Jun 27, 2018 03:24PM - edited Jun 27, 2018 03:47PM by amarantha
Oh, Moreshoes, I am so terribly sorry to hear that. What a dreadful way to put it to you. When they say "not cureable, just palliative" - that does not mean they won't work to put it into remission as best as possible, do they ? When I found my breast cancer was metastasised and considered incurable, but they didn't say it that way, they said, from now on "from now on you'll have to live with it", but it is different than sending us home to die and saying we can do nothing more. Even under the rubrique of "palliative" they should be able to do for you all they can, or at least as long as you wish.
Returned this morning from my second 24-hr hospitalisation. I felt fine, but towards the middle of the end of first day I felt lonely and bored and sad, and missed my hubby who is so funny and warm, even doing nothing just being there he makes me feel better, but I didn't want to put the burden all on him so I just stupidly cried, then finally got involved in writing a "biography", and listening to music which helped. Then by miracle, the nurse informed me that there was a patient in the room next door who had recognised me, and would like to see me it was my couturier from the last opera concert I did in France, but that he was currently in physical therapy and she would let me know when he got in. Actually he is a dress maker for period costumes for various opera companies, even television I think, a lovely lovely man, who was also quite openly gay, in a very fun "screaming kind of way", but deep inside rather lonely and sad. He was always absolutely adorable to me, in the way that these gentle people so often are with other artists. I went into see him, being warned he had had a tracheotomy, and there he was waiting for me with a little writing board, "Bonjour Paula" reintroducing himself in case I could have forgotten ! He was a shadow of his former self, in size, no longer a bit fat, but very slim. He could not speak, only write but his eyes spoke volumes, and he was able to say the essential with his little writing board. He held out his arms to me, and I gave him hundreds of little kisses. We talked about many things, I learned he had only recently lost his mother, a real calamity. He wrote that she was now in paradise. It took me many tries before I understood the word he wrote since it is outside of my sphere of thinking - it was hard to imagine ! I know this was a personal calamity for him. Here he was, his entire life having fallen apart, losing a mother, and now his trachea ? to never be able to speak normally again ? He had a vaccuum tube to clear spit out of the hole in his throat, which he guided with help from a little hand-mirror. I had to master myself to not be a bit horrified by this. Here he was so destroyed, and yet so full of love ! And here we were both so sick, and comforting each other. He drew me the dress he would like to design for me one day on the writing board, he has always said he would like to make me a magnificent concert dress, this illustration was a typical Princess dream. (Sad to say, but I really do not see myself going back up on the concert stage again. Here I am 57...haven't sung a note in months. ) And when I told him my husband and I are looking for a house, he wrote "'château !' - I thought - so that is how he thinks of me, such a romantic ! Always to be a princess was of course some kind of secret childish wish but now I know that to be a real princess, one only needs a person to love, and a place to share that, a blade of grass to grow for us, and another day to breathe together.
Life is every day.