A Personal Cancer Story

Jon has been after me to post this email from Kelli on the blog for the past week. Although we received Kelli's permission to share her letter I have felt hesitant to do so. It is such an intimate view of life and death in the cancer world it's almost sacred. Of course all of you that know Jon will appreciate that he won't give it up (kind of like his marriage proposals???) so here it is. It is the story of her final moments with her husband. It is honest, painful and extremely well written. Everyone who reads this should know that Kelli and her boys are doing as well as anyone possibly could under the circumstances. We still email frequently and plan to stay in touch. Kelli remains one of our most ardent cheerleaders in "kicking cancers butt!"



Wow, life seems surreal right now. I just can't believe it, though in reality I knew it was coming, but you always have to hold on to hope. You know...Throughout this whole cancer journey we've had to deal with so much bad news and so much hurt. We've gone through the failed chemo, failed surgery, failed transplant, you're gonna die, etc. I've always thought to myself that when it's Paul's time to go, I want to be somewhat blind-sided and I don't ever want to feel like we've lost hope, not even in the very end. I never wanted to it be like...Sorry, no more chemo, you have three months to live, go home (we went through that at the SCCA and know how it feels). I always wanted the hope that this could turn around, because feeling hopeless is too painful. If Paul were to have to go I wanted it to be fast. So, I guess Paul's departure from this earth was everything that I could've asked for given the situation. I am still forever grateful to Dr. Chue for the couple of extra months that he gave us while still maintaining a quality of life for Paul (minus the past few weeks). Though the chemo stopped palliating the cancer in the end, it continued to palliate our spirits and I am grateful for that as well. Paul always told me that he didn't want to die in the hospital, but this just felt right. Paul was never told that "he was dying", but at the same time he never questioned why after his transfusion he didn't go home. I think he knew as well as us. Heck, he knew it Saturday when he told me he was done and not going in for treatment on Monday (though he ended up going for everyone else). It broke my heart having to wheel Paul into the hospital for his transfusion, because he just could no longer walk. Prior to cancer Paul was a machine. He was the most physically fit and active person I knew, a hard worker, and extremely conscious of his health. I did not like seeing him have to lay in bed all day, having to deal with the neuropathy, joint pain, etc. Dr. Chen handled it well too. He came to Swedish to examine Paul and was just like...Hey Paul! I'm just here to say hi and check you out! When he was done, he was just like...Alright, see you later Paul. Just natural, upbeat, and like a typical doctor doing his rounds. I spoke to him outside and he told me that Paul's right lung had no air movement anymore, and his left lung sounded really bad. He only had about 1/4 of his left lung that was working. He told us that Paul could be gone in a day, maybe three at the most. It was sickening how fast the cancer grew. Each day you could just hear in his breathing and cough how much worse it got.

It was pretty neat, because the day after the transfusion Paul appeared to be very out of it (he had a high-dose morphine drip). Then he suddenly perked up and became responsive and we all got to spend time with him and tell him everything we wanted too. After we all stood around his bed and talked about all our fun times they scooted Paul over so I could lay in bed with him and take a nap. It was the most beautiful and sincere conversation I've ever had. I thank God for that time. The next day he was really bad. His morphine order went up to 10 (mg an hour) and he was at a 9. He could no longer talk, but he could nod. I saw him cringe and try to grab his chest...I asked him if he felt something and he nodded yes. I told him I'd take care of it and make sure he couldn't feel anything and he nodded. I told him that I would be there with him until the end and he nodded and I told him that I loved him and he nodded. Then the nurse came in and gave him a bollus of morhpine and told us that it would put Paul in a non-responsive state, and that was it. It was like his body went into a mechanical mode. He was jerking each time he took a breath, because he had no lung capacity. The nurse told us that he could be like that for several days. I had one last alone moment with Paul and prayed that the Lord would take him home...I told Paul that his work here was done, go be with God, it's time to go. Much to the suprise of the nurses, he went. I was holding him in my arms. I don't think I'll ever forget that day. I don't think I've ever felt pain so deep seeing him go. On the other hand I am so incredibly happy for him. He is now where we all strive to be and he finally killed that cancer. He told me he was ready, he was excited, and he was happy. I guess I couldn't ask for more. It's so hard though. I am happy, I am liberated from cancer, but I will miss him deeply. I miss his companionship and friendship. Paul was a man of extremely strong and deep faith and I know he is with God.

Today was super lame though...I had to start all of the funeral arraingements. I picked out his casket (NOT fun), purchased his plot, which they call "properties" and purchased one for myself while I was at it right next to him. I think it is the most beautiful spot in the cemetary (Mountain View Cemetary in Auburn). It is on the top of the hill with a beautiful view of Mt. Rainier, at the base of a small tree, and the headstone will include a beautiful bench for people to sit, reflect, and enjoy the view. Picking out the property was peaceful, but I certainly didn't enjoy the casket, vault, part. Then I had to pick out clothes for him to wear. :-/ Tough. It was hard to come home yesterday and see all of his clothes here, his razor, toothbrush, and everything as we had left it on Monday. The first thing I did when I got home was throw away all of the meds he had to take. It felt good. No more cough syrup, morpine, codeine, and anti-nauseas. No more pink throw-up buckets. No more anything like that. It was liberating. Tonight was wierd. My sister-in-law and I went to the grocery store and got some dinner at 9:00 tonight. I can't tell you how wierd it was to just be able to leave the house, not worry about arrainging for someone to stay with Paul, worrying if he would be okay, or having to have someone else go for me. I've been a 24 hour caregiver for so long. And Paul was not a burden, but the cancer was. No more tumor markers, no more CT Scans, we're finally done.

Thank you guys for visiting Paul the other day. He really enjoyed that. He enjoyed talking to Jon and you because you guys know what it's like. He was so very thankful for Jon taking him up to Mark Jane's. That gave us our last quality night when Paul actually had the energy to come downstairs and watch a movie.

Anyway, the service will be on Tuesday at our church with viewings on Saturday and Monday night. Viewings are kind of wierd. I don't much care to go, but it's more for other people than myself. Well, I guess I'm going to go try to sleep now. I actually stayed up for two whole nights at the hospital!!!

Talk to you soon,
Kelli