My condolences, Vesper.
Vesper, you have my deepest sympathies.
Deepest sympathies, Vesper.
Thanks everyone… the funeral is tomorrow. Working on a eulogy right now.
If anyone is interested in learning about him, here’s his full obit: http://www.bertasfh.com/fh/obituaries/obituary.cfm?o_id=3514251&fh_id=12428
And if anyone is interested in donations, please direct them to the National Brain Tumor Society: www.braintumor.org
The great news: We got back a slew of results from various tests today. The genetic test my wife took a couple weeks back came back with “negative” for 23 and the 24 genes that they test for, and “inconclusive” for one gene related to colon cancer. This is great as it means she is not predisposed towards breast cancer… which would still be a possibility even with 99% of her breast tissue removed. Secondly, the post-op dissection of the removed tumor came back as having been more contained than they had initially believed… further reducing the possibility of the cancer having metastasized. Finally, the three “sentinel” lymph nodes that they removed all came back as normal.
So all this mean no chemotherapy. This was what we had expected, but it’s still nice to hear someone say it out loud.
The rest of this post is me ranting about something only peripherally related to my wife’s cancer, so you can safely ignore it if you’d like. However, I do suffer a bit in the telling, and most people who know me view that as a “plus” for any story.
OK, let me tell you about my mother-in-law. She is not a bad person, really. I’ve met lots of bad people and encountered a fair number of bad mothers and horrific mother-in-laws, and she wouldn’t make the top 50. I think she did a decent job raising my wife, for one thing. So bear that in mind during the following screed.
Lt’s start off a little philosophical: I’ve never read any Brandon Sanderson, but I’ve always been struck by a quote from one of his books: “Every man is a hero in his own story”. To me, that kind of sums up modern Western thought. In our individualistic, competitive society, we all tend to think that we are destined for great things, that our opinion is valuable (and indeed, sought-after), and that that our friends and family are there to support us in our inevitable rise to greatness.
I’ve always thought that a sign of a aging gracefully is to realize without rancor that this is not true, and to be able to seamlessly transition from Luke Skywalker to Chewbacca, to Obi-Wan, and thence to… I dunno, hopefully not Grand Moff Tarkin.
My mother-in-law never made that transition. She is still hugely narcissistic and/or self-centered. Whether she realizes it or not, she unerringly steers any and all conversations back to herself and her experiences. If she starts a conversation (and she will always try to), it will be about her current travails and issues. At length.
Unfortunately, this is massively tiring for everyone else, especially if you wanted to talk about, say, current events or how to solve a problem facing her grandkids, or where to go out to eat. Over the course of a few hours of woe-to-me flavored, one-sided “conversation”, you are exhausted. And sadly, it’s a self-feeding circle: she’ll complain about how terrible her life is and how lonely she is… which drives away friends and makes her life more terrible. Therapy has not helped, though we are all thankful that once a week she has someone to yammer at that isn’t us.
So when my wife was going to go in for surgery, we knew that we were going to be subjected to daily visits from my mother-in-law and also would have to hear (at length) about how scary my wife’s illness is (to her) and how its affected her sleep, and how due to lack of sleep, this and that and the next thing.
That’s fine. You ought to go into marriage with your eyes open about the relatives that you are choosing, and I did. For my wife’s part, it frustrates her, but not to the point of doing anything drastic or permanent; it’s her mother after all.
OK, shifting gears: I absolutely have been enjoying my time at home caring for my wife. I love feeling useful, and I’ve been taking pride in picking up her half of the chores, picking up the kids, cooking, changing dressings, helping her shower, the whole shebang. I’m a pretty fucking good Chewbacca if I do say so myself.
Moreover, it’s really not all that hard. We’ve been watching fun Netflix shows together (Jane the Virgin); we’ve been having nice conversations; and she sleeps a few hours here and there, which allows me to play the odd video game. It’s great. Except when her mother comes over… but even that was manageable because it was only a few hours a day.
Then it all went south. Let’s shift back: Saturday was my wife’s birthday. Obviously, her mother came over and stayed longer than normal. That’s OK too - we’ve become adept at trying to find a movie or TV show that we can pretend we’re really, really into so that she’ll shut up.
So the hours roll by and eventually the conversation starts to slide into the common rut of her complaining about how far it is to drive back to her house (12 miles), how empty her house is, how terrible her life is since her husband died (neigh on a baker’s dozen years back), and how difficult it is for her to clean the great big house. We all nod and grunt sympathetically because we’ve all heard it a million times before and any suggestion of her selling the McMansion and maybe moving into a small condo closer in to the city will be met by an hour of bemoaning how much money she would lose and how paying rent is just throwing money down the toilet, etc. But more to the point, this particular well-worn line of complaints is the early indication that she will be leaving in about 20 minutes or so. Best to let nature take its course.
So twenty minutes and the 46th retelling of how horrible the hospital staff was back when her daughter was born later, she finally closes the door, turns around… and trips over her feet, falling down the two concrete stairs to my brick walkway.
Man, this is getting long. I urge you to stop reading. This is really just for me to vent at the Internet.
Beyond being a self-centered talker, my mother-in-law’s main other flaw is a lack of any real discipline regarding her health. She’s more than a hundred pounds overweight and cannot keep to a diet though she will talk a good game… at length. She never exercises and moves like someone twenty years older than she is, with the back and joint problems that you would expect with someone who weighs over twice what they should.
So when she fell, she fell hard.
I ran outside and… eh, you know, I won’t bore you with the hours in the emergency room or the any of the middle stuff. Here’s the deal: two snapped ribs.
That meant that we couldn’t send her home. I set up the extra bedroom and she camped out on our couch, where she was largely immobile because the operation of me trying to get her massive frame up and on her feet while she tied to favor her good side and wails in agony was something that no one wanted to repeat too often. I don’t want to talk about having to help her get dressed; there are things that should not be set down in writing because they are best lost to humanity.
But as I said, I am a spectacularly great fucking Chewbacca, and if I have to take care of C-3PO as well as Leia (I know, the analogy breaks down a bit), then I can do that, dammit. So I fetch, carry, clean and do whatever needs to be done, because somebody’s got to Wookie up. I’m not enjoying it any more though.
Worse, having her mother around is affecting my wife’s recovery. My wife can stand and walk around just fine - she just can’t lift anything that weighs more than her iPad without running the risk of ripping stitches or the lymphatic drains. And of course she tires really easily. But my mother-in-law’s incessant complaining meant that my wife would too often get up to do something - either to shut her up, or as an excuse to get the hell away from her. There were a couple occasions where I would come down with the laundry basket only to see my wife in the kitchen trying to pour some milk for her mother or emptying the dishwasher just so she wouldn’t have to sit on the couch and be the unwilling recipient of two hours of complaining.
So in the 56-odd hours that my mother-in-law was our unwilling guest, my wife’s health started to deteriorate, and along with it her mood. She and her mother start snapping at each other, and for the first time, I’m looking thoughtfully at the calendar, wondering when I should get back to the office.
But as of today, we have our house back. My wife’s brother lives overseas, and he returns to the country every June and December for a month’s vacation. He’s a bit of an entitled whiner himself, which is why it was really, really hard for me to keep the grin off my face when I met him at the airport yesterday prior to driving them both back to her house. I’m sure he’ll make a fine Chewbacca.
Even better, my eldest daughter is back from college today, which would be great just by itself. But that also means that I get some willing assistance with the cleaning and I can binge-watch Netflix with my wife and maybe get the new short-shaft transfer installed in the Falcon… er, I mean the Jeep.
Great news for Mrs. Wisdom! Glad to hear it, and pass along my (and I’m sure everyone else’s) wishes for a speedy recovery from the surgery.
Don’t be sorry about venting here…the Internet is made for it! And at least from my perspective, you’ve got the gift of making the rants entertaining.
So glad to hear the news about Mrs. Wisdom. And what a great monster-in-law story, although I was worried for a bit it wasn’t going to have a happy ending. You could totally write that up as a fun piece of short “fiction”.
I see what you did there! (Excellent observation, by the way.)
-Tom, sometime Star Wars nerd
I love the idea that Tom has any clue about how Wolverine helped Han fly Serenity into the Death Star. But anyway.
Glad you made it through, Tin Wisdom! I would have handled that with…less grace.
We’re lucky in that both of our families have (unconsciously, no doubt) stuck more or less to the Diagram of Aus-schitten or whatever it’s called. So more-or-less nobody has crapped on me or my wife, and they’ve mostly just offered what support they can without any ridiculosity.
Great news, and great story! Makes me realize how lucky I am to be living over an hours drive away from my mother in law (which is considered ‘far away’ in the Netherlands…) And, on the sobering side, how lucky I am not to have anyone close to me (let alone my wife) with cancer at the moment…
I loved your rant Tin. That’s what we’re here for.
Anyway, to cancer. I have a cousin. Whatever it is when it’s one of your parent’s 1st cousins. But he’s younger than my parents, so he’s closing in on 60 whereas I just hit 47 and my parents are mid-70’s. I have memories of him as a beach boy from back when I was seven. Think the kind of beach club ala The Flamingo Kid. We used to go there over summers w/ my mother’s family. His name is Jimmy. He was the cool older kid in the family. I seem to remember him w/ a totally 70’s beard, hanging around w/ girls in bell bottoms. He used to let me pass time and play backgammon w/ him and his friends at the beach. One of them picked me up by my ears once, but somehow it was fun, not horrific as you’d think that would be. They used to swing me around in beach blankets. At my request. Anyway, Jimmy is a great dude, who I have seen maybe twice since I was a kid at that club. Probably at family weddings, but those were at least 30 years ago. Distance, time, parents and grandparents passing. I might never have seen Jimmy again. He’s just someone that exists as a great memory of summer, childhood, family, and warmth. A guy who was great to an awkward kid whose parents were about to get divorced and appreciated a nearby good guy to look up to.
I got word that Jimmy, who had his prostate removed three years ago in a battle w/ cancer, and had seemingly recovered, is now terminal and has a few weeks to live. I might not recognize him if he were standing in front of me today but I miss him, and those days, and his cool, easy, humor. I wrote him a letter earlier, just to tell him he’s always in my memories. And that my stories of him, and those summers have been told to my kids, and will always be a part of our lives in my home.
So here’s to cousin Jimmy. And to hell with cancer.
Well considering that most places in the Netherlands are within an hour of a foreign country? Yeah, that is kinda far ;)
Tin, good story, better that it was also a brief couple of days. Sounds like you are kicking ass as the sidekick.
Great news + I hear ya. I won’t go into my gory details, but there was a lot of managing my mother-in-law’s need to hover initially, which made my wife more fearful and freaked out, and now my mom who I think was hoping I would spend more time with her as she aged, as she too is lonely and has become sedentary, and instead I am saddled with my darn cancer-ridden wife and don’t have as much time for Mom. How unfortunate for her.
Anyway, I continue to say if all I had to do was focus on my wife, I think I could handle it better. However as the caregiver you are also the spokesman, counselor and mediator for extended family, friends, co-workers and children. Some of that burden you can mitigate or rid yourself of and some of it is simply there to be dealt with. EVERY. FRIGGIN. DAY. ;)
Good luck and, again, glad to hear the good news!!
A cancer story not involving my family (thankfully) - I have a guy who works in my labs who had prostate cancer years ago, and had his prostate removed. As a result, he has had regular check ups at Mayo (which is fairly close to our town.)
Several years ago he walked into my office and told me his doc at Mayo had called him and told him, I’m sorry, the results came back (he’d had some warning signs and thus further work up) and you have metastatic prostate cancer. It was in the bones, which is a worst case scenario.
Talking with him and some doctors I work with, the 1 year survival rate in his situation is about 40%. The 5 year is about zero - less than one percent.
He talked to me about the change in life planning he and his wife had made, etc. My boss, the owner of our private company, sat with him and told him, don’t worry about your hours dropping below full time and losing your insurance, I’ll make sure you are covered under our company plan no matter what or if you’re working 3 hours a week!
I had the cold blooded task to find someone to learn his job (not easy, he’s been in this role for 30 years and is a nationally recogiized expert in his field) and have him train the new person. He is an incredible person and has done a great job of this. Everything I read and have been told is that he would start to decline pretty quickly.
That was maybe 6 years ago? I just got out of a meeting with him. Other than some memory issues (that honestly don’t seem worse than mine with age!) you can’t tell he is sick at all. He just gets tired a little faster at the end of the day, but he’s about 62, so eh?
I have NO idea why or how he is not succumbing to this! We are close, and I know the prognosis was correct, and he goes to Mayo about once every six weeks for treatments.
I’m not sure what my point is, I suppose just to share that the sometimes people defy the statistics.
That’s a great story, actually.
On the other side of that same coin, the percentages can get a little scary some times. My wife’s cancer was about the best-case scenario for breast cancer: low aggressiveness, caught before it spread, etc. We met with the surgeon today and he was very complimentary on her recovery, her overall health, and (yay me) the quality of her dressings. He then rattled off the reasons that he didn’t think the oncologist will recommend chemo, and how great her prognosis is.
But then, he sort of offhandedly mentioned that the chances of this cancer returning and killing her in the next twenty years were extremely low. “About 5%,” he said. My wife beamed and thanked him for all his skill and care, and I shook his hand and thanked him too.
But inside I was pretty shaken. I’ve done lots of statistics work, and I’m a trained engineer who builds in tolerances to get the expected performance out of materials or machines. All I could think of is that a 5% failure rate isn’t acceptable in ANY situation I can think of. Hell, that’s rolling a “natural 1” on a d20.
That’s exactly how I respond to those numbers. In terms of rolling a die “to hit” or whether I want to take a shot in XCOM or something. I think when you game numbers, the odds aren’t always as comforting as they might be to someone whose familiarity with odds is weather forecasts. I imagine it’s the same, but even worse, to gamblers who hear these prognoses for themselves or a loved one. They’re used to playing against the odds!
-Tom
Yeah, when a life is on the line, even a 99% success rate feels sketchy. 99.999% is were I start to feel comfortable.
The fun part is when you hear that radiation therapy “has a 1% per year of causing cancer.”
0.01 * 30 is not reassuring.
Yeah, when you work on chemo drug development in the lab, you see labels like “Caution Carcinogen!”
Hmm…
Makes you think.
The tools we used in early genetic engineering were also extremely toxic. Everything, by their very nature were some of the most carcinogenic substances on earth as they had to slip them in between base pairs, often rearranging small bits as it did. Along with mid-level radioactive isotopes and neurological scramblers if you inhaled them. Much of what we did is automated now with little to no exposure for many of the tasks we did. It was a bit nerve wracking.
Jon thanks for doing research on this. Our society owes you a lot.
And what do you think the risk of getting cancer in the next 20 years is for you?
Based on a back-of-the-envelope calculation, if you’re 45 then the answer is around 10%.