The "almost" Armpit of California, where our daughter sleeps tonight

Sooooo quiet tonight without Zoë's fun shenanigans.

Her high school Science Olympiad team qualified for the Northern California State Championships. She just called--they made it safe and sound. Our friend Chris, her daughter Camille and friend Olivia all trooped down in Chris' van to Visalia, 212 miles south of Sacramento...and 215 miles north of Disneyland. In someone's infinite wisdom, they determined that this location is in "northern California." Technically, the Armpit of California is Fresno (according to a friend who grew up there), just a few miles to the north.  Close enough.

Zoë sounded pretty tired.  She and Camille crammed in a high school swim meet before heading south. They'll come back tomorrow night late, possibly jangling with medals but almost certainly bursting with fun stories and memories.

Peg's holding steady. The patch is uncharted territory, so we don't know how it's going to affect her steadiness or balance. I'm leaving my earplug out tonight (yes, singular--almost deaf in one ear) so she can roust me to help her skip to the 'loo in the wee hours.

Strange bedfellows

Peg's living room bed has become quite the place to be. And the setting for my favorite moment (and favorite story) of the day.

First, the story. Zoë crawled in with Peg around 3pm and immediately conked out, after studying until past 1am and getting up five hours later for school. Turns out she was dreaming of the swim practice she skipped this afternoon...which Peg noticed when Zoë started rhythmically twitching her legs and kind of flapping her arms.  Apparently she was also dreaming about food, because she started chewing in her sleep. She confirmed 20 minutes later that swimming and munching were part of her dream world.

I also could not resist the lure of cuddling next to Peg in the cushy bed. Especially since we had such a grand show out the window--thunder, lightning, heavy rain and wind. So later this afternoon we enjoyed just being together and looking out the window.

An old friend called from Denver, and as Peg chatted I started to nod off. She nudged me awake when my snoring interfered with the conversation, so I wandered off to heat up more of my birthday ribs. I can be flexible.

Staying ahead of the pain is a bit trickier now for Peg. The Norco isn't quite cutting it, and morphine works but is like killing a fly with a hand grenade. Switching to a Fentanyl patch which will even out the dosage so she's not having to chase after the pain after it's started (always a losing proposition).

Our doc told us that if Peg is ever in any discomfort, for any reason, something's gone wrong with the hospice process. Good people following our Peg...peace of mind for her, and for the rest of us.

Life rolls on

This is the followup photo from yesterday, courtesy of Ada. Pete and I with our minty-fresh, brand-new squids.

Today was my 56th birthday. Peg gifted me with BBQ pork ribs from the mother of all BBQ shacks, which our friend Bruce picked up on his way to hang out with her while I rode the trike in the rain.

Her weight is holding steady at about a hundred and twelve. She's able to stand up to brush her teeth and move from chair to bed. Every day is different. The only guarantee is that she will not change species or become a Republican.

Reconnecting

Ada's daughter Lielle was born a week before Zoë, 17 years ago. I think they were both about ready to pop when I took this. Had a wonderful time tonight with her and our mutual friend Michael Zolen, who we've known for 20 years.  Peg was blissed out on her living room bed, listening to our conversation and occasionally chiming in.  It seems incongruous with her illness, but she's really happy a lot of the time. Especially around friends.

This morning was emotionally rough.  I described it to Peg this way: I'm at a house with a sloping driveway, standing on the front porch. The car parked there is starting to roll backwards, into the street...and I know there's no way I can cover the 30 yards to the car, get the door open, and pull the emergency brake lever. There is literally nothing I can do but watch the car roll into the street.

That's what came up for me when the hospice nurse asked how I was doing.

Ovarian cancer is one of the nastier ones. High mortality rate with the occasional miracle. I'd been keeping a special fantasy going since 2009: Peg would be one of the miraculous few. Because she's Peg, and she's wonderful, and strong, and gifted. Yes, she would pull through.  When she decided to forego aggressive treatment, that fantasy went away...but not entirely.

I realized this morning that while my head knew I was losing Peg, my heart was still in denial.  And now it's really sinking in on a very deep level.

So thankful for our family and friends. Your warm embrace makes all this bearable.

Bliss in multiple doses

Hard to believe Zoë fit in a grocery bag at age 3 1/2. She was walking around the house like a boss tonight in a tee shirt, swim team sweatpants and 4" silver stiletto heels. Always good for my posture...a little freaky to be looking at my little girl almost eye to eye.

This morning Joyce Mitchell's twin sister Janis did her reflexology magic on Peg's feet, hands and ears. As Peg rested afterward, she looked so zonked I wanted to make sure she was breathing, so I asked her if she was okay. She just smiled and said, "Totally...blissed...out."

More bliss. Lisa, Peg's energy worker. Our friend Karen, who spotted me while I blasted down the bike trail. And Dina, who we hadn't seen in years (and whose laughter never fails to fill us with delight).

Karen hadn't seen Peg for about three weeks, and was surprised that even though she's thinner, her energy level is better. It's true. When she crashes, she crashes pretty hard, but when she's on, she's really on. I think it's like in "Lord of the Rings," when Gandalf the Grey transforms into Gandalf the White.

Peg wanted to spend some snuggle time with Zoë tonight, but felt too "meh," so instead I read a couple of chapters to her from Bossypants.  Tapped off 350ml of fluid from her belly, so hopefully tomorrow her appetite will be back. Our nighttime routine now includes me packing a cooler bag with provolone next to the bed for when she gets the 5am munchies.

Snuggle buggle

An "up and down" day with a sweet start. Zoë crawled in with Peg in the living room bed as she was taking her late morning siesta. Reminded me of when she was a newborn and managed, even in her swaddling blanket, to scootch as close to her mom as she could.

Greg, Jeanette and Jeff Voelm brought Easter brunch and we had such a good time eating and talking we forgot all about hiding Easter eggs.

Tonight, winding down was hard. Peg isn't able to do everything herself, or have it done exactly "her way." It's hard for her to let go of some of the small things. It's stressful for all three of us, but we grab the joy wherever it pops up and move on with whatever grace we can muster from the rest.

The Rose

Peggy told me tonight that Estelle sang "The Rose" to her this afternoon, and that she would like Estelle, Karen and Mary to sing it at her memorial. When Peg was so ill in 2009, thin and weak, Estelle and Mary came to our house one afternoon... and just sang to us.

I know angels are real. I've heard them sing.

Some say love, it is a river
That drowns the tender reed.
Some say love, it is a razor
That leaves your soul to bleed.
Some say love, it is a hunger,
An endless aching need.
I say love, it is a flower,
And you its only seed.

It's the heart afraid of breaking
That never learns to dance.
It's the dream afraid of waking
That never takes the chance.
It's the one who won't be taken,
Who cannot seem to give,
And the soul afraid of dyin'
That never learns to live.

When the night has been too lonely
And the road has been too long,
And you think that love is only
For the lucky and the strong,
Just remember in the winter
Far beneath the bitter snows
Lies the seed that with the sun's love
In the spring becomes the rose.