Deep Breaths

Deep breaths!!
The past few days have been a blur of paperwork, medical equipment, nurses and doctors.
Jay and I have glazed over eyes, dumbstruck expressions on our faces and true sensory overload.

On Tuesday, my sweet doctor made the call we didn't want to make - she called hospice. Within a few hours of returning home, hospice was calling us. We scheduled the admission for Thursday.

My case nurse and an administrator arrived at our home with sweet smiles and soft spirits. At the kitchen table - where all important discussions are required to take place - we talked about the ins and outs of all things hospice. My new team, which is comprised of my doctor, nurses, wound care nurse, CNA's, pastoral care, social workers and volunteers will now manage every aspect of my care from now on. They will work closely with Jay and I to ensure that we can focus on living well, spend time together and with family, and do the things we want to do.

We had many decisions to make in a short period of time:
* Where will the hospital bed go? We chose the master bedroom next to our bed. Even though the hospital bed will be physically easier for me, it will be very difficult not sleeping next to Jay every night. We pushed the beds as close together as possible so we can still hold hands and talk before drifting off to sleep each night.
* Oxygen Concentrator?  It's not an imminent need at this time, however, as a result of my tumor pushing toward my diaphragm and lungs, I can occasionally become short of breath. This will continue to worsen, and it is comforting knowing we have oxygen close by when needed.
* Walker? On a good day, I can be a bit of a clumsy ogre. Now that we live in a home with primarily tile floors, it is probably a wise idea - especially for the days when my energy and coordination are both low.

Today, my case nurse and my wound care nurse came to our home to assess the tumor. Since completing radiation, there have been no bleeding episodes - THANK YOU JESUS!
The wound, nevertheless, grows larger and erodes more and more of the tumor and surrounding tissue every day. The goal of wound care is to apply just the right combination of treatments and dressings to prevent future bleeding and infections. Both nurses said that my tumor looked clean and really good. I guess in the world of ulcerating/fungating tumors, that's kind of a big deal.
My wound care nurse showed us exactly how she wanted the wound treated and dressed. It's a fairly extensive process so Jay will play a major role in helping with this twice a day. The nurse asked him if he felt comfortable with this. He just smiled sweetly (ok, he smirked a little), and said he could handle it. After 20+ years of being a cancer care-giver, Jay can do this in his sleep.

When everyone left today and I saw all of this equipment strewn around, it hit me. This is really happening. It felt and still feels so surreal. My house looks like a hospital - ok - maybe not quite that bad, but pretty close. For the love of everything, there's a chair in my shower.

All of these things are stark reminders that I'm dying. I've been trying to process it all day today, but I'm still in a bit of a fog. I know that we will adjust to the new changes quickly - we always do. This is simply another stepping stone on our journey.

Even in the midst of glazed over eyes and what seems to be too much happening too fast, there will be mercy and grace. We will give our disorientation over to Jesus and allow Him to make sense of it for us. HIS sense, not the world's sense.
The world says none of this makes sense; cancer doesn't make sense; people dying young doesn't make sense.
JESUS says: All of this, I will work out together for GOOD; JESUS says, Come to me all who are weary and I will give you rest; JESUS says, this world is not your home - you're a pilgrim traveling through to your true home...HEAVEN!!

Blessings,
Mandy