From My Heart

Bummer alert! Don’t read any further if you don’t feel like reading some negativity. Sometimes I’m reluctant to post anything that sounds too negative. But my intent when I started this blog was to let people know, especially people who may be facing a similar battle, what it’s like. There is certainly a negative aspect to it so I have to share some of that sometimes. Recently I received an email from Peggy, a friend I met through my children’s grammar school. Actually that’s one of the bright sides of my situation. I get to hear from a lot of friends I haven’t heard from in a long time. Don’t anyone judge these people for not getting in touch until a time like this. I’m just as guilty for not staying in touch over the years. And if you think it’s wrong, reach out and touch one of your old friends before you or they get sick. And besides, it’s great to hear from these people regardless of the circumstances. Peggy made a comment about how well I was handling things. Well I don’t know about that. Let me give you some examples of how poorly I handle things at times. Thursday I was staining a couple of wooden steps on the patio. Shortly into the project I kicked over the can of stain. I did a good job, making sure I kicked it off the drop cloth I had underneath it. It spilled onto the patio. I didn’t jump up and quickly start to clean it up which would be the normal reaction. Instead, I sat there and cried. I cried because it seems I can’t do anything right anymore. I make a lot of mistakes, both physical and mental. Most of the physical mistakes involve my hands which are losing dexterity from the neuropathy. The mental ones are probably because of chemo brain. But it doesn’t matter what the cause is. I feel like an old man and it gets frustrating. It caught up to me Thursday. I often think about my own death. I’m not presumptuous enough to think anyone will miss me. But I’ll miss them. And I know my dog will miss me. And he won’t understand. He’ll think I abandoned him and that makes me sad. I worry about my wife. I don’t think she’ll be able to take care of everything around the house and yard. I worry about whether or not she’ll have enough money. I worry about my children. When I got married and bought a house I got a lot of help from my father, my stepfather, and my father in law. I want to be there to help my children and I don’t think I will be. I worry about my mother. I saw my grandfather bury my father. A parent should not have to bury a child. I read a lot about other people who have esophageal cancer. There’s a lot of suffering and a lot of death. Many patients achieve a state of remission only to be knocked down again by a recurrence. That’s why it’s hard for me to get too optimistic about apparent progress. I don’t expect it to last. Often there are contributions from someone who has lost a loved one to the disease. They describe the final days or the death. I picture myself there. I often think about my life achievements. It’s a very short thought process. It bothers me that I haven’t accomplished much. I’m scared. I’m more afraid of dying than I am of death. Very early in my illness I received a gift from Terry, another friend I met through my children’s grammar school. Terry sent me holy water, blessed with a relic of St. Albert of Sicily. Use of the holy water is believed to have healing qualities. I’m not sure if Terry knew it or not but my real name is Albert. Jerry comes from my middle name, Jerome. I have been using the holy water and I have read about the life of St. Albert. One of the things that Albert taught about death was that sooner or later we must give back to God all of the blessings that He has given us. We can give them back to God while we are living, by passing them on to others. But when we die all that are left go back to Him. I have many to give back. I’m going to try to give them back before I die. My faith makes it easier to accept death. But my faith is not perfect. I don’t want to die.