Right now I'm on palliative care. As I said before, I had no damn clue what it meant, but if it makes my wife cry just hearing it, it's bad, right? Naw, not for me or anyone else in my position. It's built to keep you comfortable as you can be before the end gets really close. They off more than just pain care. It's designed and set up to help with your mental needs as well. You get all the standardized questions about depression or anxiety problems. And I get the same quizzical look when they go over the answers I give them. Then comes the blank stare and "You're sure you feel okay?". I'm tempted to say, "No, I don't feel okay, I'm going to die and right now my face, neck, shoulders and back are killing me, but I'm not depressed!" I don't, because it's just them doing their job and making sure I don't fall into a depression that would be bad for my "quality of life". They asked over and over about my pain level. That's okay too, but the pain scale is a generality. Much like the BMI is a generality. If I do it in perspective to my pain level tolerance to other people's pain tolerance, the scale is skewed toward the other folk. I've set my own broken fingers and toes. I've missed work from broken bones, but not because I couldn't stand the pain, but because I wasn't mobile as much as I needed to be. I explained that to them, and get blinking eyes in return, as if the don't believe me. Liz knows, she tells them. They blink their eyes still. At any rate, I get some pain meds, as well as instructions to keep checking in with them. Fine, except I already know I'm going to rely on my local folks. It's closer, handier, and I'm not going to be back in Houston again. Especially to spend the last moments of my life. I'll be home, or it I can't be taken care of here, a Hospice house.
See, Palliative Care isn't a goodbye at all. It's a way to get me to Goodbye, and enjoy as much of my time as is possible ahead of that point. It's to help me keep my head on straight so I can focus upon living and not sink into depression. Good plan, but this and my friends keep me from being depressed. They will be surprised to find that I'm not afraid either. I'm at peace with this. Shit, I've had 7 months to get at peace with this situation. It's been at the back of my mind since I got diagnosed way back, but I had great hopes that the surgery would be successful, and it was until July of this year when it showed it had come back. I've got a good relationship with my maker. My atheist and agnostic buddies and family probably find that silly or stupid. That's their opinion, and they can hang onto that if they want. They also say they don't know if they could handle what I'm going through. Hmmmm, odd that.
Palliative care will also give Liz a break. They are part of Hospice here. They'll take care of ordering meds, formula, and all the other incidentals that are needed for me right now. As well as helping take care of me when that time comes as well. It should be a huge load off Liz's shoulders. She deserves the break. It's tough for her, I can see it in her face. She's a bit weepy, but that's okay. She's strong and is hurting, she can weep all she wants.
Naw, this isn't an early goodbye. It's just a means to help keeping me able to get to the goodbye point in the best shape possible. It's a break for the family and me. It's going to be a helping hand when I hit the downhill side of this road. All those things are good for everyone involved. Weird thought came to me last night. How are the blogs going to sound the closer I get to the end? Will I continue to be open and honest, or will I try and cover some of that part up, so as not to be morbid? Interesting thought. I'd be interested in all of your input. I've stated that I won' talk about what's down the road for me, because I consider that need to know, and no one but me really does need to know.
That's it for the day, unless Major Change shows up and demands a written statement. Live large today, girls and boys