Laurel's Cancer Journey

Big day today. My life changed. Laurel has been experiencing some kind of pain or distress that has caused her to groan over and over and for long periods. Meds usually take care of it but it got worse last night and this morning. It's pitiful to sit beside her, asking where it hurts, does she want an ice pack, what can I do, and she can't respond. She has not been communicating for a couple days. I think whatever was causing this distress was just overwhelming her. I'm thinking pain so great you can't even think straight. I called hospice for help last night and again this morning. Our nurse came over about noon for her usual visit. Laurel was groaning. I don't want to say 'in anguish', and she wasn't writhing, but something was clearly really bothering her and she couldn't respond to questions. Our nurse called the doctor. Everyone is up to speed on every call I've made so the doctor knew Laurel's recent history and instructed the nurse to

It's Michael. In the last three days, Laurel has stopped eating, mostly stopped drinking, stopped getting out of bed, basically stopped communicating, and almost stopped being able to take meds. In a very short time, she's gone from sleeping in our bed to sleeping in the living room in a hospital bed, to not being able to get out of that bed, to needing everything done for her and now this evening, to being on oxygen. This all is not what I pictured when I thought we might be headed for a repetitive daily life while waiting for one of us to exit. If the last three days are any indication of the near future, it won't be Laurel who goes first. Because of the new difficulty with pill taking, we've changed to a Fentanyl patch for pain management. The patch replaces two of the meds Laurel was taking multiple times daily. Hospice kept asking if we wanted to keep taking pills and I thought "What's the big deal?" Well, I see it now. As various skills stop working,

It's Michael. Guess I don't really need to keep saying that, but I'm going to anyway. I felt very sure yesterday would be Laurel's last day. What do I know? I even exercised my faith by not preparing the next days meds last night. Welll, drat. Not only was I mistaken but today's hospice nurse estimates 2-3 weeks before she'll leave us. We may be beginning a phase of daily repetition with slow progress toward the goal. I am not amused. Talk time appears to be over with my sweetie. She does not initiate conversation, even to express her needs. She does respond to questions but her responses are halting and very slow. Very. She can fall asleep after saying just the first few words of her sentence, I'll rub her arm lightly, she'll wake and ask if she finished her sentence. I hate it. I doubt she's digging it, either, and wonder how much she is really processing but is unable to tell me. I'm talking with hospice about her possibly being medicated beyo

It's Michael. There will be no more draft approvals by Laurel so I'll try to make her proud in my writing. I really feel she's at the brink. The reduction in the new med has had no effect on her grogginess. She still seems sedated. Hospice will check in again tomorrow for an update. I have to wonder if the grogginess and lethargy are just symptoms of her decline. She has almost no strength. From bad cell spread? From not eating? Is she over-medicated? She cannot keep her eyes open. Her breathing is shallow and halting. She can barely lift a cup to drink. She rarely initiates conversation, just responds to inputs. She can barely walk, even with assistance, and can't push the walker over a 1/4" high bump. After a short walk this morning, she said she didn't think she could stand again. I told her she wouldn't have to. I believe she's done walking as of today. A bit of (maybe?) humor. We were sitting beside each other and she announced "Jesus is here.

It's Michael. She's not really 'here', actually. But there is a chance she might be back. We started the new med yesterday and she was pain free (this was a BIG deal) all day but asleep most of the day. Hospice is coming three days a week and at today's visit, they connected me with the doctor so I could express my concerns about Laurel possibly being over-medicated. It is a new experience talking to a doctor who seems to have all the time in the world for just you, listens patiently to your concerns, offers suggestions, and asks what you think about them. I mean, in my experience, that never happens. It's almost an emotional experience. Of course, blinking is an emotional experience these days. But seriously, I'm praising our hospice team publicly and have complimented them directly. Today's phone call with the doctor yielded a plan to go from one tablet every 8 hours around the clock to one tablet every 12 hours, and to use the previous medication for