Chapter one part one 'The genie Flies Out Of The Bottle'
Wednesday, January 1, 2020
Friday, October 26, 2007
chapter 15: part 3
continued from chapter 15: part 2
Steven and Diana deliberately held off their visit until everyone else had left, so that I wouldn't be alone just yet. They helped me buy two Himalayan cats that Hal and I always planned to get when Hephzibah finally died. Karuna and Shama are good companions; they sleep on the bed with me and they give me a reason to structure my days. They need feeding and that long hair needs constant brushing.
On a cold, rainy Sunday, we took Hal's ashes to a public place in Toronto that meant a great deal to him. He loved that city so much. We were very circumspect and no one knew what we were doing. I recall the crematorium man told Mike that Hal was now environmentally friendly. Yeah, that too. Now we were littering. Jason and Crista, my eldest grandchildren made me so proud. Each one reached in the bag and took a handful of ashes and scattered them.
The pain lessens but you never get over it. Not if you built something lasting.
I have gone through a lot of the "firsts." Our thirty-eighth wedding anniversary was a week after he died, there was his birthday, Christmas, my birthday, Valentines day.
I settled down to write this book. I've stopped sleeping with Hal's sweater in my arms, but I am surrounded by his photos. He had trouble leaving me and I felt his presence for six weeks after his death. I finally mustered the courage to ask him to go because I couldn’t get on with the rest of my life if I felt him close by. I don't feel his presence any more although the children sometimes do; he is on his new life and I am on mine, like it or not.
For six months after Hal’s death, Mark drove into the city every Saturday to visit with me and do any odd jobs. We’d sit and drink tea together and talk, talk, talk about that incredible year.
I don't see our married friends often; sometimes they'll invite me to dinner but I'm always the only guest. I remember one friend looking at me as though I were a stranger and said, “What are we going to do with you now?” I was now a single person. They just don't know how to handle an "odd" person.
All through my life, up to Hal's illness, I'd wake at night feeling fearful about the what-if's. I'm changed now. It's as though my worst fears have been realized and there is nothing left to fear.
I pulled together my own support network of friends who were widowed before me and they have always been there to help me through the rougher spots.
I have only one regret. I never asked Hal, "Are you afraid?" He never said and he didn't seem afraid, just terribly sad.
For years, he used to say to me, “You know, it really would be best if you died before me. I don’t know how you would manage on your own.” He was right. The woman he married depended on him a great deal, mostly because I sensed he wanted to be leaned on. I found quite quickly that I could manage on my own, without pestering friends and children to make decisions for me.
Hal sent me one last love message. Diana, who lives in Medicine Hat, sat at her desk on the morning of Valentines Day and she got a sharp inner message, “ CALL HAL.” "The only Hal I know is our Hal and that can't be," she thought. She went into a deep contemplation and asked inside herself if Hal had a message for her. "Please tell Patsy I love her and send her some white orchids," was the strong message she got. She and Steve immediately arranged to have the flowers sent to me.
I have grown orchids for years, not too successfully, but all of them were gifts from Hal, something Diana didn't know.
In the past, whenever I am missing a subtle message I should be sensing ,there will be a quick, powerful thunder and lightning storm and I’ve learned to stop and pay attention. The florist arrived minutes after the storm passed overhead.
Without that nudge, I would have been touched by the flowers but wouldn’t have made the connection. I called Diana and she told me of her experience.
The last thing we did at night we'd hold hands while we fell asleep.
Wherever you are Hal, I still feel your hand in mine.
The end.
Steven and Diana deliberately held off their visit until everyone else had left, so that I wouldn't be alone just yet. They helped me buy two Himalayan cats that Hal and I always planned to get when Hephzibah finally died. Karuna and Shama are good companions; they sleep on the bed with me and they give me a reason to structure my days. They need feeding and that long hair needs constant brushing.
On a cold, rainy Sunday, we took Hal's ashes to a public place in Toronto that meant a great deal to him. He loved that city so much. We were very circumspect and no one knew what we were doing. I recall the crematorium man told Mike that Hal was now environmentally friendly. Yeah, that too. Now we were littering. Jason and Crista, my eldest grandchildren made me so proud. Each one reached in the bag and took a handful of ashes and scattered them.
The pain lessens but you never get over it. Not if you built something lasting.
I have gone through a lot of the "firsts." Our thirty-eighth wedding anniversary was a week after he died, there was his birthday, Christmas, my birthday, Valentines day.
I settled down to write this book. I've stopped sleeping with Hal's sweater in my arms, but I am surrounded by his photos. He had trouble leaving me and I felt his presence for six weeks after his death. I finally mustered the courage to ask him to go because I couldn’t get on with the rest of my life if I felt him close by. I don't feel his presence any more although the children sometimes do; he is on his new life and I am on mine, like it or not.
For six months after Hal’s death, Mark drove into the city every Saturday to visit with me and do any odd jobs. We’d sit and drink tea together and talk, talk, talk about that incredible year.
I don't see our married friends often; sometimes they'll invite me to dinner but I'm always the only guest. I remember one friend looking at me as though I were a stranger and said, “What are we going to do with you now?” I was now a single person. They just don't know how to handle an "odd" person.
All through my life, up to Hal's illness, I'd wake at night feeling fearful about the what-if's. I'm changed now. It's as though my worst fears have been realized and there is nothing left to fear.
I pulled together my own support network of friends who were widowed before me and they have always been there to help me through the rougher spots.
I have only one regret. I never asked Hal, "Are you afraid?" He never said and he didn't seem afraid, just terribly sad.
For years, he used to say to me, “You know, it really would be best if you died before me. I don’t know how you would manage on your own.” He was right. The woman he married depended on him a great deal, mostly because I sensed he wanted to be leaned on. I found quite quickly that I could manage on my own, without pestering friends and children to make decisions for me.
Hal sent me one last love message. Diana, who lives in Medicine Hat, sat at her desk on the morning of Valentines Day and she got a sharp inner message, “ CALL HAL.” "The only Hal I know is our Hal and that can't be," she thought. She went into a deep contemplation and asked inside herself if Hal had a message for her. "Please tell Patsy I love her and send her some white orchids," was the strong message she got. She and Steve immediately arranged to have the flowers sent to me.
I have grown orchids for years, not too successfully, but all of them were gifts from Hal, something Diana didn't know.
In the past, whenever I am missing a subtle message I should be sensing ,there will be a quick, powerful thunder and lightning storm and I’ve learned to stop and pay attention. The florist arrived minutes after the storm passed overhead.
Without that nudge, I would have been touched by the flowers but wouldn’t have made the connection. I called Diana and she told me of her experience.
The last thing we did at night we'd hold hands while we fell asleep.
Wherever you are Hal, I still feel your hand in mine.
The end.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
chapter 15: part 2
continued from Chapter 15: part 1
The day after Hal's death, my brother Doug called me to say that Dad had died that morning.
The kids made macabre jokes about their mom, “Typhoid Patsy.” First I have the cat put down. Then Hal dies. Now my dad.
Scott and Peter flew in two days later. They had been out of the loop all these months and they struggled to handle their feelings and cope with our need to talk incessantly about the past months. Melissa had picked up the baby and camped in with me as well as Mike and Lorrie. Mark slept at home but ran back and forth.
We were holding Hal's party on Labor Day weekend and I tried to find a caterer but no one was available on such short notice. I planned the food, shopped for it and prepared most of it. The kids did everything I asked them to do, getting the liquor, renting extra china, and working out the logistics of parking.
The day of the party, we all put on our festive things and so many people came. It was mostly writers’ shop- talk, which is the way I wanted it to be. I remember the men wore suits, and I wasn't used to them dressing so formally.
I had to force back the anger when someone asked to smoke in the house but eventually resigned myself to the fact that they would. They won’t understand. The girls did the hostess duties and I remained quietly in the living room.
I did what had to be done and kept feeling stabbing pains of grief but the tears never came for long. The boys played continuous tapes of Hal's favorite jazz and some of those tunes tore at my heart.
I was near the kitchen window when one friend said, "Hal would have loved this party," and I replied, "Perhaps he is, he's out there in the driveway in Mike's car." She handled that nicely.
That night, when only family remained I pulled out all of Hal's clothes and distributed them to the boys. No one would take his beloved corduroy pants, which he had specially made. I kept his wallet and the leather change pouch we bought in Florence.
This is when death becomes reality--when the possessions are given away and there is vacant closet space, drawers are empty and soon even scraps of his handwriting disappear.
to be concluded in chapter 15: part 3
The day after Hal's death, my brother Doug called me to say that Dad had died that morning.
The kids made macabre jokes about their mom, “Typhoid Patsy.” First I have the cat put down. Then Hal dies. Now my dad.
Scott and Peter flew in two days later. They had been out of the loop all these months and they struggled to handle their feelings and cope with our need to talk incessantly about the past months. Melissa had picked up the baby and camped in with me as well as Mike and Lorrie. Mark slept at home but ran back and forth.
We were holding Hal's party on Labor Day weekend and I tried to find a caterer but no one was available on such short notice. I planned the food, shopped for it and prepared most of it. The kids did everything I asked them to do, getting the liquor, renting extra china, and working out the logistics of parking.
The day of the party, we all put on our festive things and so many people came. It was mostly writers’ shop- talk, which is the way I wanted it to be. I remember the men wore suits, and I wasn't used to them dressing so formally.
I had to force back the anger when someone asked to smoke in the house but eventually resigned myself to the fact that they would. They won’t understand. The girls did the hostess duties and I remained quietly in the living room.
I did what had to be done and kept feeling stabbing pains of grief but the tears never came for long. The boys played continuous tapes of Hal's favorite jazz and some of those tunes tore at my heart.
I was near the kitchen window when one friend said, "Hal would have loved this party," and I replied, "Perhaps he is, he's out there in the driveway in Mike's car." She handled that nicely.
That night, when only family remained I pulled out all of Hal's clothes and distributed them to the boys. No one would take his beloved corduroy pants, which he had specially made. I kept his wallet and the leather change pouch we bought in Florence.
This is when death becomes reality--when the possessions are given away and there is vacant closet space, drawers are empty and soon even scraps of his handwriting disappear.
to be concluded in chapter 15: part 3
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
chapter 15: part 1
continued from chapter 14; part 11
I stepped out of the hospital into a new life.
The parking lot attendant who greeted me so cheerfully earlier that morning took my money and I pulled out into traffic on the way to Mike and Lorrie's apartment. A driver pulled illegally in front of me and must have been startled by the vehemence of my horn honking. I wasn't going to give an inch. Not then.
We gathered at Mike's place and immediately sat down to make the necessary phone calls. Mark and Mike shared the phone list while the rest of us sat there and listened. It isn't real, but you have to listen.
Mike called the funeral home, the one arranged by the memorial society years before and set up a meeting there in early afternoon.
The boys brought back food from a local hamburger house and we devoured double hamburgers and milkshakes. I eat in moments of crisis, which I mentioned before.
I didn't cry. Occasionally my voice would crack, and then I would get control. I couldn’t manage a shuddering, all-encompassing let-it-all-out cry for several weeks.
I'm alone, I kept thinking; my children are here and they are loving and wonderful but I am alone.
And I’m terrified.
I drove us to the funeral home and Mike and Lorrie went inside to arrange for cremation. I couldn't go inside. I find no comfort in what happens in funeral homes and accompanying coffins and I wasn’t having that for my Hal. As I sat outside in the car I hoped with all my heart that his body was there and not in the hospital. I wanted that poor wasted wonderful body to be transformed into particles as soon as possible.
I idly watched the busy traffic on St. Clair Avenue. A dark blue van passed, then slowed down and U-turned into the parking lot. He drive alongside my car.
"Your headlights are on", he said. And he was gone. I read messages into a lot of things and I took this as a good omen.
Back at Mike's place we worked out a funeral notice. I had become a consistent obituary reader over the past months and was very clear about what I wanted to say about Hal. We wrote that he fought his cancer like hell, and apparently that isn't acceptable for funeral notices.
This is the way it read:
TENNANT,HAL. Of cancer, on the 28th of August at age 61. Loved by Pat, Mark and Olga, Scott and Jannett, Steven and Diana, Peter and Meg, Michael and Lorrie, Melissa and David, and seven grandchildren. He left no enemies, he fought his cancer with all he had and his mind didn't give an inch. No funeral. Cremation. Friends are invited to a final party for Hal at 64 Pioneer Pathway, Scarborough on Saturday, September 2nd from 2-5 p.m. A professional to the last; every deadline met, all words in place.
I purposely did not mention that in lieu of flowers people should send money to some charity. I hoped one or two would send flowers and many did. We did leave discreet written messages near the sign-in table at home so that if people wished they could send money to the self- help group that was such a comfort to me. I was irrationally angry when people sent donations in Hal’s name to the Cancer Society. After all, why couldn’t they have found a way to save him?
continued in chapter 15, part 2
I stepped out of the hospital into a new life.
The parking lot attendant who greeted me so cheerfully earlier that morning took my money and I pulled out into traffic on the way to Mike and Lorrie's apartment. A driver pulled illegally in front of me and must have been startled by the vehemence of my horn honking. I wasn't going to give an inch. Not then.
We gathered at Mike's place and immediately sat down to make the necessary phone calls. Mark and Mike shared the phone list while the rest of us sat there and listened. It isn't real, but you have to listen.
Mike called the funeral home, the one arranged by the memorial society years before and set up a meeting there in early afternoon.
The boys brought back food from a local hamburger house and we devoured double hamburgers and milkshakes. I eat in moments of crisis, which I mentioned before.
I didn't cry. Occasionally my voice would crack, and then I would get control. I couldn’t manage a shuddering, all-encompassing let-it-all-out cry for several weeks.
I'm alone, I kept thinking; my children are here and they are loving and wonderful but I am alone.
And I’m terrified.
I drove us to the funeral home and Mike and Lorrie went inside to arrange for cremation. I couldn't go inside. I find no comfort in what happens in funeral homes and accompanying coffins and I wasn’t having that for my Hal. As I sat outside in the car I hoped with all my heart that his body was there and not in the hospital. I wanted that poor wasted wonderful body to be transformed into particles as soon as possible.
I idly watched the busy traffic on St. Clair Avenue. A dark blue van passed, then slowed down and U-turned into the parking lot. He drive alongside my car.
"Your headlights are on", he said. And he was gone. I read messages into a lot of things and I took this as a good omen.
Back at Mike's place we worked out a funeral notice. I had become a consistent obituary reader over the past months and was very clear about what I wanted to say about Hal. We wrote that he fought his cancer like hell, and apparently that isn't acceptable for funeral notices.
This is the way it read:
TENNANT,HAL. Of cancer, on the 28th of August at age 61. Loved by Pat, Mark and Olga, Scott and Jannett, Steven and Diana, Peter and Meg, Michael and Lorrie, Melissa and David, and seven grandchildren. He left no enemies, he fought his cancer with all he had and his mind didn't give an inch. No funeral. Cremation. Friends are invited to a final party for Hal at 64 Pioneer Pathway, Scarborough on Saturday, September 2nd from 2-5 p.m. A professional to the last; every deadline met, all words in place.
I purposely did not mention that in lieu of flowers people should send money to some charity. I hoped one or two would send flowers and many did. We did leave discreet written messages near the sign-in table at home so that if people wished they could send money to the self- help group that was such a comfort to me. I was irrationally angry when people sent donations in Hal’s name to the Cancer Society. After all, why couldn’t they have found a way to save him?
continued in chapter 15, part 2
Monday, October 22, 2007
chapter 14; part 11
continued from chapter 14: part 10
The next morning, I got out of bed around six as the sun was rising. I stood at the window and watched the red sky.
"Red sky in the morning," I whispered softly.
I quickly showered and washed my hair and while it was drying I put on the kettle and sat glancing thought the paper. I'll be at the hospital by nine, I thought.
The phone rang. It was quarter to seven. It was Doctor Walter, the resident to tell me that Hal had just died.
I remember asking if he suffered and I don't remember much about what he said but I knew in my heart we had needed one more day to make his dying easier.
I called the children and they all made arrangements to meet me at the hospital.
When I entered the building that last morning my eye was irresistibly drawn to that corridor where the death cart was kept and I saw that it was missing.
Oh god, I thought, I don't want to see it outside his door.
It wasn't near the door and I never saw it while I was there, and for that I thank them. They wouldn't have known that I knew what it looked like but I did.
Doctor Walter happened to be standing by the elevator when I arrived on the ninth floor and he walked me to Hal's room. I feel frightened, I thought. I am afraid of seeing that dead body. He opened the door and the curtain sheltered the bed from view.
Melissa was sitting by the bedside and she swiftly came to me and put her arms around me. The doctor quietly withdrew. Then I looked at the bed.
The stillness, oh that stillness. The life color was missing and his skin was a yellowish shade. His mouth was open and his head was tilted up to his right, I could see that his chest was fully expanded. The needles had been removed from his arm and I was relieved at that.
"Oh Hal, oh my darling Hal, my darling Hal," I kept repeating as Melissa held me.
Then I moved away and sat beside the bed.
"I had to touch him just to be sure, " she said.
"I don't want to touch him; I want to remember his warmth."
We sat beside the bed waiting for the children. A couple of nurses came in and were sweetly gentle. His wedding ring and his watch were on the bedside table and his other possessions had been bundled into plastic bags. The lovely pot of yellow chrysanthemums our friend Bonnie had sent two days before had died with him. They had been lusty the night before.
This had been his final gift to me- he wouldn’t let me see him die.
After the children came, Mike went over to the bed and stroked Hal's hair. When the time seemed right, we prepared to leave. As we walked toward the door, I stopped and my throat caught.
"Oh, I'll never see him again."
I returned for one more look.
"Now you wait for me," I said and then joined the children at the door.
I was a widow.
continued in chapter 15: part 1
The next morning, I got out of bed around six as the sun was rising. I stood at the window and watched the red sky.
"Red sky in the morning," I whispered softly.
I quickly showered and washed my hair and while it was drying I put on the kettle and sat glancing thought the paper. I'll be at the hospital by nine, I thought.
The phone rang. It was quarter to seven. It was Doctor Walter, the resident to tell me that Hal had just died.
I remember asking if he suffered and I don't remember much about what he said but I knew in my heart we had needed one more day to make his dying easier.
I called the children and they all made arrangements to meet me at the hospital.
When I entered the building that last morning my eye was irresistibly drawn to that corridor where the death cart was kept and I saw that it was missing.
Oh god, I thought, I don't want to see it outside his door.
It wasn't near the door and I never saw it while I was there, and for that I thank them. They wouldn't have known that I knew what it looked like but I did.
Doctor Walter happened to be standing by the elevator when I arrived on the ninth floor and he walked me to Hal's room. I feel frightened, I thought. I am afraid of seeing that dead body. He opened the door and the curtain sheltered the bed from view.
Melissa was sitting by the bedside and she swiftly came to me and put her arms around me. The doctor quietly withdrew. Then I looked at the bed.
The stillness, oh that stillness. The life color was missing and his skin was a yellowish shade. His mouth was open and his head was tilted up to his right, I could see that his chest was fully expanded. The needles had been removed from his arm and I was relieved at that.
"Oh Hal, oh my darling Hal, my darling Hal," I kept repeating as Melissa held me.
Then I moved away and sat beside the bed.
"I had to touch him just to be sure, " she said.
"I don't want to touch him; I want to remember his warmth."
We sat beside the bed waiting for the children. A couple of nurses came in and were sweetly gentle. His wedding ring and his watch were on the bedside table and his other possessions had been bundled into plastic bags. The lovely pot of yellow chrysanthemums our friend Bonnie had sent two days before had died with him. They had been lusty the night before.
This had been his final gift to me- he wouldn’t let me see him die.
After the children came, Mike went over to the bed and stroked Hal's hair. When the time seemed right, we prepared to leave. As we walked toward the door, I stopped and my throat caught.
"Oh, I'll never see him again."
I returned for one more look.
"Now you wait for me," I said and then joined the children at the door.
I was a widow.
continued in chapter 15: part 1
Friday, October 19, 2007
chapter 14: part 10
continued from chapter 14: part 9
On the way home from the hospital that night, I went over and over in my mind what was happening. Hal was going to suffocate to death; he had suffered so much and I couldn't bear for him to go through any more. I was reminded of a "friend," a former nurse who assured me, early on, that when things got tough she'd be there to advise me. She disappeared from sight long before the tough times.
As soon as I got home I raced to the phone and called Alice. Alice is a writer, a first class researcher and a person who comes through in the crunch.
"Alice, I need help."
I quickly described what had been happening to Hal and then said,
"I want to end Hal's life; I don't want him to suffer anymore. He's dying but he doesn't deserve this kind of death."
Alice said without hesitation,
"Okay, I'm going to start making some enquiries. You just sit tight and don't do anything until you hear from me and I promise to get back to you by tomorrow morning at the latest."
She called later that night.
"I have the information you need and I want you to come by my house tomorrow morning on the way to the hospital."
I agreed to this and said I would bring son Michael along.
We arrived around nine o'clock. She moved to put her arms around me and I drew back.
"Alice, I can hang together as long as nobody is too nice to me, so please don't hug me. I appreciate your concern."
She sat us down.
"Look, I know what you want to do is a tremendous display of love but I can't let you do it. I talked to a couple of doctor friends and others who have gone this route and the fact is that it's too difficult to do in a hospital. If there was time to get him home then you could. You will end up sitting in a jail cell and while you don't care now there will be a time when it will matter.
Now there is an alternative. Have all treatments been stopped?"
"Well, no, they're giving him Ventalin through an oxygen mask two or three times a day and it terrifies him."
"Stop that immediately. Anything that sounds like ventilation is just going to prolong his suffering. What else?"
"They seem to have stopped drawing blood, but he has been getting his morphine by pill until yesterday when he asked them not to expect him to swallow anything more, so they've switched back to the liquid."
"Okay, when you get to the hospital, ask to see the doctor privately and make all arrangements to keep him sedated and comfortable. Make sure all treatment is stopped. And don't try anything else."
I trusted her completely and somehow she persuaded me that this was the right course to take.
We arrived at the hospital to find Hal looking peaceful and alert. He'd slept well but he was lying slightly propped up and wasn't about to get out of bed.
When Hal napped, we stole out of the room and searched out the resident, Doctor Walters, who was on call that day. We asked for a private place to meet and he took us to a nearby office. We then sorted through our misunderstandings, that no, we didn't want anymore ventalin treatment, we wanted Hal to go on steady morphine drip, that we had said everything we needed to say to one another and we wanted him to be as unaware as possible when he died.
I asked,
"From what I saw yesterday, he's going to suffocate, isn't he?"
His answer was simple. "Yes."
When we returned to the room, Hal was getting the ventalin treatment and he gave me a desperate, fearful look. The nurse was soon behind me and she immediately removed the mask.
"Mister Tennant, " she shouted, "You're not going to have anymore of these treatments. This was your last."
He looked so relieved.
I was holding his hand and he said,
"What happened?" He was referring to yesterday and the breathing problems.
I looked up at Mike before I replied, "It's in both your lungs, sweetheart."
He nodded. He slept briefly and when he awoke, he tenderly reached over and removed my hand from his. He seemed to know the rest of the journey was his alone.
Mike stayed for a while longer, then left for home and we arranged that when I got Hal settled for sleep I would come over for dinner.
It had been a loving, peaceful day.
In the late afternoon, Hal sat up and watched an entire tennis match on television. I remember that Martina Natilova won. He got down some orange sherbet.
The nurse wheeled in the infusion cart, a computerised mechanism that metes out the various drips into the main intravenous tube.
Hal looked confused.
"What's that? Are they going to put a tube back down my throat?"
"No, no darling; remember? This is the infusion box; you asked yesterday that they not give you any more pills so they are going to give you your morphine by drip. That's all."
Two nurses came in to settle him for the night just as I was struggling to lift him toward the head of the bed. I don't know what it is, but they always tend to slide down until their feet are pressing uncomfortably on the foot board. They gently shifted him up and arranged his pillows for maximum comfort, tucked in around on the side so that he could ease into them. His breathing was shallow but he appeared calm.
I remember thinking, how wonderful it will be to go to Mike and Lorries' place and just relax for a bit. I hope he falls asleep quickly.
When the nurses left the room, his began became rapid and shallow and I took his hand and kissed him.
"I'll stay with you until you're fast asleep, so don't you worry."
He looked relieved and closed his eyes. He fell asleep almost immediately.
Quietly, I gathered my things and crept from the room. The nurse hurried toward me.
"Look, you've spent long hours here every day, and I think you should go home and get some rest, but if one of the children wants to spend the night that will be fine. We're trying hard to keep the other bed free for your privacy."
I thanked her but told her the children were pretty tired too, but I would pass on the message.
I remember feeling anxious to leave I must have been emotionally and physically exhausted.the hospital that night. I would spend a couple of hours with Mike and Lorrie and have everyday conversation and relax a bit and then I'd go home.
continued in chapter 14: part 11
On the way home from the hospital that night, I went over and over in my mind what was happening. Hal was going to suffocate to death; he had suffered so much and I couldn't bear for him to go through any more. I was reminded of a "friend," a former nurse who assured me, early on, that when things got tough she'd be there to advise me. She disappeared from sight long before the tough times.
As soon as I got home I raced to the phone and called Alice. Alice is a writer, a first class researcher and a person who comes through in the crunch.
"Alice, I need help."
I quickly described what had been happening to Hal and then said,
"I want to end Hal's life; I don't want him to suffer anymore. He's dying but he doesn't deserve this kind of death."
Alice said without hesitation,
"Okay, I'm going to start making some enquiries. You just sit tight and don't do anything until you hear from me and I promise to get back to you by tomorrow morning at the latest."
She called later that night.
"I have the information you need and I want you to come by my house tomorrow morning on the way to the hospital."
I agreed to this and said I would bring son Michael along.
We arrived around nine o'clock. She moved to put her arms around me and I drew back.
"Alice, I can hang together as long as nobody is too nice to me, so please don't hug me. I appreciate your concern."
She sat us down.
"Look, I know what you want to do is a tremendous display of love but I can't let you do it. I talked to a couple of doctor friends and others who have gone this route and the fact is that it's too difficult to do in a hospital. If there was time to get him home then you could. You will end up sitting in a jail cell and while you don't care now there will be a time when it will matter.
Now there is an alternative. Have all treatments been stopped?"
"Well, no, they're giving him Ventalin through an oxygen mask two or three times a day and it terrifies him."
"Stop that immediately. Anything that sounds like ventilation is just going to prolong his suffering. What else?"
"They seem to have stopped drawing blood, but he has been getting his morphine by pill until yesterday when he asked them not to expect him to swallow anything more, so they've switched back to the liquid."
"Okay, when you get to the hospital, ask to see the doctor privately and make all arrangements to keep him sedated and comfortable. Make sure all treatment is stopped. And don't try anything else."
I trusted her completely and somehow she persuaded me that this was the right course to take.
We arrived at the hospital to find Hal looking peaceful and alert. He'd slept well but he was lying slightly propped up and wasn't about to get out of bed.
When Hal napped, we stole out of the room and searched out the resident, Doctor Walters, who was on call that day. We asked for a private place to meet and he took us to a nearby office. We then sorted through our misunderstandings, that no, we didn't want anymore ventalin treatment, we wanted Hal to go on steady morphine drip, that we had said everything we needed to say to one another and we wanted him to be as unaware as possible when he died.
I asked,
"From what I saw yesterday, he's going to suffocate, isn't he?"
His answer was simple. "Yes."
When we returned to the room, Hal was getting the ventalin treatment and he gave me a desperate, fearful look. The nurse was soon behind me and she immediately removed the mask.
"Mister Tennant, " she shouted, "You're not going to have anymore of these treatments. This was your last."
He looked so relieved.
I was holding his hand and he said,
"What happened?" He was referring to yesterday and the breathing problems.
I looked up at Mike before I replied, "It's in both your lungs, sweetheart."
He nodded. He slept briefly and when he awoke, he tenderly reached over and removed my hand from his. He seemed to know the rest of the journey was his alone.
Mike stayed for a while longer, then left for home and we arranged that when I got Hal settled for sleep I would come over for dinner.
It had been a loving, peaceful day.
In the late afternoon, Hal sat up and watched an entire tennis match on television. I remember that Martina Natilova won. He got down some orange sherbet.
The nurse wheeled in the infusion cart, a computerised mechanism that metes out the various drips into the main intravenous tube.
Hal looked confused.
"What's that? Are they going to put a tube back down my throat?"
"No, no darling; remember? This is the infusion box; you asked yesterday that they not give you any more pills so they are going to give you your morphine by drip. That's all."
Two nurses came in to settle him for the night just as I was struggling to lift him toward the head of the bed. I don't know what it is, but they always tend to slide down until their feet are pressing uncomfortably on the foot board. They gently shifted him up and arranged his pillows for maximum comfort, tucked in around on the side so that he could ease into them. His breathing was shallow but he appeared calm.
I remember thinking, how wonderful it will be to go to Mike and Lorries' place and just relax for a bit. I hope he falls asleep quickly.
When the nurses left the room, his began became rapid and shallow and I took his hand and kissed him.
"I'll stay with you until you're fast asleep, so don't you worry."
He looked relieved and closed his eyes. He fell asleep almost immediately.
Quietly, I gathered my things and crept from the room. The nurse hurried toward me.
"Look, you've spent long hours here every day, and I think you should go home and get some rest, but if one of the children wants to spend the night that will be fine. We're trying hard to keep the other bed free for your privacy."
I thanked her but told her the children were pretty tired too, but I would pass on the message.
I remember feeling anxious to leave I must have been emotionally and physically exhausted.the hospital that night. I would spend a couple of hours with Mike and Lorrie and have everyday conversation and relax a bit and then I'd go home.
continued in chapter 14: part 11
Thursday, October 18, 2007
chapter 14: part 9
continued from chapter 14: part 8
Hal settled into an exhausted sleep, still gasping, and without taking my eyes off him, I asked the nurse to call the children.
Melissa came first. Her boss swiftly called for a taxi and waited with her until it came. I told her softly what had happened and we sat by the bedside, watching him take a shallow breath, then a long pause and another breath. Michael and Lorrie arrived and we filled them in. We were hypnotized by his breathing. Then Mark arrived. He had mostly stayed away from the hospital but I knew how much he cared because of the fearful way he asked for news by phone. He took one look at Hal, me propping up his head, the nose prongs and the sound of the oxygen and he burst into ragged tears. Melissa rushed over to him and he quickly controlled himself.
I was frightened and confused; I said to them,
"I don't know what to expect. I don't know what we should do".
We looked at one another and shared confusion about this role we were thrust in.
Hal opened his eyes and looked from face to face. He smiled and managed to gasp out,
"If you think you're keeping a vigil, forget it."
Later, he woke and spotted Mark. He smiled.
"Every time I open my eyes, the room is more crowded."
Around mid- afternoon, he opened his eyes and said, panting,
"I feel that it's over."
Oh lord, I thought, I must say just the right thing now.
"What is, dear?"
"My illness."
"How does that feel?"
"It feels great."
Later, we interpreted his reply in different ways. Mike and Mark thought he was saying he knew he was dying, but Melissa and I, who had seen so much, both believed he felt he had reached a turning point and was going to recover.
The rest of the day seemed, in retrospect, like a Gothic cartoon. His breathing was ragged, His hair looked lank and untended, but the last few days he had stopped requesting that I help him to the shower or shampoo his hair and settled for spotty bed baths.
There must have been a sea of liquid in him because we felt like the fire brigade slipping the little jug-like container under the covers, then emptying it and almost immediately starting all over again.
You can eventually get used to any situation and I pulled my daily egg sandwich out of my purse. Melissa and I shared that and the boys went out to bring back hamburgers and drinks. We broke out the morning paper and read interesting snippets to one another. It was as though we were sitting around the kitchen table on a normal day.
David had been bringing the baby to the office each day for Melissa to nurse her; today she remembered to bring the breast pump with her, and retired behind the curtains to express milk, while we listened to the humming sound with interest.
Every so often the girls walked up and down the corridor with me.
"I don't know how to express this," I said, "But this is so much a part of life it's impossible to separate the two."
The nurses spoke to us in hushed whispers and told us they would give us as much privacy as possible. We were all surprised when in mid afternoon, Hal was awake and saying a few words. The attendant brought in his dinner tray and he began to sit up.
We were astonished.
"You want some dinner?"
Nod.
We were all exhausted. I looked at the weary faces around me.
"In that case, you kids go home; I'll stay until he's settled for the night."
He ate a little sherbet, watched some television and behaved as though it was just another night. Then he settled down and I stayed until I knew he was soundly asleep.
The next day, Saturday, he was feeling fit enough to sit in a chair for a while the children came and sat quietly with him for several hours. Melissa came in with the baby Hallie, his namesake, and he gave them a loving smile.
Again, when dinner was brought in, sherbet and liquid nutritional supplement, I sent them home and I stayed longer. This time, when the nurse settled him for sleep, his breathing was jerky and he looked perturbed. I sensed he was frightened.
"Now, don't worry, I'm staying with you until you fall asleep."
He nodded and closed his eyes and I stayed close to him until I could see he was deeply asleep.
continued in chapter 14: part 10
Hal settled into an exhausted sleep, still gasping, and without taking my eyes off him, I asked the nurse to call the children.
Melissa came first. Her boss swiftly called for a taxi and waited with her until it came. I told her softly what had happened and we sat by the bedside, watching him take a shallow breath, then a long pause and another breath. Michael and Lorrie arrived and we filled them in. We were hypnotized by his breathing. Then Mark arrived. He had mostly stayed away from the hospital but I knew how much he cared because of the fearful way he asked for news by phone. He took one look at Hal, me propping up his head, the nose prongs and the sound of the oxygen and he burst into ragged tears. Melissa rushed over to him and he quickly controlled himself.
I was frightened and confused; I said to them,
"I don't know what to expect. I don't know what we should do".
We looked at one another and shared confusion about this role we were thrust in.
Hal opened his eyes and looked from face to face. He smiled and managed to gasp out,
"If you think you're keeping a vigil, forget it."
Later, he woke and spotted Mark. He smiled.
"Every time I open my eyes, the room is more crowded."
Around mid- afternoon, he opened his eyes and said, panting,
"I feel that it's over."
Oh lord, I thought, I must say just the right thing now.
"What is, dear?"
"My illness."
"How does that feel?"
"It feels great."
Later, we interpreted his reply in different ways. Mike and Mark thought he was saying he knew he was dying, but Melissa and I, who had seen so much, both believed he felt he had reached a turning point and was going to recover.
The rest of the day seemed, in retrospect, like a Gothic cartoon. His breathing was ragged, His hair looked lank and untended, but the last few days he had stopped requesting that I help him to the shower or shampoo his hair and settled for spotty bed baths.
There must have been a sea of liquid in him because we felt like the fire brigade slipping the little jug-like container under the covers, then emptying it and almost immediately starting all over again.
You can eventually get used to any situation and I pulled my daily egg sandwich out of my purse. Melissa and I shared that and the boys went out to bring back hamburgers and drinks. We broke out the morning paper and read interesting snippets to one another. It was as though we were sitting around the kitchen table on a normal day.
David had been bringing the baby to the office each day for Melissa to nurse her; today she remembered to bring the breast pump with her, and retired behind the curtains to express milk, while we listened to the humming sound with interest.
Every so often the girls walked up and down the corridor with me.
"I don't know how to express this," I said, "But this is so much a part of life it's impossible to separate the two."
The nurses spoke to us in hushed whispers and told us they would give us as much privacy as possible. We were all surprised when in mid afternoon, Hal was awake and saying a few words. The attendant brought in his dinner tray and he began to sit up.
We were astonished.
"You want some dinner?"
Nod.
We were all exhausted. I looked at the weary faces around me.
"In that case, you kids go home; I'll stay until he's settled for the night."
He ate a little sherbet, watched some television and behaved as though it was just another night. Then he settled down and I stayed until I knew he was soundly asleep.
The next day, Saturday, he was feeling fit enough to sit in a chair for a while the children came and sat quietly with him for several hours. Melissa came in with the baby Hallie, his namesake, and he gave them a loving smile.
Again, when dinner was brought in, sherbet and liquid nutritional supplement, I sent them home and I stayed longer. This time, when the nurse settled him for sleep, his breathing was jerky and he looked perturbed. I sensed he was frightened.
"Now, don't worry, I'm staying with you until you fall asleep."
He nodded and closed his eyes and I stayed close to him until I could see he was deeply asleep.
continued in chapter 14: part 10
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