie - Avatar, the 3-D version. It was pretty good although the last half was predictable. There were several other solitary people in the audience, all of us sitting removed from everybody else. A mother and her grown daughter sat in front of me. Neither looked like science fiction types, more like women who would want to see something based on Jane Austen. They first sat side-by-side then the daughter moved one seat over, slumping down, maybe to get comfortable, maybe to sleep.
After the movie I stopped at the Waffle House in Belmont to get something to eat. The chunk of humming bird cake that Yancie, Allie and I baked this afternoon was pretty much gone. I sat next to a worn woman who wished people Merry Christmas and a man who talked about getting lumps of coal for Christmas. A little drunk maybe, he had the twangy accent and manner of the rednecks in Deliverance (the ones who were going to make Ned Beatty squeal like a pig). My waitress was a sweet girl whose baby was being tended by a tired looking young man sitting in a booth. (She told this to the worn woman.) I sat on the last stool at the counter. Two more tired women sat in the booth beside me. I quickly ate my bacon, egg and cheese biscuit. I was afraid the drunk would try to engage me in conversation and that I might do something reckless.
Coming home, stopped at the traffic light at 273 and 27, I saw two people on the side of the road. One, a woman or a small man appearing to be puking. A bigger man gently rubbed the sick person's back.
Maybe as weird as the Christmas Eve I spent alone in 1960 when my parents and sister went to Florida and I stayed at home because I had to work. I think I went out with Brenda Willis. This Brenda, like the Brenda I would marry nine months later was beautiful. She too had a throaty sexy voice. (If my Brenda was Kim Novak, this one was Marilyn Monroe.) We went to a movie and then came back to her house. We sat in the living room with the tree while the rest of the family did something Christmas related in another part of the house, coming out once I think to acknowledge me. Brenda Willis and I had dated several years earlier. I hoped to get her to my empty house. But she was more complicated and vulnerable than I remembered and I felt guilty.
When I started dating Brenda Moser I told her with great sincerity that she had lovely brown eyes. Turns out that Brenda Moser had blue eyes. It was Brenda Willis who had brown eyes. My Brenda always thought that was funny.
Tonight, 49 years later, I also went to a movie - Avatar, the 3-D version. It was pretty good although the last half was predictable. There were several other solitary people in the audience, all of us sitting removed from everybody else. A mother and her grown daughter sat in front of me. Neither looked like science fiction types, more like women who would want to see something based on Jane Austen. They first sat side-by-side then the daughter moved one seat over, slumping down, maybe to get comfortable, maybe to sleep.
After the movie I stopped at the Waffle House in Belmont to get something to eat. The chunk of humming bird cake that Yancie, Allie and I baked this afternoon was pretty much gone. I sat next to a worn woman who wished people Merry Christmas and a man who talked about getting lumps of coal for Christmas. A little drunk maybe, he had the twangy accent and manner of the rednecks in Deliverance (the ones who were going to make Ned Beatty squeal like a pig). My waitress was a sweet girl whose baby was being tended by a tired looking young man sitting in a booth. (She told this to the worn woman.) I sat on the last stool at the counter. Two more tired women sat in the booth beside me. I quickly ate my bacon, egg and cheese biscuit. I was afraid the drunk would try to engage me in conversation and that I might do something reckless.
Coming home, stopped at the traffic light at 273 and 27, I saw two people on the side of the road. One, a woman or a small man appearing to be puking. A bigger man gently rubbed the sick person's back.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Day 13 - Shelby
Randomly...
After stopping by the Register of Deeds office in Gastonia to buy certified copies of Brenda's death certificate I went to Shelby.
I dropped by the hospital to see Brenda's old friend Vernon. He's got a bad infection. Going back briefly into caregiver mode I moved flowers so he could see them and asked somebody to raise his bed so that he could eat the food they brought just before I left.
Returning downtown I parked on the square across from the Methodist church where I would attend a funeral in a few hours and walked to the Shelby Cafe for lunch. Everything reminds me of Brenda now so as I sat in the new part (where the old Shelby Newsstand used to be, where I used to buy science fiction novels) and remembered other times when we were in this place. Both of us liked the pre-gentrified version best. Her favorite food, before she became a vegetarian was hamburger steak smothered in onions,
I went for a walk to kill some time before the funeral.
I walked past the place where I first saw Brenda. It was probably 1952; she would have been 12 and I would have been 13. It was in front of the old Junior High school on Saturday afternoon. Brenda and her cousin Carol had probably been to a movie and were walking home to Brenda's house on Blanton Street (where she and I would live 10 years later). I was with Pete Panther. He and I used to hang out at Carol's house. Maybe we were waiting for her, knowing that she was going to a movie. I had never met Brenda. Years later neither she nor Carol remembered the encounter. But I do. If the word had been in my vocabulary I would probably said that she was exquisite. Not voluptuous and blond like my dream girls. Simply lovely. She was vulnerable and shy and sweet too. I did have enough sense to realize that even if I didn't know how to say it.
(Where I first met Brenda 57 years ago.)
I walked through the cemetery, a pretty place which was on my Shelby walking circuit even in less morbid times. Although Brenda will never be there I asked her out loud when passing her parents or friends if she had stopped here for a visit. I concocted a theory in which spirits or at least the remaining points-of-view are at the instant of death free to visit anywhere and anytime.
After walking for an hour I went back downtown to the church. Charles, with whom I traded Hardy Boy books 60 years ago, was having a funeral for his wife Cynthia. They too had been married 48 years and she too had suffered from emphysema. I have only been in Central Methodist a few times since my teens. It is still a lovely place. As the well-dressed members of Shelby's upper class filled the place I remembered sitting in a pew beside my father hoping that Tiny Peck, a popular pretty girl with substantial breasts, would be in that day. I learned years later that my father had been ogling a woman (maybe two) in the choir - and perhaps being ogled back.
Although the Christian parts of the service made no sense (according to this theology Cynthia will have everlasting life and Brenda will not), the personal parts, remembering Cynthia's love of her family and of music were touching.
When the service was over, people were directed downstairs to a reception. I passed through a maze of rooms remembered now in dreams of dark, complex places. I quickly got to Charles and told him what I had come to say - that I knew what he was feeling. He seemed to appreciate that. Then following the instructions of the man standing there I banged open a sticky door to the outside and made my way back into the light.
After going by the funeral home to conduct some final business I returned to Mount Holly.
After stopping by the Register of Deeds office in Gastonia to buy certified copies of Brenda's death certificate I went to Shelby.
I dropped by the hospital to see Brenda's old friend Vernon. He's got a bad infection. Going back briefly into caregiver mode I moved flowers so he could see them and asked somebody to raise his bed so that he could eat the food they brought just before I left.
Returning downtown I parked on the square across from the Methodist church where I would attend a funeral in a few hours and walked to the Shelby Cafe for lunch. Everything reminds me of Brenda now so as I sat in the new part (where the old Shelby Newsstand used to be, where I used to buy science fiction novels) and remembered other times when we were in this place. Both of us liked the pre-gentrified version best. Her favorite food, before she became a vegetarian was hamburger steak smothered in onions,
I went for a walk to kill some time before the funeral.
I walked past the place where I first saw Brenda. It was probably 1952; she would have been 12 and I would have been 13. It was in front of the old Junior High school on Saturday afternoon. Brenda and her cousin Carol had probably been to a movie and were walking home to Brenda's house on Blanton Street (where she and I would live 10 years later). I was with Pete Panther. He and I used to hang out at Carol's house. Maybe we were waiting for her, knowing that she was going to a movie. I had never met Brenda. Years later neither she nor Carol remembered the encounter. But I do. If the word had been in my vocabulary I would probably said that she was exquisite. Not voluptuous and blond like my dream girls. Simply lovely. She was vulnerable and shy and sweet too. I did have enough sense to realize that even if I didn't know how to say it.
(Where I first met Brenda 57 years ago.)
I walked through the cemetery, a pretty place which was on my Shelby walking circuit even in less morbid times. Although Brenda will never be there I asked her out loud when passing her parents or friends if she had stopped here for a visit. I concocted a theory in which spirits or at least the remaining points-of-view are at the instant of death free to visit anywhere and anytime.
After walking for an hour I went back downtown to the church. Charles, with whom I traded Hardy Boy books 60 years ago, was having a funeral for his wife Cynthia. They too had been married 48 years and she too had suffered from emphysema. I have only been in Central Methodist a few times since my teens. It is still a lovely place. As the well-dressed members of Shelby's upper class filled the place I remembered sitting in a pew beside my father hoping that Tiny Peck, a popular pretty girl with substantial breasts, would be in that day. I learned years later that my father had been ogling a woman (maybe two) in the choir - and perhaps being ogled back.
Although the Christian parts of the service made no sense (according to this theology Cynthia will have everlasting life and Brenda will not), the personal parts, remembering Cynthia's love of her family and of music were touching.
When the service was over, people were directed downstairs to a reception. I passed through a maze of rooms remembered now in dreams of dark, complex places. I quickly got to Charles and told him what I had come to say - that I knew what he was feeling. He seemed to appreciate that. Then following the instructions of the man standing there I banged open a sticky door to the outside and made my way back into the light.
After going by the funeral home to conduct some final business I returned to Mount Holly.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Day 11 - Guns and IKEA
(4:00 AM - woke up early again)
Yesterday a friend came over and we took his heirloom Colt .32 revolver to a shooting range to try it out. Grammy was the last one to shoot it when she let go a round in the closet to see if the little pistol still worked. He said that she hit a can of green beans.
I got there early and waited in the gun store/shooting range parking lot. My friend drove up a few minutes later in his Prius. It was probably the first time that such a vehicle had ever visited this place.
My friend had never fired a pistol and I had not fired in 45 years, having lost my taste for it in the Army.
The kid in charge grinned but did not seem to think we were crazier than anybody else. He cursorily examined my friend's pistol and after checking with his manager declared that it was probably safe to shoot. However it turned out that they had no .32 short ammo. Saying what the hell I rented one of the store's 9mm Baretta pistols bought a paper target and box of the cheapest bullets and went to lane six. The kid must have thought I knew what I was doing because he offered no directions or warnings, didn't even verify that I knew how to eject the clip and stuff it with the short ugly rounds. He just gave us some forms to sign indicating that we declined instructions.
As it turns out some skills persist. My only problem was with the noise. I had never fired before in an indoor range and after being nearly deafened went back out to get the ear and eye protection that the kid had originally offered.
My friend fired a few times then went to the waiting area. The noise was too much. Looking back once at the sound proof safety glass partition I saw him gesturing toward me with a huge stainless steel revolver. He seemed excited. I burned through the remaining rounds, shooting some with two hands, some with one, moving the target in and out, most of the time hitting what I was aiming at.
When I went out to return the pistol and pay, the waiting area was thronged with holiday shooters - men, women, children - serious and excited. The sign said that children under eight had to be accompanied on the range by an adult. Every hand seemed to hold a weapon. It would have driven an Army range officer crazy.
After that my friend and I grabbed some lunch and then went for a walk, talking about poetry and books.
********************
Last night I went out to eat with my daughter and her brood. After that we went to the new IKEA. Brenda had always wanted to go but never made it. The idea of being rolled around in a wheelchair was just too undignified. Under my breath I told her that she wasn't missing anything. The pots and pans and angular furniture were like absurd sculptures - monuments to nothing I could connect with.
Yesterday a friend came over and we took his heirloom Colt .32 revolver to a shooting range to try it out. Grammy was the last one to shoot it when she let go a round in the closet to see if the little pistol still worked. He said that she hit a can of green beans.
I got there early and waited in the gun store/shooting range parking lot. My friend drove up a few minutes later in his Prius. It was probably the first time that such a vehicle had ever visited this place.
My friend had never fired a pistol and I had not fired in 45 years, having lost my taste for it in the Army.
The kid in charge grinned but did not seem to think we were crazier than anybody else. He cursorily examined my friend's pistol and after checking with his manager declared that it was probably safe to shoot. However it turned out that they had no .32 short ammo. Saying what the hell I rented one of the store's 9mm Baretta pistols bought a paper target and box of the cheapest bullets and went to lane six. The kid must have thought I knew what I was doing because he offered no directions or warnings, didn't even verify that I knew how to eject the clip and stuff it with the short ugly rounds. He just gave us some forms to sign indicating that we declined instructions.
As it turns out some skills persist. My only problem was with the noise. I had never fired before in an indoor range and after being nearly deafened went back out to get the ear and eye protection that the kid had originally offered.
My friend fired a few times then went to the waiting area. The noise was too much. Looking back once at the sound proof safety glass partition I saw him gesturing toward me with a huge stainless steel revolver. He seemed excited. I burned through the remaining rounds, shooting some with two hands, some with one, moving the target in and out, most of the time hitting what I was aiming at.
When I went out to return the pistol and pay, the waiting area was thronged with holiday shooters - men, women, children - serious and excited. The sign said that children under eight had to be accompanied on the range by an adult. Every hand seemed to hold a weapon. It would have driven an Army range officer crazy.
After that my friend and I grabbed some lunch and then went for a walk, talking about poetry and books.
********************
Last night I went out to eat with my daughter and her brood. After that we went to the new IKEA. Brenda had always wanted to go but never made it. The idea of being rolled around in a wheelchair was just too undignified. Under my breath I told her that she wasn't missing anything. The pots and pans and angular furniture were like absurd sculptures - monuments to nothing I could connect with.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
The Howling Blind Cat
(I thought I would do this post last, that it might be the most painful, but it is not. There is at least one more that will be even harder to do.)
I call him Leroy; Brenda called him Long Legs. That's how he is known at the vet and at Belmont Rite Aid where I periodically pick up eye medicine for Long Legs Weathers. It's always good for a laugh with the nice ladies who work behind the pharmacy counter.
He lost all of his sight maybe a year ago. But he still stayed outside with Catherine (whom I called Loonie - see video at the bottom of the post). However when the Black Cat ran Loonie off Leroy suddenly seemed more vulnerable and we brought him in the house. He stayed in the big bathroom at night and wandered the house during the day.
I consented because it seemed the only thing to do but I still resented it. I resented much about the cats. It was an ongoing issue between us. There are six cats now; at one time back in Shelby we had 14. Brenda fed them in the kitchen at night from large platters. She arranged the food neatly around the edges to minimize inter-food fights. (Two piles of food per cat. I still follow that rule, even exceed it for those that always eat a lot.)
In Leroy's case, I could tolerate the litter box under the cabinet and not having access to the big bathroom at night. The worst thing was the howling. Occasionally he did (and still does) ear-splitting bellows. We never could get inside his head well enough to exactly figure it out. The vet thinks it has something to do with arthritis. We thought it was loneliness and frustration. And sometimes I know that he picked up on discord in the house, adding his voice to the fray.
Even the howling didn't bother me that much until Brenda's condition got so bad that she moaned every morning after getting up starved for oxygen, waiting for her "puffers" to take affect. Her moaning often coincided with Leroy's howling as he lumbered down the hall from the bathroom. Both of them going tended to drive me crazy - not metaphorically but literally crazy, leading me to say vile things, even one morning threatening to get in the car and leave Brenda there to die with her cats. (That was the hard thing I dreaded to write.) Yancie then other people after hearing of the situation offered to take Leory, but Brenda would not agree to it. She cried that she was sorry sorry sorry but that she could not bear it and that it would only be for a little while anyway.
As Steve said (after he told me that this was making me insane) Leroy was a placeholder. I know that Leroy was a placeholder for my own frustrations and resentments. As I write this I realize what I always knew - that Brenda also saw Leroy as a placeholder - symbolizing her own illness and vulnerability - that to take him away would be to take her away.
But my madness went away in the weeks after Hospice came. There was no magical moment of revelation. But I think we forgave each other for being crazy.
Now Leroy and the other cats are no longer placeholders for anything. They are still "people" - but cat people.
(Or is Leroy now a placeholder for me - is his howling my howling?)
Here's the video that Brenda had me make to celebrate the relationship between Catherine and Long Legs. She edited the words.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Metaphors In The Drizzle
Steve and I went out for a brunch-like meal Sunday morning then walked in the drizzle at Freedom Park. Getting to the Pancake House was comedic. Nothing was the same, all the familiar landmarks consumed in one of Charlotte's recent paroxysms of gentrification. The old Charlottetown Mall is gone. The little houses in the Cherry neighborhood that once furnished servants for Myers Park have been replaced by cheap looking apartments.
But the Pancake House was nice and the conversation was good.
Either there or later walking in the drizzle at Freedom Park we talked about Steve's notion of how Brenda, the cats and I formed a system. It was/is like a gravitational system where each member contributes his or her attraction to the whole. Remove one body and the rest fly around in confusion as the new arrangement tries to sort itself out. This is especially bad when the sun, the center is removed. This doesn't have anything to do with love. It is much deeper than that.
(Yancie travels a complex orbit between the old system consisting of the cats and me and the new system of her own family - sensitive to disruptions and perturbations in both.)
My metaphor is more biological. Brenda and I were together so long we became connected at the level of emotional DNA. At the end, our spiritual genetics were interwtined. I could finish her sentences, she mine. So when the connection between us was severed I naturally began to hemorrhage psychic stuff. For a while I thought I would bleed out.
Another friend, also a writer and a poet, offered these words...
"Now we are of that age when those who watched us grow are all gone and those we chose to love and move through time with are falling away, one by one, like leaves reluctant to seek unfamiliar ground."
But the Pancake House was nice and the conversation was good.
Either there or later walking in the drizzle at Freedom Park we talked about Steve's notion of how Brenda, the cats and I formed a system. It was/is like a gravitational system where each member contributes his or her attraction to the whole. Remove one body and the rest fly around in confusion as the new arrangement tries to sort itself out. This is especially bad when the sun, the center is removed. This doesn't have anything to do with love. It is much deeper than that.
(Yancie travels a complex orbit between the old system consisting of the cats and me and the new system of her own family - sensitive to disruptions and perturbations in both.)
My metaphor is more biological. Brenda and I were together so long we became connected at the level of emotional DNA. At the end, our spiritual genetics were interwtined. I could finish her sentences, she mine. So when the connection between us was severed I naturally began to hemorrhage psychic stuff. For a while I thought I would bleed out.
Another friend, also a writer and a poet, offered these words...
"Now we are of that age when those who watched us grow are all gone and those we chose to love and move through time with are falling away, one by one, like leaves reluctant to seek unfamiliar ground."
Monday, December 14, 2009
Going To The Hospice House
She didn't want to go to the Hospice House. She said she would die there. But the Hospice home nurse swore that it was just for a couple of days to get her medicine regulated. I went along with it because it was a plan and I didn't want to see her slumped anymore at the kitchen table about to fall out of her chair afraid to go to bed, because she hated that room and was also afraid of dying there.
The last episode of getting Brenda ready was like all the others. I pushed and cajoled. She wanted to slow down, to not go, to stay where she was and sleep at the kitchen table in front of her little TV and Nancy Grace and the Cooking Channel. She cried for me to leave her alone that she couldn't make it. But I was committed to the plan and pushed on.
When we finally got into the car and had one more dose of morphine, it wasn't so bad. Driving across town in the rain and failing light we got silly and sang a Christmas carol - We Three Kings I Think.
By the time we got to the Hospice House, which appeared in a winter field just over the crest of a low hill, Brenda did what she always did. She joined into the adventure, talked with the people, and looked around at the chalet-like surroundings as the nurse, a dusky man of deep wisdom, ferried her down the hall to her room.
The last episode of getting Brenda ready was like all the others. I pushed and cajoled. She wanted to slow down, to not go, to stay where she was and sleep at the kitchen table in front of her little TV and Nancy Grace and the Cooking Channel. She cried for me to leave her alone that she couldn't make it. But I was committed to the plan and pushed on.
When we finally got into the car and had one more dose of morphine, it wasn't so bad. Driving across town in the rain and failing light we got silly and sang a Christmas carol - We Three Kings I Think.
By the time we got to the Hospice House, which appeared in a winter field just over the crest of a low hill, Brenda did what she always did. She joined into the adventure, talked with the people, and looked around at the chalet-like surroundings as the nurse, a dusky man of deep wisdom, ferried her down the hall to her room.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Coming Home
Saturday night, after going to out to supper with Yancie and her brood, I came back to the house to spend the night. It was the first time since Brenda died.
I don't remember my exact progression from room to room. I probably spent some time in my office/bedroom with the computer. Then after steeling myself to go to Brenda's bedroom and get a blanket I moved to the den. I turned up the fire logs and watched some of Jeremiah Johnson and then some of something else. Nothing made much sense.
After getting sleepy I left the den and went into the kitchen. I planned to return to my room to spend the night. However, Pye, the cat who used to sleep with Brenda came out from wherever she had been hiding and spoke to me and I followed her into Brenda's bedroom. Pye waited on the bed looking at me. I imagined that she was asking where Brenda was. I turned on Brenda's TV and lay down on the bed and Pye let me rub her. But when I lost it, she became indifferent and hopped off the bed and went back to her hiding place.
(Pye and I used to fight about Brenda. Pye wanted to sit on her, getting more insistent as Brenda got sicker. Knowing the cat would wake Brenda up and set off a new round of moaning and panicky breathing I would run her off. But if Brenda was awake, she would tell me to leave Pye alone - that I was making things worse.)
After Pye left, I got up, took one of Dr. Beatty's sleeping pills, and went to my room. I turned on the Beattles' CD took off my clothes and crawled in bed. That worked. I slept almost eight hours.
The next day I had brunch with Steve then braved the drizzle to walk with him in Freedom park. The drizzle was nice. That night I went out to dinner with Yancie, her brood and her inlaws. When I got home there were a few emails waiting from friends.
But the house was just as empty, just as freakish.
Gathering Up the Stuff
Yesterday Yancie and Allie came over to help me gather up the most visible reminders, closet clothes, cosmetics, mostly things that could be seen. She took them home in nice new plastic bins and will probably keep them forever. We debated about the best thing to do - to leave the things out or to move them. Both choices were painful but I did not think I could stand to see everything, especially in the state they were - as scattered detritus of the last weeks of illness.
Both of us cried a lot. But Allie helped, placing items in bags and boxes, some designated as valuable and some as trash. Naturally she had to told what most things were.
I don't remember where we put the half-smoked cigarette we found behind some creams and cosmetics. But we did keep the little Altoids tin of emergency cigarettes that Brenda held on to even after she stopped smoking back in July.
There is still a lot of stuff left. Except for going through necessary papers and disposing of some of the cardboard boxes I won't touch the remainder for a while if ever. She is everywhere. This morning when I was putting up dishes, I placed her plate in the cabinet. I always ate on the blue plate and she ate on the white plate. The white plate came from her mother and she was sentimental about it.
Both of us cried a lot. But Allie helped, placing items in bags and boxes, some designated as valuable and some as trash. Naturally she had to told what most things were.
I don't remember where we put the half-smoked cigarette we found behind some creams and cosmetics. But we did keep the little Altoids tin of emergency cigarettes that Brenda held on to even after she stopped smoking back in July.
There is still a lot of stuff left. Except for going through necessary papers and disposing of some of the cardboard boxes I won't touch the remainder for a while if ever. She is everywhere. This morning when I was putting up dishes, I placed her plate in the cabinet. I always ate on the blue plate and she ate on the white plate. The white plate came from her mother and she was sentimental about it.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Visitation
The visitation last night was nice. It was held at Cecil Burton's funeral home in Shelby. It is in a classy old mansion that once belonged to the Thompson family. My mother and father were working in the Thompson lumber company and casket shop in 1939 when I was born. Cecil keeps six chickens out back, a tasteful distance from the mansion. They belong to his daughter. He eats the eggs. Sometimes the chickens run loose and have been known to come up to the elegant French doors during a viewing or reception.
Most of Brenda's former cooworkers were there, some old classmates and friends and two blood relatives - one of her cousins who happened to be in town and one of mine. (Neither of our families were/are big on staying in touch. My cousin Don and I swore to surprise one another and visit. I hope we do. I had forgotten what a smart dignified guy he is.)
Yancie and Allie (who looked very pretty in a black dress with a big pin) stayed in place greeting people who came by while I worked the crowd, shaking hands, clutching elbows, patting backs, maybe hugging some of my old female friends a little too long. Looking at myself from outside myself I couldn't decide whether I was appalled or amused. Randy who is a programmer spent a lot of time with Yudi and Larry two of my old friends who are also programmers.
Pictures of Brenda were on display showing her at various times of her life. There was the one black and white I especially like of her standing beside her family's Pontiac. Her hair was short and blond and her arms were shapely and bare. She leaned against the car, one foot thrust slightly forward in a model's pose which I know was natural and not calculated. Every guy of a certain age who stopped at that display looked at Brenda, said she was beautiful, then tried to guess the age of the Pontiac.
Maybe the saddest thing was one of Brenda's oldest and best friends who came despite an injury and illness. His partner and I had to half carry him to a chair where he sat crying and sleeping while I performed.
Most of Brenda's former cooworkers were there, some old classmates and friends and two blood relatives - one of her cousins who happened to be in town and one of mine. (Neither of our families were/are big on staying in touch. My cousin Don and I swore to surprise one another and visit. I hope we do. I had forgotten what a smart dignified guy he is.)
Yancie and Allie (who looked very pretty in a black dress with a big pin) stayed in place greeting people who came by while I worked the crowd, shaking hands, clutching elbows, patting backs, maybe hugging some of my old female friends a little too long. Looking at myself from outside myself I couldn't decide whether I was appalled or amused. Randy who is a programmer spent a lot of time with Yudi and Larry two of my old friends who are also programmers.
Pictures of Brenda were on display showing her at various times of her life. There was the one black and white I especially like of her standing beside her family's Pontiac. Her hair was short and blond and her arms were shapely and bare. She leaned against the car, one foot thrust slightly forward in a model's pose which I know was natural and not calculated. Every guy of a certain age who stopped at that display looked at Brenda, said she was beautiful, then tried to guess the age of the Pontiac.
Maybe the saddest thing was one of Brenda's oldest and best friends who came despite an injury and illness. His partner and I had to half carry him to a chair where he sat crying and sleeping while I performed.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Bitter and Sweet - The Sweet
Right now I want to remember and write about the sweet stuff.
She was always physically beautiful. Although you get used to that when you see somebody every day, I was still struck by it. In Shelby High school she colored her hair platinum blond and wore black. Susan Thomas, the little girl with big horn rim glasses who married my friend Doanne said Brenda looked like the actress Kim Novak. Which was funny because I was supposed to look like James Dean. Kim and James.
I think a lot of men had secret crushes on her. After a while I didn't mind because she was too dignified to invite advances.
She was naturally graceful and without thinking would stand with one foot arched and turned forward in a model's pose. Although always too shy to dance, either in public or in private that I knew of, she loved Dancing With The Stars. She tried to get me to watch it with her, pointing out the sexy girls as enticement. I couldn't stand the show but would usually join her in front of the bedroom TV for each season's final episodes.
We always liked going out for coffee. Some of our best times were nights at the Dairy Queen in Shelby drinking coffee with Frank and Margaret, Milton and Rhonda, Griff, Randy, and the other adults plus Yancie and all the kids. We never did find a comparable place after moving to Mount Holly. It wasn't the same.
But in the past year, we did start going to the little coffee shop in Belmont, especially after visiting Walmart, Bi Lo, or Pet Smart. In pretty weather we would sit outside and look across the street to the park and at the people strolling by. (We'd comment about the intent skinny old man who was always out running, whenever we came.) The last time we went was after one of the doctor visits, maybe after Coggins told her it probably was cancer. She was too sick to get out so I went inside and brought the coffee to the car.
Our last outings were to Einstein Bagels on S. Blvd in Charlotte. We went after the funny middle-eastern surgeon excised one of the tumors for a biopsy and a week later after the PET scan. She always liked poppy seed bagels with veggie spread. In her opinion the best came from the bagel place in Shelby near the court house. (She liked going to Shelby. Often we'd see somebody we knew. She never really felt at home in Mount Holly. Shelby was in her DNA.) She couldn't get out of the car but we managed to park close to the building (a converted service station) and could see the people come and go. We laughed at the busy yuppie boy in the Range Rover beside us.
She was always physically beautiful. Although you get used to that when you see somebody every day, I was still struck by it. In Shelby High school she colored her hair platinum blond and wore black. Susan Thomas, the little girl with big horn rim glasses who married my friend Doanne said Brenda looked like the actress Kim Novak. Which was funny because I was supposed to look like James Dean. Kim and James.
I think a lot of men had secret crushes on her. After a while I didn't mind because she was too dignified to invite advances.
She was naturally graceful and without thinking would stand with one foot arched and turned forward in a model's pose. Although always too shy to dance, either in public or in private that I knew of, she loved Dancing With The Stars. She tried to get me to watch it with her, pointing out the sexy girls as enticement. I couldn't stand the show but would usually join her in front of the bedroom TV for each season's final episodes.
We always liked going out for coffee. Some of our best times were nights at the Dairy Queen in Shelby drinking coffee with Frank and Margaret, Milton and Rhonda, Griff, Randy, and the other adults plus Yancie and all the kids. We never did find a comparable place after moving to Mount Holly. It wasn't the same.
But in the past year, we did start going to the little coffee shop in Belmont, especially after visiting Walmart, Bi Lo, or Pet Smart. In pretty weather we would sit outside and look across the street to the park and at the people strolling by. (We'd comment about the intent skinny old man who was always out running, whenever we came.) The last time we went was after one of the doctor visits, maybe after Coggins told her it probably was cancer. She was too sick to get out so I went inside and brought the coffee to the car.
Our last outings were to Einstein Bagels on S. Blvd in Charlotte. We went after the funny middle-eastern surgeon excised one of the tumors for a biopsy and a week later after the PET scan. She always liked poppy seed bagels with veggie spread. In her opinion the best came from the bagel place in Shelby near the court house. (She liked going to Shelby. Often we'd see somebody we knew. She never really felt at home in Mount Holly. Shelby was in her DNA.) She couldn't get out of the car but we managed to park close to the building (a converted service station) and could see the people come and go. We laughed at the busy yuppie boy in the Range Rover beside us.
3:00 AM Tai Chi
Brenda died two days ago. I've been staying at my daughter and son-in-law's house, soothed and distracted by the sweetness and madness of my grandchildren. But I still can't sleep through the night despite the sleeping pills Dr. Beatty prescribed. So at 3:00 AM last night and the night before, I did tai chi in front of the big TV. Surprisingly my balance was OK and my moves were fairly smooth. I managed to coordinate breathing and movement.
Nothing magical happened; there was no detectable surge of chi.
However I didn't harden my outward moves into strikes when my breath left my body. I kept my hands soft.
Nothing magical happened; there was no detectable surge of chi.
However I didn't harden my outward moves into strikes when my breath left my body. I kept my hands soft.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Brenda's Obituary
MOUNT HOLLY - On Dec. 9, 2009, Brenda Moser Weathers joined her mother Isabel Lackey Moser, her father Curtis Polk Moser, and other welcoming spirits, both those with two legs and four.
She is survived by her husband of 48 years, Tom Weathers, her daughter Yancie Weathers-Costner, son-in-law Randy Costner, granddaughter Allie Michal Costner, grandson Evan Costner, and the six fur babies.
Her life was her family, friends, and pets. She loved the cooking channel and worked crossword puzzles in ink. She retired from the North Carolina Department of Transportation, in 2004 after 44 years. She was awarded one of North Carolina's highest awards, The Order of the Long Leaf Pine for her extraordinary service. Although of no particular religious affiliation, she was proud of her Jewish heritage and was wearing her Star of David at the end.
She was a woman of unusual beauty, quiet grace, and great dignity.
She wanted to be remembered by this poem…
Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there.
I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow;
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sunlight on ripened grain;
I am the gentle autumn's rain.
When you awaked in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star that shines at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not there.
She will be missed.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
PET Scan
Brenda has had an x ray, two CT scans and a PET scan. Wonders of science. The PET scan actually involves positrons - antimatter electrons. Tumors are said to light up like a Christmas tree.
Getting ready for all these scans was bad - Brenda hates getting ready for anything. But getting ready for the PET scan was the worst. Maybe she dreaded it more. Maybe her condition was that much worse. But it was important because it would tell the doctors if the cancer had spread into the bones and would help guide palliative radiation. So I adopted my usual drill sergeant role nagging this poor sick moaning woman through the various stages of cleaning up, putting on clothes and drinking two 11 oz bottles of water before leaving at 11:30 AM.
Yancie was able to go with us for the first CT scan but couldn't today because she had to stay home with her two kids. Allie who is seven could have come but not Evan, who is 21 months.
Throughout, Brenda had ongoing "panic attacks" (they are really episodes of oxygen starvation - I'll write about that in another post). At Coggins suggestion I gave her two .25 mg Zanax tablets. Up until the very last when I manged to get her dressed I wasn't sure we would do it. At one point she was sitting on the commode trying to put on clothes and at the same time drink a bottle of water for the prep. But at 11:30 I rolled her in the wheel chair to the front door then had her hold onto something while I got the wheel chair to the sidewalk then helped her down the steps and rolled her to the car. In the car we discovered that the new regulator for the portable O2 tank wasn't working properly and I had to switch back to the old regulator.
We got there a little late but nobody seemed to care. The Morehead Imaging Center is a nice new place. The male PET technician was very pleasant and capable. He injected the substance that lights up the tumors in response to the radiation then left Brenda in a little room with a TV to wait 1 1/2 hours while the imaging substance percolated through her system. Still under the influence of the two Zanax (and swaddled in heated blankets) she slept the entire time. I used the guest computers in the resource center to email Yancie then came back in with some free coffee and watched a gruesome episode of Criminal Minds.
She spent 20 minutes in the PET scan machine, advancing a foot or so every three minutes. It was longer and tighter and more scary than I had anticipated but the two Zanax continued to work. It also helped that I could stay beside her and hold her hands (which were extended behind her over her head). She asked me to tell her a story and I tried to recount the highlights of my new novel. It sounded pretty stupid.
After the PET scan we went across the building for a CT head scan. The young female tech seemed capable but not as personable as the other person.
After it was all over she waited in the lobby in her wheelchair while I got the car then we went again to Einstein's to sit in the car and eat a late lunch. This wasn't as pleasant as the visit after the biopsy. She felt worse and we didn't stay long.
Getting ready for all these scans was bad - Brenda hates getting ready for anything. But getting ready for the PET scan was the worst. Maybe she dreaded it more. Maybe her condition was that much worse. But it was important because it would tell the doctors if the cancer had spread into the bones and would help guide palliative radiation. So I adopted my usual drill sergeant role nagging this poor sick moaning woman through the various stages of cleaning up, putting on clothes and drinking two 11 oz bottles of water before leaving at 11:30 AM.
Yancie was able to go with us for the first CT scan but couldn't today because she had to stay home with her two kids. Allie who is seven could have come but not Evan, who is 21 months.
Throughout, Brenda had ongoing "panic attacks" (they are really episodes of oxygen starvation - I'll write about that in another post). At Coggins suggestion I gave her two .25 mg Zanax tablets. Up until the very last when I manged to get her dressed I wasn't sure we would do it. At one point she was sitting on the commode trying to put on clothes and at the same time drink a bottle of water for the prep. But at 11:30 I rolled her in the wheel chair to the front door then had her hold onto something while I got the wheel chair to the sidewalk then helped her down the steps and rolled her to the car. In the car we discovered that the new regulator for the portable O2 tank wasn't working properly and I had to switch back to the old regulator.
We got there a little late but nobody seemed to care. The Morehead Imaging Center is a nice new place. The male PET technician was very pleasant and capable. He injected the substance that lights up the tumors in response to the radiation then left Brenda in a little room with a TV to wait 1 1/2 hours while the imaging substance percolated through her system. Still under the influence of the two Zanax (and swaddled in heated blankets) she slept the entire time. I used the guest computers in the resource center to email Yancie then came back in with some free coffee and watched a gruesome episode of Criminal Minds.
She spent 20 minutes in the PET scan machine, advancing a foot or so every three minutes. It was longer and tighter and more scary than I had anticipated but the two Zanax continued to work. It also helped that I could stay beside her and hold her hands (which were extended behind her over her head). She asked me to tell her a story and I tried to recount the highlights of my new novel. It sounded pretty stupid.
After the PET scan we went across the building for a CT head scan. The young female tech seemed capable but not as personable as the other person.
After it was all over she waited in the lobby in her wheelchair while I got the car then we went again to Einstein's to sit in the car and eat a late lunch. This wasn't as pleasant as the visit after the biopsy. She felt worse and we didn't stay long.
Cancer Diagnosis Chronology
The first growth appeared on her inner thigh - late last summer (09) I think. It was cone shaped like a large wen. I told her she needed to go to the doctor but she didn't want to. This is a game we often play. I'll say "You ought..." or "You should...." She will say "Yes, but..." and ignore me. I feel that I have tried. She feels, I don't know. Often these injunctions have to do with going to doctors.
Later two more growths appeared - one each on her chest and stomach. They all got bigger. Finally the growth on her thigh started to itch and get uncomfortable. And another one started on her back.
Around the first of Nov 09 I made an appointment with Dr Beatty - the family doc. Ostensibly this for him to look at my knee (which has been causing problems) but really it was to ask about Brenda. I made an appointment for her to see him on Nov 10th.
He did an office xray and told us he saw a mass in her chest. He said he thought the growths and the mass were related. Brenda asked if it could be cancer. He said yes.
Here is what happened next...
CT scan of trunk Nov 13. Showed expanded lymph nodes, masses in chest. Likely to be lung cancer.
Tuesday Nov 17th saw Dr. Coggins, pulmonary doctor. He confirmed possible lung cancer. Mentioned masses, lymph nodes. Said he thought the growths were metastatic tumors.
Wednesday Nov 18th Dr. Stephanidis, a pleasantly quirky fellow of middle eastern descent removed the abdomen tumor for a biopsy. He took it off in his office with me sitting to one side. The tissue was sort of pale and seemed to have roots. There wasn't a lot bleeding. When I said that it didn't seem as involved as the removal of one of my skin cancers he said something like "You expected more excitement." Brenda didn't experience any pain. Although she is hell to get someplace once there she is a trooper. After it was over we went by Einstein bagels where we sat in the car and ate lunch.
Tues or Wed (Nov 24 or 25th) Dr. Coggins called with the results of the biopsy. Confirmed that it was cancer. I don't remember if it was this call or the next that he offered "weeks rather than months" prognosis. But I think it was this call. I also think this is when he told us that he wanted to bring in Hospice.
(Throughout all this there was a gradual taking away of hope as the diagnosis became less and less problematic and more and more confirmed. Initially there was some possibility that it was a very bad infection. Yancie wondered if it could be caused by exposure to cat litter boxes. Brenda said she didn't know what to think, how to feel. The only time we cried was after we were both on the phone talking to Coggins and he told us the prognosis. I remember we in her bedroom and the sun was shining through the double window and she came around from the other side of the bed and we hugged and cried which we never do.)
PET scan and CT scan of head on Thursday 27 - day after Thanksgiving. It was awful getting ready. I'll write more about this, Hospice, and other things in subsequent posts.
Saturday Nov 28 Hospice showed up.
Later two more growths appeared - one each on her chest and stomach. They all got bigger. Finally the growth on her thigh started to itch and get uncomfortable. And another one started on her back.
Around the first of Nov 09 I made an appointment with Dr Beatty - the family doc. Ostensibly this for him to look at my knee (which has been causing problems) but really it was to ask about Brenda. I made an appointment for her to see him on Nov 10th.
He did an office xray and told us he saw a mass in her chest. He said he thought the growths and the mass were related. Brenda asked if it could be cancer. He said yes.
Here is what happened next...
CT scan of trunk Nov 13. Showed expanded lymph nodes, masses in chest. Likely to be lung cancer.
Tuesday Nov 17th saw Dr. Coggins, pulmonary doctor. He confirmed possible lung cancer. Mentioned masses, lymph nodes. Said he thought the growths were metastatic tumors.
Wednesday Nov 18th Dr. Stephanidis, a pleasantly quirky fellow of middle eastern descent removed the abdomen tumor for a biopsy. He took it off in his office with me sitting to one side. The tissue was sort of pale and seemed to have roots. There wasn't a lot bleeding. When I said that it didn't seem as involved as the removal of one of my skin cancers he said something like "You expected more excitement." Brenda didn't experience any pain. Although she is hell to get someplace once there she is a trooper. After it was over we went by Einstein bagels where we sat in the car and ate lunch.
Tues or Wed (Nov 24 or 25th) Dr. Coggins called with the results of the biopsy. Confirmed that it was cancer. I don't remember if it was this call or the next that he offered "weeks rather than months" prognosis. But I think it was this call. I also think this is when he told us that he wanted to bring in Hospice.
(Throughout all this there was a gradual taking away of hope as the diagnosis became less and less problematic and more and more confirmed. Initially there was some possibility that it was a very bad infection. Yancie wondered if it could be caused by exposure to cat litter boxes. Brenda said she didn't know what to think, how to feel. The only time we cried was after we were both on the phone talking to Coggins and he told us the prognosis. I remember we in her bedroom and the sun was shining through the double window and she came around from the other side of the bed and we hugged and cried which we never do.)
PET scan and CT scan of head on Thursday 27 - day after Thanksgiving. It was awful getting ready. I'll write more about this, Hospice, and other things in subsequent posts.
Saturday Nov 28 Hospice showed up.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Little Oxygen Tanks
She went on oxygen in 2002 - concentrators for the house and office and portable tanks for the car and getting out.
We first used the little tanks that you fill yourself from an outside liquid oxygen supply that the O2 people - Lincare - periodically topped off. But that didn't work because the fittings would freeze up. (I remember going out in the rain in the dark in the winter filling up a tank before she went to work and being shrouded in steam cominng from poorly connected fittings.) We switched to the small tanks that you carry around.
She has always hated the portable tanks because they are so heavy. In the beginning, half the time, she wouldn't even bother to carry one. Seeing other people in Wal Mart with their various styles of tanks - apparently not having any trouble, she wondered how they managed to get the good stuff.
We have gone through a variety of shoulder bags and back packs trying to find the ideal carrier. I always told her she tried to carry too much other stuff but she shrugged that off. All the bags had a tendency to slide down and cut her arm with the strap when she leaned over - for instance trying to get something from a shelf.
Over the years, we gradually increased the O2 setting - on the house concentrator and on the regulator on the little tanks. We started out at 2 and are now at 5. At 5 (4 actually because our old regulator doesn't work at at 5 and she can't breath in strong enough to trigger puffs in the new regulator) a tank lasts about an hour. So when we go out (which we haven't done lately) she carrys one tank and I carry two spares in the good shoulder bag that I got for her from some semi-fancy luggage shop (Sharon Luggage - I remember now).
We first used the little tanks that you fill yourself from an outside liquid oxygen supply that the O2 people - Lincare - periodically topped off. But that didn't work because the fittings would freeze up. (I remember going out in the rain in the dark in the winter filling up a tank before she went to work and being shrouded in steam cominng from poorly connected fittings.) We switched to the small tanks that you carry around.
She has always hated the portable tanks because they are so heavy. In the beginning, half the time, she wouldn't even bother to carry one. Seeing other people in Wal Mart with their various styles of tanks - apparently not having any trouble, she wondered how they managed to get the good stuff.
We have gone through a variety of shoulder bags and back packs trying to find the ideal carrier. I always told her she tried to carry too much other stuff but she shrugged that off. All the bags had a tendency to slide down and cut her arm with the strap when she leaned over - for instance trying to get something from a shelf.
Over the years, we gradually increased the O2 setting - on the house concentrator and on the regulator on the little tanks. We started out at 2 and are now at 5. At 5 (4 actually because our old regulator doesn't work at at 5 and she can't breath in strong enough to trigger puffs in the new regulator) a tank lasts about an hour. So when we go out (which we haven't done lately) she carrys one tank and I carry two spares in the good shoulder bag that I got for her from some semi-fancy luggage shop (Sharon Luggage - I remember now).
COPD Chronology
It runs together.
It really started before we moved to Mt. Holly on the last day of December, 1995. Taking the 1 1/2 mile walk from our house to the Dairy Queen I made a joke of placing my hand on Brenda's back and pushing her up the long hill on Graham. But she seemed to need the help. I think Yancie went with us sometimes, and maybe Frank, and maybe Randy too after he and Yancie got together. I carried a bo staff to ward off villains. We drank coffee at the Dairy Queen with friends and listened to Buster make BOOM! noises when he showed up. We hardly ever walked back; somebody gave us a ride. Those were pretty good times.
Emphysema was mentioned for the first time in Oct of 98 when, after a nasty bout of bronchitis, I managed to get Brenda to the emergency room at Gaston Memorial. The young doctor said matter-of-factly, "You've got touch of emphysema."
Six months later in April 99 another (or a continuation of the same) bout of bronchitis put her in Carolinas Medical for almost a week. This time the diagnosis was full-blown emphysema. But she continued to commute 38 miles back to Shelby where she worked in the office of the NC State Dept of Transportation.
Sometime in 2002 she was put on oxygen - with a concentrator at home and in her office and small portable tanks for the car.
She still smoked. After getting back from Charlotte Medical she managed to quit for a month and was able to walk to the end of the drive to get the paper. But something at work or at home bothered her so she started back. She managed to quit for good in July 08. But she never did feel better - maybe because by that time the lung cancer had already started to develop.
(I think this happened just before the April 99 episode. She was driving home from work when Big Guy, the old Toyota Land Cruiser that she loves, broke down outside of Shelby. It was on 74 going up the hill from Buffalo Creek. She called me on a cell phone. I found her sitting in the car, with the cold that was turning into bronchitis. It was bleak and dark and chilly. I managed to get Big Guy started and asked her to drive on to Gastonia so we could leave the vehicle at the Toyota dealer and not on the side of the road. She was miserable by the time we got to Mt. Holly. I suppose she would have ended up the hospital regardless but I always felt bad about making her drive.)
She has had a couple of pulmonary doctors - the first in Gastonia and the second one in Charlotte. She likes the Charlotte doctor OK but not the one in Gastonia. I thought he was all right but she thought he treated her like an old person.
She switched to the Charlotte doctor in January 04, not long after retiring from the DOT. She got the Long Leaf Pine award for her 40 plus years of service. Things went gradually down hill in the years since and on Nov 10, 08 we went to see her family doctor because of the growths that had appeared on her body. They turned out to be metastatic tumors coming from lung cancer.
It really started before we moved to Mt. Holly on the last day of December, 1995. Taking the 1 1/2 mile walk from our house to the Dairy Queen I made a joke of placing my hand on Brenda's back and pushing her up the long hill on Graham. But she seemed to need the help. I think Yancie went with us sometimes, and maybe Frank, and maybe Randy too after he and Yancie got together. I carried a bo staff to ward off villains. We drank coffee at the Dairy Queen with friends and listened to Buster make BOOM! noises when he showed up. We hardly ever walked back; somebody gave us a ride. Those were pretty good times.
Emphysema was mentioned for the first time in Oct of 98 when, after a nasty bout of bronchitis, I managed to get Brenda to the emergency room at Gaston Memorial. The young doctor said matter-of-factly, "You've got touch of emphysema."
Six months later in April 99 another (or a continuation of the same) bout of bronchitis put her in Carolinas Medical for almost a week. This time the diagnosis was full-blown emphysema. But she continued to commute 38 miles back to Shelby where she worked in the office of the NC State Dept of Transportation.
Sometime in 2002 she was put on oxygen - with a concentrator at home and in her office and small portable tanks for the car.
She still smoked. After getting back from Charlotte Medical she managed to quit for a month and was able to walk to the end of the drive to get the paper. But something at work or at home bothered her so she started back. She managed to quit for good in July 08. But she never did feel better - maybe because by that time the lung cancer had already started to develop.
(I think this happened just before the April 99 episode. She was driving home from work when Big Guy, the old Toyota Land Cruiser that she loves, broke down outside of Shelby. It was on 74 going up the hill from Buffalo Creek. She called me on a cell phone. I found her sitting in the car, with the cold that was turning into bronchitis. It was bleak and dark and chilly. I managed to get Big Guy started and asked her to drive on to Gastonia so we could leave the vehicle at the Toyota dealer and not on the side of the road. She was miserable by the time we got to Mt. Holly. I suppose she would have ended up the hospital regardless but I always felt bad about making her drive.)
She has had a couple of pulmonary doctors - the first in Gastonia and the second one in Charlotte. She likes the Charlotte doctor OK but not the one in Gastonia. I thought he was all right but she thought he treated her like an old person.
She switched to the Charlotte doctor in January 04, not long after retiring from the DOT. She got the Long Leaf Pine award for her 40 plus years of service. Things went gradually down hill in the years since and on Nov 10, 08 we went to see her family doctor because of the growths that had appeared on her body. They turned out to be metastatic tumors coming from lung cancer.
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