The dark side of the moon
I have been feeling so much pain and stress and emotion as I round the opposite side of the year from May 19th when Andy died. It's my PTSD cycle. We're coming up on the half-year marker. It feels like the dark side of the moon.
I went and looked at my journal for a year ago. A few minutes ago I wrote on Sandi's journal that I remember the night he died and how relieved I was for him to finally be at peace. I do not feel any conflict about this. Of course if LIFE had been an option that would have been better but we didn't have that choice, and death was the only peace for Andy.
This journal entry I'll share... illustrates the torment of a man who was not willing to go quietly into that good night. We were both still so shocked that he even HAD cancer, and had to have so many terrible things like toxic chemotherapy done... at times it just got to be too ****ing much. I'm sure many of you can relate to his rage. So anyway, here's November 2009:
=============================
Nov. 2009
Yesterday: A TERRIBLE horrible very bad no good morning with Andy. (Chemo day... obviously... nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.) He was apparently releasing stress, sort of like a human volcano. Not aimed at me but at the whole capitalist world, all the greedy pigs and moronic sheep, selfish a-holes everywhere, LOL. Rocks and ash and sparks were flying for hours. He needed to have something at which it is safe to be pissed off in a big way, I guess. But whew.
I have heard that cancer can bring us to this. We just don't have time or patience for things that take generations to fix.
I listened. I observed quietly that there are many who are trying to do the best they can. But yes: We all get tired of waiting. We all wonder if our hope will last as long as our bodies. I said we just try to do the right thing, every day, and see beauty and goodness wherever, everywhere.
I thought it was biochemical and it may have been, partly, but he had taken the usual Zoloft and Klonopin this morning before we headed out and he was only getting Avastin, no dex in the IV today. Since he was sitting in the IV chair convulsing and sobbing with such dark anguish (with headphones on, very loud music) I asked the nurse if he could have a little help and they did slip him a fairly good dose of Ativan. It calmed him down for the rest of the IV time.
But then he got even more wound up in the car, and just screamed and raged at the world, that he just couldn't take it anymore, he couldn't wait for change anymore, couldn't stand how much wrong there is in the world. Poor guy. When you hold it all inside.... yeah, it blows. I think he'd also been deluding himself since we got the good MRI results last week that he wouldn't have to have these IV's anymore. Reality hits pretty hard.
He pulled himself together in the afternoon, our friend Moira came over to stay and steady him, and Byron took him to the airport and he flew to Baltimore to visit friends. (I had to get back to work because of a big presentation due at 5 pm... sheesh.) For a few minutes there I thought he wouldn't be able to go. Generally they don't let you on a flight when you're spewing assassination plans for Dick Cheney. Or I thought I might have to call 911 if he didn't calm down. He was truly a volcano. But I think now that all the grief and stress just had to come out again. I think we'll talk about it. How do we not let it built up like that? Can I EVER get him to talk with a counselor?!?!?
xox Sarah
I went and looked at my journal for a year ago. A few minutes ago I wrote on Sandi's journal that I remember the night he died and how relieved I was for him to finally be at peace. I do not feel any conflict about this. Of course if LIFE had been an option that would have been better but we didn't have that choice, and death was the only peace for Andy.
This journal entry I'll share... illustrates the torment of a man who was not willing to go quietly into that good night. We were both still so shocked that he even HAD cancer, and had to have so many terrible things like toxic chemotherapy done... at times it just got to be too ****ing much. I'm sure many of you can relate to his rage. So anyway, here's November 2009:
=============================
Nov. 2009
Yesterday: A TERRIBLE horrible very bad no good morning with Andy. (Chemo day... obviously... nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.) He was apparently releasing stress, sort of like a human volcano. Not aimed at me but at the whole capitalist world, all the greedy pigs and moronic sheep, selfish a-holes everywhere, LOL. Rocks and ash and sparks were flying for hours. He needed to have something at which it is safe to be pissed off in a big way, I guess. But whew.
I have heard that cancer can bring us to this. We just don't have time or patience for things that take generations to fix.
I listened. I observed quietly that there are many who are trying to do the best they can. But yes: We all get tired of waiting. We all wonder if our hope will last as long as our bodies. I said we just try to do the right thing, every day, and see beauty and goodness wherever, everywhere.
I thought it was biochemical and it may have been, partly, but he had taken the usual Zoloft and Klonopin this morning before we headed out and he was only getting Avastin, no dex in the IV today. Since he was sitting in the IV chair convulsing and sobbing with such dark anguish (with headphones on, very loud music) I asked the nurse if he could have a little help and they did slip him a fairly good dose of Ativan. It calmed him down for the rest of the IV time.
But then he got even more wound up in the car, and just screamed and raged at the world, that he just couldn't take it anymore, he couldn't wait for change anymore, couldn't stand how much wrong there is in the world. Poor guy. When you hold it all inside.... yeah, it blows. I think he'd also been deluding himself since we got the good MRI results last week that he wouldn't have to have these IV's anymore. Reality hits pretty hard.
He pulled himself together in the afternoon, our friend Moira came over to stay and steady him, and Byron took him to the airport and he flew to Baltimore to visit friends. (I had to get back to work because of a big presentation due at 5 pm... sheesh.) For a few minutes there I thought he wouldn't be able to go. Generally they don't let you on a flight when you're spewing assassination plans for Dick Cheney. Or I thought I might have to call 911 if he didn't calm down. He was truly a volcano. But I think now that all the grief and stress just had to come out again. I think we'll talk about it. How do we not let it built up like that? Can I EVER get him to talk with a counselor?!?!?
xox Sarah
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