Her Last Day

Mom had fallen about three weeks earlier and cracked some ribs on a cement step. She'd been to the Prompt Care and was seeming to do better. So, I left town to attend a conference. I stopped at my son's on the way home for a short visit. On Sunday, I stopped to see Mom. She'd been admitted to the hospital the day before. She had some internal bleeding from the rib fractures and the fact that she was on coumadin for Atrial Fibrillation. She was in a lot of discomfort. I spent the afternoon with her, then, went home to my husband. The next morning, I was on my way to work when I got the intuition that I should go to the hospital instead. I've learned over the years to trust that feeling. So, I called my principal to tell him I would not be coming in that day. When I got to the hospital, her physician was just leaving. I had time to ask him about her kidney function and he just dismissed my concerns and told me it would return to normal as soon as she got better. The first words out of her mouth were, "I don't want to live another day if I have to endure this much pain." The plan as I understood it was for a consult with a thoracic surgeon, vitamin K shots to coagualte her blood, and then typing her blood for possible surgery. The very first problem we encountered was the inability of the phlebotomist to hit a vein. This process was very painful. They finally found someone who got the job done. Then, the surgeon came in. He told mom that if they could get her blood count up through transfusions, he would do surgery on her the next morning. He said he'd have to leave a drain in the incision for several weeks but that she could go home with home nursing care. As he laid out the whole process, I could see her withdraw. After he left, she put her head back in the chair and closed her eyes. I believe in my heart she asked God to take her home that day. Shortly afterward, everything started happening so fast that it is a blur. I just know that soon the nurse came to say they were transferring her to Intensive Care. The last thing I heard her say was, "Help me." When I got to the Intensive Care Unit, they were getting her settled in her bed. They finally let me in. She was lying on her back, breathing, eyes closed. I don't think she was there anymore. Her body was alive but I felt no connection. The nurse asked me if I had anyone to call to be with me and if I wanted her put on a respirator. I asked for a minute to think. As I stood there beside the bed, I "knew" she'd be very upset with me if I allowed that. She had a "Do Not Resuscitate" order on file. Just then a thoracic specialist came in and suggested we try to get her some air by draining the fluid from her lungs. I reminded him of her DNR order and gave permission for him to try. Her heart stopped while he was in the process. Although I still miss her terribly, I am at peace because I think we tried what we could but it was her time to depart.

Sheri

My friend Sheri called me one evening and told me she'd found a lump in her breast, had it biopsied, and was having a mastectomy in the morning. I was shocked. She told me not to worry and that it would be okay. We talked about why not a lumpectomy and about her husband and daughter. Later, I remembered another lady from my church who'd had the same surgery and I called her to ask if she could go see Sheri that night before the surgery. Sheri wasn't mad at me and was actually grateful to have someone to talk with who'd been through the procedure. I first met Sheri about 8 years earlier when my oldest son was ready for preschool. Sheri had a degree in early childhood education and had pioneered our local YWCA's Little School for 3-4 year old's. We lived at the duck hunting club and Sheri always made home visits before a child started in her classes. Now, it was 3 miles from the gate to our house and I was running late the day she was to arrive. Our road was a muddy mess so I was supposed to meet her at the gate. As I drove to the gate, here came Sheri, pant legs rolled up and shoes dangling from her purse slugging her way through the mud so she wouldn't be late to her next appointment. That is the kind of person she was. Over the years that my boys attended her preschool, we became good friends and prayer partners. We eventually started a prayer group with another friend, Carol. What a blessed oasis that weekly meeting was for the three of us! We were all busy, working mom's and this was an hour respite from our hectic lives. Sheri took radiation and chemo for her cancer. She worked the whole time and would cry with me about feeling like she was failing us by being so weak and tired. She survived the treatments and saw her daughter off to college before the cancer returned. This time it was in her neck. She had more radiation that shrunk the tumor. It was parent's weekend at the college and Sheri and Dick returned home just as Sheri got very ill. Her ureters were blocked and she was in such pain. The doctor did surgery to open them up. Carol and I waited till Sheri's husband told us she was in recovery and he was going to stay the night before we went home to our families. About 4 AM he called. He'd only left for a bit to go home and shower and clean up. The nurse found her and Sheri's heart had stopped. They did a code blue and got it started, but, she'd been out too long. The next day they did an EEG and there was no brain activity. Her family took her off life support and that was how she died. When I learned the news I was so mad at her husband for leaving her. Either Carol or I would have been happy to have stayed with her if only he'd called us. As I was driving back to town from the school I was at when I got the call, I felt her presence in the car and I sensed that Sheri was there to let me know that it was all right. I've never lost that feeling and I know that right now I can ask "What would Sheri say or do?" and the answer will be there for me. Sheri taught me that when you love someone, they become a part of you and always abide with you even if not physically present. You see, she was a great teacher.

BFF Linda

I came to know my best friend Linda through our involvement in Job's Daughters. That group is a social service group of girls who have at least one male relative who belongs to a Masonic Organization. Linda's older sister had been the Honored Queen of our local chapter. We joined about the same time. I was one year ahead of her in school. Over time, we became fast friends. We came from very different backgrounds. Linda's family was solidly middle class. Her mom was a stay at home mom and her dad was a supervisor at our town's factory. Linda was the youngest child with older brother and sister. They were a good Christian family. My family was chaos. My parents had divorced when I was two. It was my dad's second marriage. My dad then married a divorcee with two daughters. My mom married my first step-dad who was a supervisor at Caterpillar. My mom worked as a waitress in a supper club. She made more money in tips than he did at Caterpillar. They fought constantly. They divorced and then remarried. I thought I'd go crazy. What do you think of a seven year old who plots ways to kill her step-dad? I went to live with my maternal grandparents till he and my mom finally divorced the second time. Then, I just stayed with my grandparents while my mom lived like a single woman. Finally, when I was eleven, she married my second step-father and moved me away from the grandparents to Canton where I met Linda. My second step-dad ran a tavern. I think he fooled my mom into believing that he owned it and had some money. Anyhow, they ended up borrowing money from my grandparents to keep the tavern open and finally were able to buy it. The first five years they were married were very rocky. My mom would leave him and take me back to the grandparents. Then, they would make up and back we'd go. So, you can see that Linda and I had very different childhoods. Linda always had hand-me-down clothes and I always had the latest fashions. In high school, Linda worked at a local clothing store and used her own money to buy herself nice things. I shopped there. Linda was talented in music and was a drum major for our high school band. She also played the piano beautifully. She won the talent competition in our local Fall Festival her Senior year. I went to the local community college while Linda was a Senior and then we both went to nearby state college. At first, I had a single room and Linda lived in same complex, but, she had a roommate. We still hung out. The next year, we decided to room together. Just before that term started, I'd met a boy through another friend. Our romance only lasted part of the summer. When school started, we went our separate ways. That Christmas break, he called me. I told him I was seeing someone else. He asked if I knew of anyone he might call and ask out. I thought of Linda. She agreed for me to give him her phone number. Well, they went out and then they got married the next summer. I was her bridesmaid. Later, that fall, I met the man I married and Linda returned the favor by being my bridesmaid. We've known each other now since 1961. That's 52 years. We been there for each other all those years. Sadly, I was the one who had to break the news to her that her husband had another woman. It broke my heart to do it. But, she was so distraught trying to figure out why he wanted a divorce, wracking her brain to see if she could determine what she had done or failed to do that would make him want to leave her after 40 years of marriage. When I learned from many sources that he was seeing someone I worked with, I knew I had to tell her. I just put myself in her shoes and asked myself what I'd want her to do if it were me. Now, it's been three years and she is healing. She has a boyfriend. And her ex is getting married. Our children are growing up and we are growing older together. I am so glad that Linda's been in my life all these years.

Last House on the Left

In July of 1975, my husband and I, our baby son, Andrew, and my step-son, Kendall, who'd soon turn 15, moved from our newly re-furbished home in Peoria, IL to the Duck Island Hunting and Fishing Club near Banner, IL. The club was privately owned, reportedly the oldest in the entire state. My husband had grown up in Banner watching both his grandfather and father work at the club taking wealthy duck hunters out to the blinds using push poles and in flat bottomed boats. They were called pushers, but, it had nothing to do with drugs. Eventually, my husband grew up and also worked as a pusher at the club. Once he took a bank president from Nashville out to the blind, called in the ducks for the man to shoot, picked, and cleaned the ducks for the man to take home with him. That guy gave my husband a $20.00 tip. It was the best tip he'd ever gotten. When we moved into the club and my husband took over managing it, he told me he'd found his "Place in the Sun". I, however, thought it was a hell hole. I'd grown up in the city and now I was out in the middle of the boondocks, 5 miles from my nearest neighbor. The house was indeed the last house on the left. It sat proudly on an earthen berm. It was a two-story salt box house that was built before electricity or running water were added. The outside was a dusty green and the inside walls were wainscoted boards. Electric wires and switches were stapled on the outside of the walls and the plumbing pipes ran through the ceiling of the kitchen. The main level consisted of a nice-sized living room with a free-standing Franklin stove and wall-mounted electric heaters, a large kitchen, an adjacent dining room, a laundry room and half-bath. The second level had a full bath, one master bedroom and two smaller one. There was also a large screened porch upstairs that we later closed in to use as a playroom for our family. After moving to the club, we had two more sons and they need some space for their toys. To get to our home, a person had to drive down a road on top of a dike that lead out of Banner. It was 3 miles to the gate that lead to the club. The gate was locked. So, people had to call ahead and then someone had to go open the gate for them. Beyond the gate it was another 3 miles of gravel road to get to our house. Just before our house was the large two-story clubhouse where the duck hunters from out of town would stay. After that was the boathouse and the pick shed. And finally, the manager's house. The road from the gate to where we lived was pretty rough. It ran along the Illinois River and could get pretty messy when it rained or when the river would come up. Many times during the nine years we were there the river did go over our road. There are many stories of those times that I will save for another day. But to give the reader and idea of the quality of the road, I will tell one story. We'd belonged to a pinochle card club when we lived in Peoria. After moved to the club, we hosted a card party. As luck would have it, it rained for several days prior to the event. By the day of the party, the road was impassable except for 4-wheel drive vehicles. All our friends had to park near the gate and we had to pick them up in our vehicle and bring them in to the club. One of our lady friends told Kenny, "Patty must really love you because I wouldn't live here for Robert Redford!" (to be continued)

Finding Twitter

Since I retired, I've gotten pretty active on Twitter. I have met some really awesome people (called Tweeps) on there and some really awful, mean-spirited Right Wing folks who love to insult and call names. One of the nicest people I've met so far is Andrew S. Ginsburg @GinsburgJobs on Twitter. Through Andrew, I've met the A Team. ‏@IslandAnnaLand @JoanLivingbig @reporterphoenix @jodette7 @wcgirl1 @scott_in_worc @bill_mcl @Kurtseldon Most every morning, we greet each other and briefly talk. I feel like I've known them for years. Maybe some even better than face-to-face friends. The only problem that I've run into is that by the time I've listed them all, there aren't many characters of the 140 Twitter allows left to express myself. This leads me to another place I found on Twitter. It is called #LibCrib @RussHayden1 started it as a place to go to relax, chat, share music, important links, etc. I love it in the #LibCrib. Using a hashtag # as a place to gather and talk is fun. You drop the @'s and just tweet with the #. Some find it strange to do it this way. I find it helps to keep a window open on my computer for the hashtag group I am following. But, if I'm on my tablet, I have to use the search to locate the hashtag group. Then I can tweet my input directly if I chose using the hashtag or just scroll through the hashtag tweets to see what's going on in the group. Now often a nasty, mean person (we call them Trolls) will come into the hashtag group and post hateful material. The LibCrib rule that Russ asks us to follow is to ignore the troll. If we chose to respond to the troll, he asks us to drop the hashtag so that the discussion does not show up on the hashtag group's timeline. Recently, my friend Andrew and I started the hashtag #FactsScience and suggested it for the Ateam to use. That way we can tweet more than two or three words to each other. I am thankful for the ones who are giving it a try. Change is hard, but, the #FactsScience group gives us 120 characters to use rather than just the few that are available after all the @'s are listed. I encourage everyone to try one of the hashtag groups, #FactsScience or #LibCrib and see what it is like. If you have questions and you are on Twitter, please feel free to ask me @bannerite or email me at pat.fuller123@gmail.com and I will try to be helpful.

When I'm 64

"When I get older, losing my hair, many years from now Will you still be sending me a valentine, birthday greetings, bottle of wine? If I'd been out 'til quarter to three, would you lock the door? Will you still need me, will you still feed me when I'm sixty-four? You'll be older too Ah, and if you say the word, I could stay with you I could be handy, mending a fuse when your lights have gone You can knit a sweater by the fireside, Sunday mornings, go for a ride Doing the garden, digging the weeds, who could ask for more? Will you still need me, will you still feed me when I'm sixty-four? Every summer we can rent a cottage In the Isle of Wight if it's not to, dear We shall scrimp and save Ah, grandchildren on your knee, Vera, Chuck and Dave Send me a postcard, drop me a line stating point of view Indicate precisely what you mean to say, yours sincerely wasting away Give me your answer, fill in a form, mine forever more Will you still need me, will you still feed me when I'm sixty-four?" This is what we thought when we were young and the Beatles were singing our mantra of youth. Now that I am a few days away from 64, I am pondering what meaning it has for me now. When I look in the mirror, I see a gray-haired lady with a smile on her face. I wonder what happened to the girl I used to know. Somewhere, deep inside, she is there looking back at me, wondering what happened. I've spent 2/3's of my life as Kenny's wife. Over 30 years as somebody's mother and nearly seven as grandma. How did all this happen? I was 20, then, I blinked and now I am soon to be 64. I feel sad that I didn't appreciate each precious day as it unfolded. Why did I spend so much time looking forward. I was always looking forward to a day out there somewhere instead of just soaking up the essence of the present moment. Well, I've learned my lesson. From this moment forward, I vow to relish the moment. Where ever I am, whoever I'm with, I will soak up the time like a greedy sponge. I want to feel it all. I will spend my time on people, activities, events that please me. Simple. That's it. New goal for the rest of my life.

Memories

Both of my parents are dead now. I still have their memories,though. My dad died 33 years ago after a long battle with lung cancer. I've spent more of my life without him now than I had with him. I woke up the other morning wondering what I really knew about him. When he was here and I could ask him all kinds of questions, I was too caught up in my own drama to even be interested in finding out what made him tick. Now, I wonder about him. What was his passion? What were his politics? What did he believe in? I guess I'll never know. This I do know. He was a great dad and I know that he loved me. My mom died just five years ago. She was so many different things to me throughout my life. Without going into details, I loved her and I hated many things about her. But, ultimately, she was my friend. When she died, I knew I'd lost the one person who loved me warts and all. I still can hear her voice in my ear and I really do try to listen better now that she's gone. So, if you are reading this and your parents are still alive, stop your busy life for a few minutes and jot down a few questions. Then, take the time to find the answers.