Widowhood, into the unknown

This is so damn difficult. 

I don't even know if I can digest it all to regurgitate here.  Paperwork.  So much paperwork.  Anything with his name attached must be changed over to just mine.  The house, the insurances, the phone, banking, our timeshare points. At least the utilities are in my name.  Life insurance, 401K, VA, DFAS, DEERS, SS.  I know there's more, but the brain goes numb.  His clothes, his shoes.  Throw out the underwear and the toothbrush.  Cancel future doctor's appointments.  Look at his leatherworking stuff, his candlemaking, his soldering station in my living room, his jam and crispy treat making stuff.  His booze.  His jackets and hats by the back door.  The fucking garage.  The Harley, the broken scooter, the two four wheeled bikes which are too heavy for me alone.  His firewood, his metal recycling.  His tools. 

Ah, his hammocks.

And his chores, finding friends or paid professionals for the outdoor stuff beyond my physical abilities.  The house repairs and upgrades we neglected.  Who will want to put up Christmas lights on the roof?  Who can run the big ass snowblower, or shovel?

Figuring out the budget.  Figuring out how much I eat by myself.  That's not much.  Bed picnics and eating standing up in the kitchen.  Laundry is different now.  Cancelled all his TV shows set to record.  Put away his lunch cooler and his water bottles.

Trying to have ready answers when people ask what I need.  I know, but I don't always know when asked.  I need Larry.

Fair Winds and Following Seas

This morning I dragged myself up to McKay Dee.  I stayed away Sunday, as this cold had me dribbling and ripping and puking.  After a load of Tylenol and Benadryl (Mexican benadryl FTW), I took a Lyft. When I got to the room, I saw Jeremy had made a bed of the recliner chair, and had pushed it next to Larry.  He had stayed all night with him.

As the morning wore on, the nurse came in with morphine and more morphine.  We took off the oxygen mask as it wasn't doing much. There were other drugs, mostly to relax his breathing and make him not so mucous-y.  Spoke with the nurse practitioner, shared some photos in my photobooks.  Discussed options.  He said he couldn't give us a time but thought it might be in the afternoon.

Larry's breathing became more erratic.  Jeremy sat taking his pulse.  I sat on the other side and held Larry's right hand, also keeping a finger on his pulse.  His heart was beginning to slow and skip.  He gasped, and his heart stopped.  The he gasped again, and his heart beat a couple more times.  And again.  And again. "Dude, seriously?"  Each time his heart stopped longer and longer between.  Finally, he quit drawing breath, his heart stopped beating at all,.  Larry was gone.  1120, the nurse practitioner was almost correct. 

The aids came in and cleaned his up and put on fresh linens and a fresh gown.  They were very caring.  We wait for the eye donor nurse, ad she did a lovely job.  His eyes will help someone in need, and further research.  We waited for the mortuary men.  They looked very Mormon in their suits and ties.  As we left, I noticed the body bag on the gurney intended for Larry was a plush burgundy velvet with gold zippers.  Fancy.  I got a good long hug from one of the aids, whose name I am blanking on.  She had cared for Larry when he was in for his biopsy too.  Like most who met him, she adored him quickly.  That was nice.

This was a wicked quick cancer.  Just a week ago he was still talking to us.  A few days before that, he was up and walking around.  My head and heart have not caught up. 

Fuck cancer.  We had a charmed life, and were going to spend the last of our years traveling.  Looks like I'm a solo act now, the Third Widow.  Whatever shall I do with myself?

No rainbows on this horizon

Larry was tired during E-11, and in pain from his shoulder and neck.  We thought he has heat exhaustion.

To cut to the chase, he has lung cancer. It spread rapidly into his spine, liver, kidneys, and adrenal glands.  Hs is lying in McKay-Dee, with a catheter and IVs, running fevers, with pneumonia, in pain, so much pain.  Hasn't eaten in days, is largely non-verbal or unaware, usually restless.  We only get so many days as inpatient.  But he cannot go to a skilled nursing facility if he needs a sitter, and he does.  He tries to get up, he tries to pull out his IV or cath.  They have no in patient hospice care.  I need to double check, but if I pull such measures as his antibiotics and saline intake, and they're only treating for pain, they have to discharge him.  If so, he goes to home hospice.  HOME.  With a hospital bed in that tiny front room (where do I move the stuff to? How?) and ungrounded outlets, and no door into the hall, and no AC, and with only 35 hours a week of professional medical assistance. What the fuck good does that do him?  And I am fairly certain I will crack. 

If I had a pet in so much pain, I'd be at the vet, sending them over the Rainbow Bridge with love and kindness.

Fuck this.

Summertime and the living is meh

Time for As You Wish, the regional burn.  Things are going well enough.  Working on Poems of Unusual Size, and Needful Things, and going to fire practice every Sunday.  Just got placement for Burning Man, 630 and Elektro.  Really, really need to get the art off the ground.  It wouldn't be summer if I weren't panicking about not enough art ....

Arise, my shambling blog.

Yeah, I think I should do this more.  Eighteen months is far too long to let this languish, untouched, unread, unloved.

And damn, do I have a lot to blather about.  More tomorrow, work up to it.

Jackalope Rodeo, ELement 11 Utah Regional

Sister Wife?

Looking Sharp.

So I did indeed attend the Regional Burn.  The ostomy reversal was in April, and I immediately popped a fever and an infection.  Cleaned that out and went to a wound vac.  Wound vacs are a sucking hell.  But it was gone in time to burn.

Next: Burning Man and the Horrible Hernia.

Downhill like a greased pig in a handbasket to hell on a ski slope

The foot was tendonitis.  It eventually resolved with rest and an anti-inflammatory cream.

Ah, but then things got weird.  Many UTIs, bad ones.  And soon, air through the  urethra.  Oh fuck.  Fistula, my colon attached to the bladder.  Surgery in December, with an ostomy.  My gut is literally sticking out my side and I poop in  a bag.  It still hurts though, and has gotten bulgy above the stoma area. Ostomy nurse thinks it is a hernia, but of course I need to see the surgeon about that in two weeks.  In the meantime, I can barely eat anything, I hurt, I am tired, and I am fucking miserable.

Pardon the language, but fuck me.  This sucks I had to cancel my SF trip, sell my Mexico vacation, and the regional burn in July is right out.

I. Will. Not. Miss. Burning Man.

wish me luck