From all Sarah's accounts (I've been away from New York since Friday), she's been much worse ever since transferring to Calvary: it reached the point today where she isn't really eating or drinking anything, even when a straw is held to her lips. She doesn't talk, but makes appreciative noises (the infamous-in-our-family "hmmmm") when someone is reading or playing something she likes. Sarah asked the doctor there today the time question, and got an alarming answer: 24 to 72 hours. Hours. We're taking her assessment with a grain of salt, since she's only known Mom for a week, but she is starting to act like she's on her way out, and we've never been through anything like this before, but it doesn't seem like it will be long.
Other people have these months-long dying processes, or get diagnosed with alarming cancers and continue to live for many months afterward, but this has just been one horrifying downward, smoke-spewing spiral. We have all (including her) said since the beginning that if she can have her life back, we want that, but we don't want some endless-seeming suffering. "I feel like I'm turning into something else," she said to Sarah and me while we were waiting for the second spinal tap a few mere weeks ago. It's hard to face what's coming, though.
Visitors are still welcome, though the food mentioned in Sarah's last post might be moot at this point. Love.
10 comments:
My heart is breaking for all of you. It is hard to believe that my phone will no longer ring with, "Can I read this poem to you?" or something Beckett said or some other wonderful experience Janet wanted to share. She is a unique personality and I feel privileged to know her and all of you. You have shown such grace throughout this horrendous time. Love, Constance
Hi Jennifer,
I was there yesterday evening with my friend David who did the Joe Chaikin class with Janet, and I was amazed at how far she's fallen in just a couple of weeks. She was responsive to a point, but with the pain meds and difficulty breathing it was definitely limited. I can't quite comprehend what you must all be going through, including Janet. And I am deeply sorry you have to endure it at all. But in a way, I like to believe that this "spiraling" is a blessing. The suffering will end and the healing will begin. As Henry Scott-Holland once wrote, "Death is nothing at all./ I have only slipped away into the next room./ I am I and you are you./ Whatever we were to each other/That we are still." You all have my love and admiration always.
I've seen this with both my parents, and it is so hard. But know that even though she isn't terribly responsive, she is very aware of your presence and love and support. It is so important that you are there with her, and I wish I could send even more strength and healing like particles in the air to be reassembled where you're at right now.
It's horribly unfair. I wish I had more wisdom to impart, but even after seeing it with my mom and dad, I can't say any of it makes sense to me.
Lots of love to all of you.
Kerry
i stand with the others in my love for janet and the grace which you continue to exhibit. blessings to all. love to all. love the metaphor of "the other room". i'm blown away by that. ox
My deepest everything to you.
Janet gave me this writer, Frank O'Hara... and this poem of his reminds me of her. She might like it read to her along with her own beautiful words.
It’s my lunch hour, so I go
for a walk among the hum-colored
cabs. First, down the sidewalk
where laborers feed their dirty
glistening torsos sandwiches and Coca-cola, with yellow helmets
on. They protect them from falling
bricks, I guess. Then onto the avenue where skirts are flipping
above heels and blow up over
grates. The sun is hot, but the
cabs stir up the air. I look
at bargains in wristwatches. There
are cats playing in sawdust.
On to Times Square, where the sign
blows smoke over my head, and higher
the waterfall pours lightly. A
Negro stands in a doorway with a
toothpick, languorously agitating.
A blonde chorus girl clicks: he
smiles and rubs his chin. Everything
suddenly honks: it is 12:40 of
a Thursday.
Today I placed my hand on 314 and just stood there and felt Janets power. I miss her laugh through my halls but even if she is not across the hall she is and will always be in my heart. Please know I am here.
Love, Jennifer Cooper
it's so diffucult to be so long away and not be able to touch you all. you all amaze me with your dedication to writing to us, in the midst of this craziness. I can't understand that it's not even 3 months ago this journey started. Remember hearing goes last, although sassy lady can't respond necessarily, she can hear everything-keep reading, laughing, talking! my thoughts, tears, memories are with you now, please know that. please stroke Janet for me and kiss her on the forehead and tell her I love her, all the way in Copenhagen. blessings and tons of prayers love melissa
I wish there was something I could say but the only thing that comes to my mind and heart is that love rules beyond the here and now. I am so sorry for your pain. Kiss Janet and I'm still hoping to be able to get to NY soon. It was just last week that we were in awe of the phrasing of Tennessee Williams' words in a story.
Erma
big hugs and well wishes from someone you don't know (well, i've eaten jen's wonderful food), but who honors you and your loved ones.
-amelia
I am so sorry for all of you there in NYC and family and friends far away. The title of this blog has been going thru my mind in the past week or so, and i've been angry that cancer has won, but really, janet has won. she is done suffering from this horrifying disease, and is at rest in a beautiful, peaceful place. God loves her and has brought her home.
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