Some More Reflections

Some More Reflections
Thomas Allen

What follows are random thoughts about life with Deborah.

‒ Whenever we had an argument or disagreement, Deb was usually right. I seldom told her that she was right, which speaks poorly of me. However, if she were paying any attention, she would have realized that I concluded that she was right. Most of the time, I tried to change things so that such an argument would not occur in the future.

‒ As far as I know, I was the only one who prayed for Deb to get well. Every prayer uttered in my presence was a mealy-mouth-God-comfort type of prayer. One of those types of prayers that cannot be verified whether it was answered. Since I was praying for Deb to be healed and to come home disease free and she did not, then that means one of three things. One is God lies. Two is that the Bible is written the way that a shyster lawyer writes a contract: a bold promised is made in one place, but voided in another. In Matthew 7:7-8, Jesus says, “Ask and it shall be given. . . . For everyone who asks receives. . . .” As I asked and did not receive, then this simple promise must have been voided elsewhere. That is deception, which is a lie. (One popular response to unanswered prayer is that the prayer did not have enough faith. How much faith is enough? When the number of failed prayers is considered, that must be a humanly impossible threshold to cross. Up to the last day, I thought that Deb was going to come home. Based on the quoted verse all the faith that one needs to have is faith to ask.) Three is that someone was praying for her death and God valued that person’s prayer more than everyone praying for her to be healed. (I would not be surprised if people at hospice were praying for her death. Those people love death.)

‒ Once we married, I always considered the money that I earned as “our” money. It was as much Deb’s and mine, i.e., it belonged to the family. She had the hardest time comprehending that concept. For the longest time, she considered the money that I earned as mine. One of the first things that I did after we married was to put her name on my checking and savings accounts.

‒ At one of Deb’s street shows in Wake Forest, a woman came up to Deb’s art car with her daughter. She commented to her daughter that Deb’s painting was a color-by-the-number painting. That comment really made Deb angry. She could hardly restrain herself.

‒ When she had her art car, she used it at all her street shows to display her art that she was selling.

‒ When I married Deb, down inside myself, I expected nothing but an idealistic, dreamlike marriage. Deb delivered it. Our marriage was not always smooth. We needed time to adjust to each other. We never gave up and worked on solving and eliminating conflict. Over time, our marriage did run smoothly and became idyllic with little conflict.

‒ We used to have a Jonathan apple tree, which died. Deb liked Jonathan apples and wanted me to plant another one. After I retired, I finally got around to planting another one. However, it has never borne any fruit. She will never eat an apple from that tree.

‒ Deb brought me the happiest 30 years of my life — the only years worth living. She made my dreams come true. I believe that I did the same for her although she never did become a renowned artist. Nevertheless, she had a devoted husband, who tried to love her more than she loved him. I had a devoted wife who always succeeded in loving me more than I loved her.

‒ The year of 2011 was a year of a great blessing and a great curse. I was blessed with the honor and privilege of serving Deb during her last months of life. I was cursed with the failure of not protecting her from hospice.

‒ When Deb died, so did I. Not physically of course, but I died every other way. My great punishment for failing her is to linger on as a lonely, unhappy old man — doomed forever to eat alone, to sleep alone, and to be alone. I fear that I am condemned to relive the 1970s, the worst decade of my life. It was a decade of loneliness, with defeat after defeat. I was nothing — unwanted and lost. No one wanted anything that I had to offer: love, devotion, fidelity, and the like — totally worthless virtues. I fear that never again will I know the happiness and joy that she brought. Getting over grieving her was easy compared to going on living without her. That is living as opposed to existing. I need hope, but hope does not exist. Instead of looking forward to a future without her, I need to look forward to a future with someone. Without that I would rather die quickly and join her.

‒ Deb is the only woman whoever saw anything of value in me. I fear that she will remain the only woman to do so. No one else will find what she found. Unless someone does, I have no future. Existence not life lies ahead. May it be short.

Copyright © 2011 by Thomas Coley Allen.

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Reflections

Reflections
Thomas Allen

What follows are random thoughts about life with Deborah.

‒ I am glad that Deb and I did not court much. I was not very good at courting. Most of our interaction was through letters and telephone conversations. Before we married, I visited her in Connecticut for about five days, and she visited me in North Carolina for about five days. I did turn out to be an excellent husband for her. Likewise, she turned out to be an excellent, even ideal, wife for me. Courting and marriage are like campaigning and performing the duties of an elective office. They require two different sets of skills, attributes, and abilities. Because a person is good at one does not mean that he is good at the other.

‒ As paradoxical as it sounds, until Deb was gone, I never realized how much she guided me and told me what to do without ever saying a word. She seldom right out told me what to do or not do. Yet without speaking, even with body language, she was the guiding influence telling me what to do and not to do. Perhaps it was because she gave everything purpose and meaning. Perhaps it was because she came to surrender herself totally to me that I could not help but to follow her unspoken instructions.

‒ Deb was, so to speak, my security blanket. I did things, such as speaking against issues at public hearings, that I would not have done without her. Her presence gave me courage even if she were not with me. When the children were young, she did not accompany me because she remained home to watch them. After they became old enough to look after themselves, she went with me. Whether she accompanied me or remained home, she gave me courage, direction, and purpose. I knew that she was there behind me and for me.

‒ When Deb was ill, I commented that wished I could have borne her burden to spare her the suffering. Now I am having to bear a burden that she will never have to bear. I am having to bear her loss and the void that it has created. Deb, it hurts! I am not having to feel the physical pain that she endured. Nevertheless, I am having to endure an enormous amount of pain. By her dying first, at least I am sparing her this pain. However, I am convinced that she could have borne it better than I am. She was my superior at such things.

‒ One reason that I love Deb so much and so deeply is that she never rejected me. She always accepted me. She accepted me as I was, and I accepted her as she was.

‒ Deb was always easy going and rarely demanding. She did have to run off to visit her sister occasionally. Also, every year or two, she had to go to the beach with the children after they were older.

‒ This year, 2011, was the first year in the last 29 years that I was not with Deb on my birthday (she died a few hours before) or her birthday. It was the first year in 30 years that I did not eat Thanksgiving dinner with her or celebrate Christmas with her.

‒ Before Deb got sick, I usually had little patience or compassion for sick people — especially myself. After Deb became ill, I soon acquired a great deal of patience and compassion for her. I was honored with the privilege of serving her during her illness. Although I did not always succeed, I tried to serve her the best that I could. My biggest regret is failing to defend her against and protect her from hospice. That failure resulted in her premature death. Hospice took weeks and maybe months off her life. Now I have to live with that failure for the rest of my life.

‒ When she was in the hospital, Deb bragged to the nurses and aides about having such a good husband. (I enjoyed hearing her say that.) I was there because I had a better wife. While she was in the hospital, I spent nine to twelve hours a day with her. While she was in the hospice house, I was with her 60 out of every 72 hours. I was with her because of her.

‒ When I first met Deb, little did I realize that I had found paradise on earth — or at least as close as a man can come in this sinful world. Wives can either make a marriage heaven on earth or hell on earth. Deb made it heaven. Not that everything always ran smoothly with no disagreement, they certainly did not. However, over time discord faded and harmony grew. Being married to Deb was a blessing and much more than I deserved.

‒ Deb and I came about as close as sinners can come to following the directions of Ephesians 5:24-33. She yielded herself to me and made me her head. In return, I tried to love her as Christ loves the Church (although no human can so fully love) and gave her all that I could. We also strove to follow the instructions of 1 Corinthians 7:3-5 and tried not to withhold our bodies from each other.

‒ I do not recall if it were the first turkey that Deb cooked for Thanksgiving, but it was one of the first ones. We had forgotten to get a pan in which to cook the turkey when we bought the turkey. Back then most stores closed on Thanksgiving. So I could not go buy one. I ended up sawing off the upper part of a big enamel pot for her to use. Later we use the resulting pan as a dish to feed the dog.

‒ Although we had some arguments, I only remember one. Like most of our arguments, it dealt with money for the school. The school that our children went to usually waited until the day before money was needed for a field trip or whatever before asking for it. Waiting to the last minute to ask for money really irritated me, especially since they knew at the beginning of the school year that they would need the money. I like to budget for expenses and do not like surprises, especially when the people wanting the money knew far enough in advance that I could have budgeted for it if they had told me. Anyway, Deb took money that I had allocated for another purpose and gave it to the school. That set me off. I ranted for sometime. After I finished my rant, I felt bad. Although I did not admit it, she did the right thing under the circumstance. I resolved the problem by setting up a borrowing and repayment system. (Now that I look back, probably much of the argument was my frustration with the school.) I do not recall us ever arguing about money after that.

‒ One of the many things that I admired about Deb was that she trusted me in the position of being the head of our relationship and marriage. She forced me to take on that responsibility whether I wanted it or not. I must admit I was somewhat reluctant at first, but she knew what was best. For any relationship and marriage to be highly successful, the man must take the responsibility of being the head. That is a major reason that our marriage was so happy and successful.

‒ Deb saw something in me of great worth. She saw a goodness and greatness in me that no one else ever did or has since. Whatever it was, I did not know and still do not. Most likely, she would have difficulty explaining it. It was more something she sensed and felt than something she could articulate. Nevertheless, she saw it and brought it out. She made life worth living and got things out of me that I did not know were possible or even existed.

Copyright © 2011 by Thomas Coley Allen.

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An Unappreciated Woman

An Unappreciated Woman
Thomas Allen

[Editor’s note: This article was posted on Deborah’s birthday. If hospice had not killed her prematurely, most likely, she would have lived to celebrate her 58th birthday.]

Two weeks after Deborah died, the Franklin County Arts Council had its ribbon cutting opening of its remodeled arts building. Regrettably, Deb did not live to see this change. The remodeled building would have brought joy to her heart. It was what she had argued for for years.

Until about three years ago, the chief promoter of the Whistler’s Convention controlled the Franklin County Arts Council. He controlled it either directly or from behind the scene. Deb wanted to change the focus of the Franklin County Arts Council from the Whistler’s Convention to promoting Franklin County art and artists. Her arguments were ignored, and she finally gave up.

Her criticism the chief promoter of the Whistler’s Convention almost got her sued. He demanded an apology from her. So, I drafted a letter of apology for her to send to the newspaper. In the letter, she thanked him for proving her point by his action.

When the State threatened to withhold grant funds if the Franklin County Arts Council remained involved with the Whistler’s Convention, the two separated. Under new management, Deb started seeing the Franklin County Arts Council moving in the direction for which she had for years argued. It now focused on promoting Franklin County art and artists.

(Deb’s family has lent the Franklin County Arts Council a self portrait of Deborah. This portrait is hanging in the Franklin County Arts Council’s art building in memory of her.)

The Christian school at which Deb taught art as a volunteer for several years certainly did not appreciate her. The students appreciated her; they loved her and enjoyed her classes. However, some people at the school often seemed to consider her an unwanted intruder. At least they treated her as such. At best they considered her a nuisance. The administrator did little or nothing to resolve the conflict. When he did do something, he usually sided with the teachers against Deb. Eventually, they began attacking her daughter. These attacks were more than Deb could stand.

Before her experience with the school, she was active in the church that sponsored the school. Her experience at the school poisoned her enthusiasm for the church. (Many people at the school were also involved with the church.) After the school forced her daughter out, she endured the church another year for the sake of her eldest son, who still attended the school.

Except for a small church (a dozen attendees were a big crowd) that she attended for several years until it ceased operating, she lost all interest in going to church. With this exception, the few churches that she did attend reminded her of the school church. Such a reminder caused her to lose interest in them.

I came to appreciate her greatly. Deb was a great source of brilliant ideas although many people rejected her suggestions. I soon learned that when she suggested something: do it. She was usually right. Nearly every time a project stumped or frustrated me, her suggestion almost always solved the problem.

Deborah had a brilliance and wisdom about her that few recognized. Her premature death is an irreplaceable lost to me and the world. I hope someday people will recognize how great she really was. Maybe one day she will be fully appreciated.

Copyright © 2011 by Thomas Coley Allen. 

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Trust and Submission

Trust and Submission
Thomas Allen

Deborah did not trust a person until that person gave her reason to trust him. I do not know what I did or did not do to earn her trust. Whatever it was, she came to trust me so much and so completely that eventually she unhesitatingly and unquestionably submitted herself to me totally. Whatever it was, I am glad that I did it or did not do it. Her unhesitating, total submission to me caused my total devotion to her and my complete loyalty and faithfulness to her. Her submission drew us ever closer together. No longer will I enjoy the pleasure of her submission and all the goodness that it drew out of me toward her.

One of the things that made Deb and me so close was her total dependence on me for her financial needs. She trusted me so much that she submitted herself to me completely to take care of her financial needs. Such trust and submission devoted me completely to her. Only her unhesitating, unquestionable, unconditional, and unlimited love for me could have caused such total trust and submission. Such love for me resulted in my unhesitating, unquestionable, unconditional, and unlimited love for her. It caused me to be completely devoted to her. Although I will love her forever, I no longer have the privilege and honor to support her.

Deb also came to trust me enough to submit completely to me to take care of her emotional needs. I believe that I was ahead of her on this one. I had completely submitted to her to satisfy and protect my emotional needs before she reciprocated. Our total trust and complete submission to each other to satisfy and protect each other’s emotional needs drew us ever closer together. No longer can I submit myself to her to take care of my emotional needs. No longer will she submit to me to take care of her emotional needs.

Deb’s complete submission was a powerful glue that made our marriage so strong and beautiful. It drew me ever closer to her as it drew her ever closer to me. Our marriage was built upon the foundation of her trust in me that led to her total, unhesitating, and unquestionable submission to me. So strong and enjoyable was our bond for each other that neither of us ever did anything that we thought would jeopardize the trust that we had for each other.

Closely related to trust and submission was her complete and unconditional commitment to me. In return, I committed myself completely and unconditionally to her. Out of this commitment to each other came our unconditional love for each other. Our commitment and unconditional love for each other created a marriage that only death could dissolve — but it could not end the love.

Copyright © 2011 by Thomas Coley Allen.

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No longer

No Longer
Thomas Allen

Not in any particular order, the following is a list of some little things that I did for Deborah, that she did for me, and that we did with each other that made our lives together more enjoyable. This list also includes other thoughts.

‒ When Deb was in the hospital, I wonder how I would take care of her and get my pruning done. Taking care of her would have had priority over pruning. If it got done at all, the pruning would have gotten done whenever I could have gotten to it. (Until her last day in the hospice house, I always thought that Deb was going to come home. The last day I began to realize that hospice and the atheists were going to win.) I no longer have to neglect my pruning to take care of her.

‒ When Deb was in the hospital, I wondered how I would get her to the front door during the winter. After the first winter snow or heavy rain, the yard turns into a mushy sponge and can remain that way for more than a week. She was using the front door instead of the back door because she had fewer steps to walk up. (The last time that she was home, she could walk up and down the front steps by herself.) I will no longer have to be concerned about that problem.

‒ Nearly every Sunday morning since our blueberry bushes began producing prolifically (about 20 years ago), Deb would make blueberry pancakes. She started making blueberry pancakes to use up blueberries. No longer will I eat her blueberry pancakes.

‒ On weekends, days that I did not work, and every day after I retired, she would fix breakfast while I attended the animals. The only exception was when she was not at home. I would often find breakfast waiting for me or nearly ready when I returned. Never again will I eat a breakfast that she has fixed me.

‒ After we returned from our trip to the mountains in April, I began thanking about us taking a trip to the east in October — probably to Edenton. Never again will I have to think about taking a trip with her anywhere.

‒ Obviously, I expected her to come home because I continued to give her pocket money until the end. Never again will I have to give her any pocket money.

‒ I was going to buy Deb another curio for her bird collection. The two that she had had become crowded. For some years when I bought her a bird, I would tell the clerk that wanted a small bird because my wife’s collection had out grown her curios. Usually, I gave her a bird for our wedding anniversary, Valentine’s Day, her birthday, and Christmas. Now I no longer have the joy of buying her presents.

‒ I used to rejoice along with her when her ACEOs sold — especially when one got into a bidding war and sold for more than $2. She would rejoice along with me whenever someone ordered some of my books or booklets. Such rejoicing is forever gone and will no longer occur.

‒ We used to enjoy hugging each other. No longer shall we hug each other.

‒ Most nights Rug the cat would lie on Deb’s lap as she watched television. No longer does Rug have her lap on which to lie.

‒ Around the time that Deb became ill, she made a comment about dying. I told her that she would break my heart. What I did not realize was how severely she would break it. No longer can I live without a broken heart for her.

‒ Deb wanted to start painting large pictures again. I began cleaning up the trailer so that she would have room to work on her paintings. That is one project that I will no longer have to finish.

‒ Every time Deb received her annual statement from social security, she worried about not receiving any social security because she did not have enough quarters to qualify. Each time I would have to remind her that she could draw off mine. Now she no longer has to worry about that, and I no longer have to remind her that she did not have to worry.

‒ Deb liked a good deal of stroking and reassurance. I am not good at that. However, I did let her know that I wanted to show her off and that I wanted to be with her as much as possible. I was proud of being with her and being seen with her. After I retired (and on days off when I was working), I asked her to go with me everywhere that I went. The exception was the dump and barbershop; she did not care about going to these places. No longer am I able to go places with her and show her off.

‒ Whenever someone or something really irritated me or one of my projects frustrated me, I often yelled. If Deb were near me, as she often was, she would usually ask me why I was yelling at her and said that she had not done anything. I had to remind her that I was not yelling at her. She just happened to be around when I was yelling. No longer will I have to remind her.

‒ I do not recall Deb and me having any real arguments during the last 10 or 15 years. Over time we learned what was important and what was not. We learned that harmony was much better than discord. We also came to view issues from the other’s perspective. Deb learned quicker than I did. At first, whenever I disagreed with her, she would often resist. Later, she would usually let me vent without resistance. She had learned that most of the time she was going to get what she wanted. By not resisting, she got it quicker. I eventually learned that lesson too. Over time my arguments with her faded away. I came to realize that what made her happy, made me happy. Now all of this is a nonissue. No longer will I have the joy of giving into her. (She was never a demanding woman, so letting her have her way was a joy and not a hardship.)

‒ Deb and I never really tried to change each other. We accept each other the way we were. However, we gradually moved toward what we thought the other wanted. No longer will this movement continue.

‒ I always encouraged Deb in her art because I knew how important art was to her. I went to every show that she had after we married. When her art did not sell, I think that I was more disappointed than she was. Whenever I made a critical remark at one of her shows, at first she thought I was criticizing her work. I had to remind her that I was not criticizing her work. I was criticizing the viewers for not seeing the value of her work and buying. Eventually, she understood that I was not criticizing her. No longer will I go to a show with her or encourage her in her art.

‒ Deb liked to cook with onions and garlic. In September when she was home, I planted two beds (about 100 square feet) of garlic for her — one bed was a French garlic. She will no longer use the garlic or onions that I grow for her, and I will no longer need to grow garlic and onions for her.

‒ No longer will Deb and I go to the post office together. We went to the post office to mail her ACEOs and my books. No longer will we shop for groceries or Christmas gifts together. No longer will we go to the hardware store together to pickup a part to fix something around the house.

‒ After I retired, many mornings Deb would stand on one side of the stove cooking my eggs. I would stand on the other side cooking my grits. No longer will we stand together at the stove cooking my breakfast.

Copyright © 2011 by Thomas Coley Allen.

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A Remarkable Woman

A Remarkable Woman
Thomas Allen

Deborah was the most remarkable woman that I have ever known. She was the only woman whom I have loved who returned that love. Not only did she return my love, she returned it with interest. No matter how much I loved her, and I loved her intensely, she always loved me more.

I always tried to return her love for me with interest. She always tried to return my love for her with interest. We both strove to give more love to the other than we were receiving. Thus, our love for each other escalated. (Such love made the flaws that we used to see in each other fade into insignificant nothingness.)

Deb did more for me than anyone can imagine. I doubt that she ever realized how much she did do for me. Figuratively speaking, she found me in the gutter and carried me to the highest peak. She made me what I became. She did it without nagging or pushing. She did it with love: her love for me and my love for her. With love she molded me into someone far greater than I imaged that I could be.

I was nothing when Deb found me. Fortunately for me, she saw something in me that no one else ever did. With her loving care, she picked me up and carried me to heights that I did not know existed. All that is good that I became, I owe to her. Now that she is gone, I just hope that I do not regress to where she found me.

When we first married, I resented her not doing certain things. As I learned what was really important — her happiness and well-being — that resentment faded away. I adjusted to her, and she adjusted to me. We were always becoming closer to each other.

The longer I lived with Deb, the more important she became. During the last twenty years of our marriage, I seldom did anything important without considering how it would affect her. Her welfare was of upmost importance to me. If what I was considering did not benefit her, and especially if it might harm her, I did not do it.

Many things I should have done for her, but I fail to do them. I regret not doing all that I could have done for her.

The longer we were married, the more we became one in thought and action. Over time, Deb became more and more of me. Eventually, she became more of me than I was of myself. She became the most important and significant part of me.

She was an easy-going person who seldom complained. When she did complain, I knew that she had a severe problem that needed immediate attention. I regret not being able to solve all her problems. Some were beyond my control, such as those connected with the church school. However, others were not; these I failed too frequently to solve.

Deb needed a good deal of stroking and encouragement. Regrettably, I was never good at that.

However, I always tried to encourage her with her art. I knew how important art was to her. Every art show that she had after we married, I was there with her. She liked that. Moreover, I never complained about her buying art supplies.

At times, I had to persuade her to buy things for herself. She was a very frugal woman. I would have bought more for her if she had asked. She seemed always to place the welfare of her family above herself.

Most of the time she seemed to place me above herself. As a result, I tried to place her before myself. Perhaps that is a major reason that we were so happy together and enjoyed each other’s company so much. Both of us strove to place the other first. We did not always achieve that goal, but we worked at achieving it.

Before we married, Deb and I decided that she would stay at home and rear the children. Although we did without some things, that was one of the best decisions that we ever made. It made our family stronger and made us closer to the children. Because it forced us to be dependent on each other, we bonded much more. I became more responsible because I had to take care of her and the children. She graciously reciprocated by fulfilling my needs as only she could. We grew closer and closer to each other.

Since that Deb has left me, all that I can now do is write about the most remarkable woman that I have ever known. She is at least as remarkable as her Biblical namesake, Deborah. I love you Deb and always will. My love for you can never die.

(As I go through Deb’s papers, I realize that I did not appreciate her enough, that I did not support her enough, that I did not do enough for her, and that I did not give her enough. So far I have not found anything that she has written about me. However, I am finding the dreams and fantasies about which she wrote. Some of her dreams, she achieved, and some she did not. I wish that I had helped her achieve more of her dreams. She certainly helped me achieve many of mine — most of which would never have been achieved without her.)

Copyright © 2011 by Thomas Coley Allen.

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My Experience with a Hospice House the Last Week

My Experience with a Hospice House
Or Thirteen Days of Hell
The Last Week
Thomas Allen

Friday, October 28. My wife began the day with a shower around 5 a.m. She enjoys the showers, but they are extremely fatiguing. She seems more fatigued today than yesterday. She is extremely weak and slept most of the day. (I don’t know if her sleepiness is from fatigue or changes in her medication.) She tries to push the control buttons on the bed, but usually does not have the strength to do so. Overall, my wife seems to have regressed today. Although she is beginning to eat some, her consumption is less than half of what she was consuming last week before hospice got a hold of her. Hospice policy seems to be that food does a cancer patient no good — at least that is what the doctor said. Hospice has certainly brought her down.

My wife’s pain seems to be increasing, so they are now delivering her pain medication through an automatic drip. When the hospital put my wife on a pain medicine drip, it fed the drip through a saline solution, which kept the body hydrated. Here, hospice is determined not to provide the body any kind of hydratin unless the patient is conscious enough to drink. Its drip is just pain medication. Also, the amount of pain medication has increased from a few days ago.

One of the comments made around here when I expressed my concerned about dehydration was that a cancer patient can go for weeks without water. (When the doctor told me that a lack of food does not lead to starvation because of the process of the body dying from a lack of nutrients differs with cancer from that of typical starvation, she did not address the dehydration issue.) An internet search shows that 7 to 10 days is about the limit for a healthy person under ideal climatic conditions. According to one site, the record for going without water before death is 11 days.

Looks like they are moving her back to a drugged out zombie. It is nice when she is alert and can communicate her needs, eat, and drink.

I feel like I am in a tag team wrestling match. I cannot get back to my corner, and the other side keeps bringing in fresh wrestlers and often more than one at a time.

The social worker is certainly pushing to get my wife planted, or at least she comes across that way.

P.S. Until my first-hand experience at this hospice house, I had a high opinion of hospice and have even given money to hospice. However, my experience here has turn me 180 degrees. I do not believe that hospice deliberately tries to kill anyone, but its action or inaction certainly seems to shorten life. For example, it could keep the body hydrated at least until hydration becomes dangerous when medication keeps the patient a zombie so that he cannot drink.

Saturday, October 29. This place can be nosier at night than the hospital was during the day. Around 1 a.m. they changed my wife’s sheets. I guess if you are a drugged out zombie, it matters little when the sheets are changed. Around 2 a.m. and 5 a.m. I gave my wife a little water to drink. Also, around 5 a.m. My wife complained about her back; the nurse gave her a dose of pain killer. Hospice’s solution for everything is more pain killer. Could my wife’s back ache be caused by the pillow they put under her back? Or by lying on her back so much? Don’t know. (In the hospital when she got tired of lying on her back, she could turn herself on her side. She has not been able to that since hospice got her.) They have returned her to a state where it is hard for her to tell another what the problem is. At least hospice is again happy. It has her in a drugged stupor. My wife slept most of the day. I have been able to give her a few swallows of water now and then.

I know that she is thirsty, but she is not wake often enough to keep her thirst quenched. Two days ago, she could pick up a cup of water and drink using a straw. This morning she could no longer hold a cup or use a straw. (This afternoon for the short time that she was conscious, she could drink with a straw, but was too weak to hold a cup.) I have to hold the cup to her mouth and slowly pour the water into her mouth.

The two days that she was conscious much of the time, she drank a quart, and perhaps more, of liquids. The days that she is a zombie, she drinks perhaps 8 ounces, and I give her most of that.

If I were not here giving her something to drink whenever I can, she would be in worse shape than she is. Unfortunately, I have to give her water under less than ideal conditions. Most people around here seem to believe that they have quenched a thirst by swabbing out her mouth, which they do about twice a day. (People who come here and do not have family or friends around most of the time to assist them, I am convince will die a week or two sooner.)

My wife’s urine has become extremely dark.

If a person cannot drink, if IV hydration will not cause more harm to the body than good, and if the care givers withhold IV hydration, then to my feeble mind they have certainly contributed to the person’s death and may even have caused it.

I have seen only two aides take the time to feed my wife. I am typically here 60 hours out of every 72. She cannot eat when she is a zombie.

This afternoon, they bathed my wife in the bed and changed her gown. Bathing is usually a trying task for her. Surprisingly, she was alert after the bath and watched some TV for about 15 minutes before dozing off again. She woke up again around 5:30 p.m. and stayed awake for about an hour and watched a little TV.

One commentator noted, “Don’t be surprise when you ask a surgeon about a health problem, he recommends an operation. Surgery is all he knows.” Likewise, with hospice, all it knows is pain killers. All problems can be solved with pain killers. A surgeon says you need an operation: What is your problem? Surgery solves all problems. Hospice says you need more pain medication: What is your problem? Pain medication solves all problems.

I feel like I have hired someone to remodel the kitchen, and they have misaligned everything. The pipes leak, and all the appliances have shorted out.

After observing all these doctors over the past 4½ months, I conclude that a well-trained technician could do 90 percent of what they do. I have yet seen one think “outside the box.” They all stay “within the lines.” Whatever does not fit their preconceived cooky cutter mold, they force into the mold.

Sunday, October 30. My wife was awake and thirsty when I arrived. I gave her some water to drink. A few minutes later, I gave her some more. She wanted to hold the cup and put it to her mouth. She could hold the cup, but hospice has gotten her so weak that she could not get it to her mouth. Watching her try to put the cup to her mouth was heartbreaking. With a straw, she did manage to drink some. However, she is having difficulty drawing through a straw. I usually have to hold the cup to her mouth and slowly pour, but I have trouble judging whether I am going too slow or too fast. It was nice last week when she could do this for herself. She said that they pumped her full of drugs earlier today. Last night, they made her potty in a diaper. This morning she used a bedpan.

Unless hospice is trying to hasten the death of its patients, I don’t know why it allows them to get so dehydrated. If my wife and most, if not all, of the patients here were dogs, these folks would be cited for animal cruelty for providing inadequate water.

My wife has not eaten anything since Thursday. They have her in such a stupor that she cannot eat. Since she has been here, she has consumed less all totaled than she did in her last day in the hospital.

She has gotten so weak, she can hardly talk. I don’t know how much longer she can last. I hope these people are proud of themselves. They are killing her quicker than the disease. I don’t know how they can sleep. I suspect that if a good autopsy was performed on deceased patients, the findings would show that most patients died of causes other than the disease.

I wonder if it would do my wife any good to claim that she is a Catholic. The Catholic directive is that patients should be provided with adequate water and nutrition, even by artificial means if necessary, to ensure that they die from the disease and not from a lack of the necessity of life. “A person should die from one's illness and not because a basic necessity of life was denied them.”

Monday, October 31. When I awoke this morning, I found my wife just like hospice likes to keep its patients: in a drugged stupor. The nurses worked on my wife several times during the night. Once was to treat her hemorrhoids. I am surprise that they are not treating the hemorrhoids by just giving more pain medication. Pain medication seems to be hospice’s solution for everything. I did manage to give her a few swallows of liquid just after midnight. She thought it was Friday. She must be extremely thirsty by now; she has less than two cups of water per day for the past several days.

I found a wet towel on my wife’s forehead when I checked her this morning. She had developed a fever during the night.

Here is the Catholic position on providing food and water to hospice patients:
http://www.catholicsun.org/2009/sept3/local/directives-text.html
My comment is posted. Here is the comment:

The hospice house that my wife is in does not believe in providing any more food or water than what the patient can take orally. I expressed my concerns about my wife starving and becoming dehydrated. The doctor claims that nutrition does a cancer patient no good. She also claims that cancer patients do not starve because the mechanism by which the cancer deprives the body of nutrition differs from typical starvation. About dehydration, one of the administrative honchos told me that IVs were not used for hydration because in the last days additional fluids may do more harm than good.

I wonder if my wife would fair better if she reclaimed her Catholic roots. Would this place abide by this directive?

After I complained about my wife being thirsty all the time, the nurse gave her some water with a syringe. Later, I was able to give her about 2 cups of water. I keep telling these people that my wife is thirsty, but most act like they don’t believe me. Most give her a few swallows and believe that they have solved the problem.

When the doctors were talking about sending my wife somewhere for pain management, I naively thought that they meant having her pain minimized while maintaining her alertness, awareness, and as much mobility as possible so that she could go home. I never thought that it meant keeping her in the zombie state of a drugged stupor.

According to the doctor, my wife does not need any additional fluids beyond what she can orally consume. An IV would make things worse. She also noted that my wife’s skin is showing signs of not being able to repair its — a lack of protein. (No food, no protein for skin repair other than what the body can cannibalize from itself.) My wife’s dark urine is a sign of improper liver and kidney functioning. Judging by the doctor’s comments, my wife will not make it to her 58th birthday. If she does, she probably will not be in a conscious state. The doctor said that her fever this morning is a sign that the body is losing the ability to regulate its temperature. This doctor seems so focus on death, that everything is a sign of imminent demise.

The nurse fed her a little bit of ice cream, but she had some difficulty in swallowing. They were able to shift her in the bed without additional pain medication.

I asked DHHS a simple “yes” or “no” question: “Are hospice facilities required to keep the patients in their facilities adequately hydrated?” This is the answer that I got: “The expectation is to hydrate patients within reasonable care. Hydration should be based on medical decisions. Thank you for your inquiry.” This person has the makings of a good politician. He answers “yes” in the first sentence, and voids his yes answer in the second sentence. In other words, whatever the doctor declares adequate is adequate because the doctor will always claim that his decision was a medically based decision. The hospice doctor claims adequate hydration can be achieved orally and that hydration beyond oral consumption is not only medically unnecessary, but is dangerous. Not unexpectedly, DHHS sided with the doctor.

Tonight my wife wanted to turn over on her side. She tried to turn herself, but could not because of her weakness. Ten days ago when she came in here, she could turn herself to her side without aid.

Tonight, my wife asked the same question that I have been asking. How can she excrete anything if she has not eaten anything.

Tuesday, November 1. I was up several time after midnight and gave my wife water. She was moved several times to get her off her back. They finally got her on her stomach so that she could not roll back on her back. She has been complaining about her back hurting. We are trying to get her off her back for a while to see if that will cause the aching to cease instead of giving a dose of pain killer every time she complains about her back. Thirst and backache have been her biggest complain recently. My wife sleep most of the day, even more than yesterday.

Today, the social worker asked me if had started making funeral arrangements. I told her that I had requested some information. She seems eager to plant my wife although she probably views her actions as getting me prepared for the inevitable.

My wife has a slight fever.

My wife has been wearing a diaper for the last several days. She has found it highly irritating and has tried to push it off. If she had the strength, she probably would have gotten it off. They left the diaper off today after they bathed her. The nurse said her face look much more relaxed without the diaper. I believe she is more comfortable now.

My wife seems to have gotten to the point of giving up. She also seems to be losing her awareness.

Considering that I got about of cup of water into her and finally got the nurses to get her in a position to sleep relatively comfortable, I regret not spending tonight with her. Who will take care of her and give her water?

The social worker put a humidifier in my wife’s room. That should help her dryness. The room is dry, and I wake up extremely dry and thirsty. My wife sleeps with her mouth open, which drys her out more.

I have just about giving up on fighting the system, but not for my wife’s life. Everywhere I turn, I am blocked. I never thought that when we left the house to go to the doctor’s office about 6 weeks ago that my wife would never again see home — the place where she has lived since April 1982.

The doctor said that she was ordering some artificial salvia for my wife to keep her mouth from becoming so dry.

They are still working on shrinking her hemorrhoids. The nurse found that my wife’s catheter was obstructed, so she fixed it. My wife still has not gotten use to the catheter; she wants to get up and pee like a human.

Ten days ago before she entered hospice, she could pick up a cup and drink all the water she wanted. Now she is totally dependent on others to provide her water. For two days last week, she could pick up a cup and put it to her month. Moreover, her voice is now usually so week that understanding what she wants has become difficult.

Nearly every doctor that I have encountered during my wife’s ordeal are certainly believers in “better living through chemistry” as my wife said about her oncologist.

Seeing what a invalid my wife has become is heartbreaking. Actually, she became an invalid shortly after entering the hospice house on Friday, October 21, and has continued to deteriorate ever since except for some improvement the middle of last week.

Wednesday, November 2, 2011. When I arrived this morning, my wife was asleep or semi-asleep, it is hard to tell which at times, and the aides were in the process of washing her off. She is sleeping more and is seldom in a state of full conscious. Except a few brief moments, she slept all day — even in the afternoon when she is usually more awake.

My wife and I certainly were mislead on the hospice trip. We thought that she was going there to find the proper dosage of pain medication, and then she would go home in about a week. That was the goal that they were working on at the hospital, or at least that is what they lead us to believe. Why else would they have wanted to send my wife to a skill nursing home for more adjustments to the medication? The reason she ended in the hospice house instead of a nursing home was the insurance company. It rejected the nursing home, but accepted the hospice house. Apparently, it believed that hospice would kill her much quicker than the nursing home and thus reduce its expenses.

The doctor felt my wife’s feet and knees and found them warm, which is suppose to be a good sign.

My wife remains thirsty, but is beginning to have difficulty swallowing. I am beginning to fell like Elijah’s Baal priests.

Barring divine intervention, my wife will never see her new refrigerator. I will be surprised if she will see my next birthday much less hers. I plan to spend the night with her on my birthday; most likely, she will be unconscious the whole time.

While I was going through the interview stage at the hospice house, I commented on my wife being able to walk to the bathroom with a walker, about putting her in a wheel chair and letting her sit in the sunroom, drinking Ensure, etc. I keep getting looks of amazement and “you got to be kidding.” Now I know why I was getting those looks. Apparently, they knew that my wife would be turned into an invalid when they got their hands on her.

Thursday, November 3. According to the doctor and nurse, my wife has only a few days left at most and perhaps only a few hours.

When I woke up, my wife was as I left her when I went asleep: She was asleep. When I left about 8:00 p.m. Tuesday, she was asleep and, except for a few brief moments Wednesday morning and when the aides shifted her, she has been asleep ever since — or at best only semi-conscious. I don’t know if she will ever awaken again except for a moment here and there.

The nurse said that my wife’s knees were cool this morning and showed some change.

In this battle that I have been fighting with and for my wife, I feel like that British regiment whose commander disliked the amount of time his troops were taking to move through the trenches to the front line. So, he sent them over the top. By the time the regiment almost reached the British front line, 90 percent was gone.

My wife’s illness certainly has put things in perspective. Everything fades in importance compared to her. She gives value to everything. She is truly the good wife described in Proverbs. The writer of Proverbs must have had her in mind.

I believe that my wife would have been much better off if I had taken her home instead of letting hospice get its hands on her. If I had taken her home, most likely she would still be alert and able to feed herself, pick up a cup of water and put it to her mouth, go to the bathroom, etc. instead of being the zombie that she has become and unable to eat or drink, much less feed herself. If I knew what hospice was going to do to her, I would have taken her home. When she arrived at the hospice house, it was as though she stepped out of a window on the 50th floor and fell into the sub-basement. She certainly could not have faired any worse at home than she has here.

The nurse told me that my wife’s feet are starting to turn blue and are swelling. Her heart beat is rapid, and she has some congestion. According to the nurse, she may have only a few days left at best. The doctor concurs: At best my wife has only a few days; it could be only hours. She also has a fever. They are trying to keep her bowels moving.

Hospice is winning. Barring divine intervention, my wife does not have much time left.

My wife has been moaning a good deal this afternoon. The nurse has been giving her more dosages of pain medications.

This afternoon, the nurse examined her and found her feet and knees in worse condition than this morning.

I noticed that the company for which my wife’s oncologist works has a commercial that concatenates a collection of “c” words, such as “compassion,” “caring,” and “comradery.” It fails to contain “cure,” which is what its customers really want. Most would cheerfully forgo the other “c” words for the omitted “c” word.

I expect all the children to be here tomorrow. I hope she lasts that long. Time is short.

Tomorrow is my birthday. I am hoping for the best birthday ever, but am preparing for the worst birthday ever. The spark of hope and faith grows dim.

I left my wife in the afternoon (Thursday) to restock my supplies so that I could stay with her Thursday night through the weekend. Also, I talked with the funeral home about arrangements in case of the miracle that I am hoping for and expecting fails, and also to placate the gently nagging social worker. Barring a miracle, the current plan is for her to go from here to the crematory. Later we will have a service at the funeral home with her ashes in the urn.

My wife’s breathing is beginning to come somewhat choppy. Later it became faint. I continue to talk to her and hopefully give her encouragement.

I know that I am among the dullest of knives in the drawer, but I though something was strange when one of the first thing hospice did was to connect up my wife’s port and give her a shot. I had thought, and my wife also thought, that she had come here to continue the work of the doctors at the hospital. At the hospital, the doctors were trying to find the appropriate dosage of oral pain killers to keep her pain under control so that she could go home. We thought hospice would continue that work. When I returned Saturday and found my wife as zombie, I begin to realize that hospice’s objective was not to fine tune my wife’s pain medication and send her home. I soon realized that its objective was to send her to the morgue as quickly as possible. From what I have heard from other sources, two weeks seems to be about the time hospice takes to kill a patient. I am still convinced that hospice shorten my wife’s life by weeks if not months.

My wife has past over the great divide. She died sometime between 9:30 and 11:30. I am glad that I changed my plans and stayed with her tonight.

Hospice and the atheist won.

Concluding remarks. I finally did get to bring my wife home. Her ashes rest in an urn in our bedroom.

If at all possible, do not let anyone about whom you care enter a hospice house. It is like the roach motel: they check in, but they don’t check out.

Thanks to hospice, I will have to live the rest of my life with the guilt that I failed to fight hard enough to save my wife from hospice’s covert euthanasia. I must live with the guilt that I am responsible for my wife’s premature death. Thank you hospice for all you have done to my wife and me!

First week

Copyright © 2011 by Thomas Coley Allen. 

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