Cause Most Of Our Feelings, They Are Dead And They Are Gone

Shadows settle on the place, that you left.
Our minds are troubled by the emptiness.
Destroy the middle, it's a waste of time.
From the perfect start to the finish line.

Sorrow -- Van Gogh

Jenny slept from 9ish Saturday night until 3 p.m. Sunday.  Recovering from chemotherapy and sleeping off the drugs she is taking may explain such extraordinarily long periods of sleep. Cancer itself may be the driver. A combination of all of the above?  All this sleep is scaring the bejesus out of me.  I ,myself, fell asleep early Saturday evening, hiding in the basement to avoid the Glee retrospective being celebrated upstairs by the women of the household.  I woke up at 12:30 a.m. thinking that it was Monday, and set an early alarm accordingly. I realized my error about 6 a.m. , and was quite pleased.

I had planned to get out on my own Sunday, but was worried about Jenny.  I waited until 11:30 a.m. to wake her, an an endeavor which was not very successful. When I managed to get her to respond, she asked if she had been in hospital last night, what day it was, and the time.  I told her she hadn't been in the hospital, and that it was Sunday around 1130. Her speech was slurred, and she didn't really open her eyes.  She asked again whether she had been in the hospital and the day again. After repeating my earlier answers, I told her I was taking the girls to Ikea. I thought a short jaunt would be okay, but was nervous, worried Jenny might try and get up and fall, or that she might be ill, after mentioning she had a sore throat last night.  I waited until 1145, opened up all the blinds in her bedroom. And coaxed her awake again. I asked of she felt comfortable with me leaving with the girls, encouraged her to wake up, and waited for her answer.  She asked me again the day, and whether she had something to do today and I gave the same answers to the first two questions and said I didn't know if she had obligations today. She said she'd get up,  and we would be fine leaving.  I gathered the girls and headed out. Five minutes into the drive, I had Leiney call Jenny, who had fallen back to sleep we learned. After Leiney told her what day it is, we occupied ourselves with the first trip to Ikea since the pandemic.

We got home just after 3.  Jenny was on the living room sectional.  When she spoke, her tongue still sounded thick.  I made her some food, and she relaxed on the couch.

I got her out on a walk, in the bright spring afternoon.  It was cool and windy, despite the sunshine.  She was weak, and almost stumbling more than walking, her gait funny and her pace snail like. She held my arm a lot, and we had to crawl up any hill. Despite this, she was determined.  We were out more than an hour, and walked a couple miles.  By the end, she was incredibly weak, her pace glacial. But her speech was clearer and we were both glad she got exercise. She never did shake the lethargy, and cursed her cancer, understandably, later in the evening.

The changes in Jenny over the course kf the disease, especially as time goes on, with the toll of the cancer, the chemo, and the drugs has shaken me the last few days. She has aged, markedly. She has moments of brightness, but they are flashes, like sunshine glimpsed flashing between buildings when driving.  

Since chemotherapy, I have been deep in thought. The good news we got from the doctor hasn't buoyed me, and is hard to square with the sickness I just described.  I'm not saying the doctor isn't to be believed, just that the aftermath of chemotherapy diminishes the pronouncement of "stable disease." To see this suffering day after day overwhelms me. I feel small, a lost little boy wandering through the vastness of my fear.

Mt. Hood
She doesn't stop.  I don't blame her, but don't know what to make of it, and the risk it entails. Tomorrow, she decided, she is taking Leiney to Portland to see Lora and skiing at Mt. Hood on Tuesday.  I am certain she will push herself to make it happen, but I am befuddled by it, and worried that this drive to push herself to live life so fully isn't safe, isn't advisable. I understand the motivation.  I just worry it's too much. 

I am so sad. For Jenny. For the girls. For the life we had, and lost.


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