Hey guys. It's been a couple of weeks since I posted anything fresh on the blog. My best friend, Molly, passed away last Tuesday. I'd been in Chicago since January 9th with the except of three days in the middle. Originally, I was supposed to stay with her January 9ththru the 13th while her husband was out of town on a business trip. But the weekend before I arrived, she'd been admitted to the hospital. Last October I wrote a blog post about her cancer diagnosis. She'd been in and out of the hospital since that time. So when I arrived on the 9th I didn't know if I'd be sitting with her in the hospital or if she would be released to go home. What happened instead was that she was transferred to hospice in order to get her pain meds adjusted before she was sent home.
I spent that week with her in hospice. I was rather pissed at her husband who didn't go on his business trip but decided his duty was to visit in the evenings. John and I aren't friends. I'm friendly with him out of respect for Molly but those three weeks with Molly he really tried my patience. He left me there to make decisions for Molly's welfare, to consult with the doctors and nurses, to be her voice when she couldn't communicate. I was angry (and still am to a point) and I felt guilty for making choices that weren't my business to be making but he wasn't there to have a say in anything. Then when it was time for me to come home, I spent the weekend agonizing over leaving her there, worried that John wouldn't help her. She had another friend, Kelly, who flew in from North Carolina who was there through the weekend but when she flew out on that coming Monday, then it would've been only John to care for her.
On Sunday the 15th, I looked at my husband and asked if he would be okay if I went back. He told me to go and I arrange to be back on that coming Tuesday. Molly's stay at hospice was only supposed to be until they got her mix of pain meds fixed. But John wasn't working to get her back home and Molly was afraid she'd be left to die in hospice. Kelly and I did what we could to get the ball rolling to push John to get her home. She'd wanted to go to her brother's house. He lived here in Indiana. But while I was gone Molly's condition had taken a nose dive and they were saying the transport from Chicago to Indianapolis would kill her. So they would take her to her home instead. But when we had arranged everything so she could leave hospice, Molly confessed she was scared. Every day she was declining and she associated going home with dying. The last intelligible conversation I was able to have with her was about her deciding to stay in hospice. I'm glad the conversation was witnessed by her younger brother because of John's reaction.
It's hard watching someone you love lose little bits of themselves every day that passes. She was terrified of dying alone so I never left her side. When she lost the ability to hold things, I was her hands. When she had a hard time following conversations and questions, I coached her visitors that yes/no questions were easier for her to answer as she lost the ability to speak. I told them to wait for the answer, she answer would come it just took her time. When she had trouble swallowing and lost her appetite, I gently lectured her family about not shaming her to eat when she didn't want to. That she could still hear and understand them and if she said no, then respect her and her answer even if they wished it was different. When she caught a dry cough that wouldn't stop, I went to the nurse's station at 3 am begging them to help her find some relief. She'd lost the ability to swallow so couldn't take the cough syrup or swallow meds. She hadn't said my name for five days but that night she called for me twice and it fucking killed me. I about lost my mind being unable to do anything to make the coughing stop. The nurse came up with a couple of things that we could do to help her that didn't involve Molly swallowing. I was so relieved that I burst into tears. The last three nights were terrible. I've never felt so useless or helpless in my life. When she passed, I was there with her. She wasn't alone.
Since then, I've come home, obviously, but I haven't done much of anything other than plant my butt in the corner of the couch for hours on end. While I was in hospice with Molly, I was able to write a bit here and there, only about 5k. Since I've been home I haven't written anything. I'm tired, both emotionally and physically. Sleep isn't good and my dreams are worse. It seems like I'm leaking all of the time. I feel terrible that I'm so behind on Bespoken but if I write anything on it right now when my thoughts are so dark, I'll only discard the word count later. I have a due date for Lucky Charm coming up and I had planned to start on that in February but I might move it up. That has a broody character that I can channel all of this sorrow into. But I doubt I'll start on that for a couple of days. I'm so exhausted.
So that's the gist of stuff in my neck of the woods. I'm at a loss for words right now so I'll just close out this blog post. With luck I'll have a Reading Radar post for this coming Saturday so I'll talk to you later in the week.