THE SIGN FROM BIRD

Bird

My son, Bow, sat at his uncle Bird’s side and promised him that he would look out for me. Bird tightly squeezed his nephew’s hand – he had heard and understood. Even more important, he trusted that Bow would do as promised. Within a few minutes of my son’s departure, on October 14th, at 2:05 AM, my brother sighed twice then crossed over. I realized that Bird really meant what he had told the nurses and his friends. In spite of my repeated assurances that I would be okay, he had been hanging on because he was worried about leaving me alone here.

I waited beside him for the six hours I wanted before the medical team came to remove the empty body which had housed such a beautiful soul. I followed them to the hospital to numbly sign the necessary documents, then returned home. My children and older grandchildren began to arrive. I spent the rest of the day surrounded by love and support from those who cared deeply not only for me, but for the uncle they could never forget.

I refused my son’s offer to stay over with me. All I needed was sleep, I assured him. After bestowing many hugs and kisses, my family prepared to leave. As I was walking my Japanese daughter-in-law, Yoshiko, to the door, we paused a moment beside my brother’s bedroom. Both the lights and television he had kept on for 24 hours a day were turned off. The room was dark and silent but, as Yoshiko noted, it didn’t ‘feel empty’. I hugged her gratefully – so I wasn’t the only one who sensed that!

During one of our many discussions, Bird had expressed skepticism in my beliefs of ‘the next step’. We decided that, if it was at all possible, he would give me a sign that he had arrived and was well. I had total faith that I would receive his sign; I just didn’t expect it so quickly.

Something caught my eye as I passed Bird’s bedroom door on my return to the kitchen. His blue, pencil flashlight, still on the portable table beside his bed, was glowing. I slowly entered the room and picked it up. I wasn’t seeing things – it was turned on. The room had been in total darkness when Yoshiko and I had paused beside it just a few moments ago.

Still holding the flashlight, I sank to the edge of his bed and reached out to rub my hand over the blankets. They felt warm under my palm.
“This is your sign, Bird?” I asked aloud. There was no verbal reply, but the loving embrace floating around me was so sweet that it brought tears to my eyes…and joy to my aching heart.

Trust Bird to find a way. He was telling me that all was well and, because I couldn’t help but add a human element, he was also conceding that, this time, his sister was right.

I know he was watching as I blew him a kiss, and I’m sure he answered my SMILE.

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.

NOT SO GOOD...

The Bird, with Fran
When I got my e-mail from Kilroy, asking to please take time to let him know what was going on, I realized how long it has been since I had last posted.

The past few days have been rough. A week ago Friday, I woke to sounds of Bird wandering around in the house. The noises of his slippers scuffing over the wood floors didn’t ring right – he wasn’t just going to the bathroom, but moving back and forth every which way. He was extremely agitated, and very confused. There were bags haphazardly packed and placed by the door of his bedroom. We needed to get out of here, he told me wildly. He had been looking for me, because he didn’t want to leave without me. It took a few minutes to calm him down, to explain that we were in our house, to remind him that he had moved in with me during the summer. He finally ‘came back to earth’, remembered where he was, and shook his head sadly over his antics. It was only the beginning.

We had an appointment with his doctor on Thursday, but the Bird had many such lapses before then. He was sleeping even less, or shorter periods. I had to keep my eye on him constantly when he was awake, because he would slip in and out of the present at any time. He has no recall at all of having seen the doctor, but is aware that the cancer is spreading. The doctor prescribed medication to reduce the swelling in his brain, and told me no further appointments are necessary – to call him if we needed something. Bird refused to take their test drug Tarceva, and it is as if the specialists have washed their hands of him now.

Thanksgiving Friday was a nightmare. Bird was lost, and no longer able to function. He alternated between being dozy one moment and off the wall the next. He wasn’t able to swallow, or ignored, his pain medication. This, of course, made him hyper. There was no sleep for either of us. By the time the home care nurse showed up on Saturday morning (a plus because they usually only came once a week on Mondays) it was apparent that something needed to be done, and quickly. An ambulance was called, and we went to the village hospital so that the doctor there could install butterflies on his arms and leg and prescribe liquid injections. We got back home around 6 PM Saturday night, again by ambulance.

Bird helped to care for our Mom, and remembers that the injections were the last step before she passed over. I can only guess that this is why he panicked when he saw me with the syringe in hand. He refused to take it. The patch also prescribed was in place, but had not sufficient time to take effect, so he was suffering. Even so, it took most of the night, and hours of pain, before he finally allowed me to use the butterfly for the medicine. He’s still convinced that it will hurry his end, so will take it only when his endurance gives out. The result is that he is getting just enough to keep him slightly ‘high’; sleep is still of short duration.

However…today is Thanksgiving Day….and the Bird has rallied. He’s such a tough Bird!!! Although he has eaten nothing except a couple of popsicles since Friday, he is still drinking plenty of thickened water, and both the medication to alleviate the swelling in his brain and the patch for his pain seem to be working. A relaxing sponge bath and a visit with Fran this afternoon set the tone.

Earlier this evening we sat together and chatted. He got a good laugh from the stories about his recent forays into the Twilight Zone, and promised to wake me and to take the injection if he feels pain…BEFORE he wanders around!! I tucked him into a layer of pillows with his favorite blue duvet, surrounding him with that fresh-washed smell of a blanket dried outside on the clothesline. When I bent over to kiss his forehead goodnight, he was SMILING.

Sending warm SMILES out to you also, folks, with our hopes that you enjoyed a memorable CANADIAN THANKSGIVING!

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.

TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING? NOT!!

Photo courtesy of amzeyden in Photobucket

The terrified scream came from behind me. I whipped around, my heart in my throat. It was a young girl standing some distance away, her arms waving madly. She was staring off to her right as she screamed...and screamed again! I glanced quickly in the direction of her gaze, but couldn’t see any menace there. I started toward her – I was not without apprehension, but I was also wondering if I could help. At that very second she turned and ran blindly through the trees, her acute cries still piercing my brain. I pelted after her - fear coursing in my veins now too – and I was thinking if she would only SHUT UP, whatever was giving chase would have less chance of finding her. Of finding both of us, damnit!!

I woke with a start. Ah - it was a dream… but I could still hear her screams…for real! I groggily realized that they were coming through the baby monitor on my nightstand. It must be some horror movie playing on Bird’s TV in his room. I fumbled to turn the sound lower, but the TV volume was so loud that it was still audible even without the monitor. And she was STILL shrieking! Geez!

Bird was sleeping soundly when I stumbled into his room. The remote was lying on the bed under his hand, and I supposed he had inadvertently pressed the button to put the speakers on high. I gently disengaged the culprit and finally rid myself of that terrible racket, which had never let up. I looked at the screen. Yep, she was by a door, her face contorted in a bad rendition of terror….a grade D actress in a Grade D movie. I was really going to have a chat with my brother the next day. If his 24 hour TV was going to invade my dreams, the least he could do would be to find a movie starring Brad Pitt!

My brother and I have always enjoyed spending time with each other, and that’s a good thing. But…there can be too much of a good thing. We are both very independent souls, and each has lived alone for a long time – him even longer than me. Put two people like us in the same house on a continual basis and, no matter how many rooms are available, sparks are apt to fly now and then. They are very tiny sparks, and of short duration. We care too much for each other to ever be mean, or hold a grudge. However, we are not past taking a little light revenge now and then.

I guess I sounded somewhat b*tchy when I broached the subject the next day. I may have, in fact, referred to his beloved television as ‘that idiot box’. He listened as I ranted, then nodded, adding that his dreams were sometimes invaded too. When he smiled, I should have known it was an evil smile.

“Well,” he drawled. “I was thinking of watching the Porn Channel, but remembered the monitor was in your room….” He waited.

I sat deliberating my choices. Would I really rather dream I was participating in a “Debbie does Dallas” scenario? The bugger had won again!

“Well, at least put the remote on your table before you fall to sleep,” I countered. Then an idea. “Or the batteries may wear out…suddenly!”

“I know – and I keep some new ones stashed in my room just in case.” Somehow I knew he was telling the truth. He was smirking. I glared back at him. At a loss for words, I reverted to the standard sibling threat.

“I’m gonna kick your ass!” I declared.

He was right on cue. “Not if I kick yours first!”

And we smiled.

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.

THE BIONIC MAN

A happy Bird with his daughter, Jo

Not so long ago I blogged about the ‘You can’t swear! You’ve got hair!’ episode, which is now one of our inside family jokes. I think every family has them. They occur spontaneously and, at later opportune moments, will be repeated with a sly wink and knowing laugh. A couple of weeks ago, I unwillingly contributed to our family repertoire, and I’m quite sure that I’m going to be teased about this one for years to come.

Refusing the traditional treatment for my brother’s cancer meant finding another way to improve our situation. There is no question of just sitting around and letting the disease take its course. After hours of research, we decided that organic food and homeopathic measures could only help. A juicer was purchased, a Doctor of Naturopathic Medicine consulted, and this lady began reading labels and being very careful about cooking and serving only certified organic products. There is no problem finding fruits and vegetables, but meat (non-boosted) is not so easily accessible in the grocery stores in our small town. My daughter had mentioned buying a batch of grain fed, free range chickens some months ago, so I decided to ask her if I could purchase one or two from her until I could get to the specialized city markets.

I alternate between the English and French languages on a daily or even hourly basis – speaking it, reading it, writing it. Now and then I unconsciously throw a French word or expression into an English conversation, or vice versa. Sometimes I have to stop and think before using a certain word, because I am no longer sure to which language it belongs. The other day, while talking to my daughter, I forgot to pay attention. I was speaking French, where the correct term is biologique, but thinking the English organic. My tongue twisted, and I didn’t even realize what I had said until my daughter started to giggle and answered “Sure, Mom! I’ll sell you a couple of my bionic chickens!”

I guess I don’t have to tell you what happened when my smart-mouthed brother heard about my blunder. After his initial deep rendition of “Gentlemen, we can rebuild him. We have the technology…we can make him better than he was before…..” (for those who don’t recognize it, it was the introduction to the old Six-Million Dollar Man television series), he has shown no mercy. Each family member, every visiting friend, and even the nurses from the CLSC have been told not to worry about his health - that his sister is now feeding him bionic meals. I’m sure it’s not-so-subtle payback for my refusing to let him eat junk food, or the beet-carrot-apple mixture I force him to drink first thing in the morning! He never did like beets.

I admit I can go a bit overboard when I latch onto an idea. However, my brother’s daughter, who flew in to spend the weekend with us, much to his delight, and my own kids, and his lady friend…even the nurses, all agree. His condition, both physically and mentally, seems to have greatly improved within the past three weeks….the same length of time he has been eating only bionic…uh…I mean, organic.

In spite of his being a smart-ass, I’ll still endeavor to help him. Tomorrow …and each day after that… I will faithfully prepare a glass of organic beet-carrot-apple juice and serve it to him first thing in the morning, now even before his coffee, which he loves. I will dutifully ignore his grimace when I set it down on his table, and pretend that I do not know that he never did like beets. And as I turn my back to walk out of his room, yep! I’ll be SMILING!!

Sending those SMILES out to y’all, and hoping you’ll spread them around!

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.

A JOYFUL NOISE

Ah – the interwoven yellow and orange and red of a crackling wood fire – the return of the season where we sit and bask in its cozy warmth. The chimney sweep paid us his yearly visit yesterday (actually, it should read I paid HIM for his yearly visit yesterday!). He was no longer done and gone than Grump and I hauled wood upstairs. Well, Grump brings a couple of pieces of cedar kindling; I carry the logs.

The Bird was lying in his bed, pretending to be focused on the TV. Once again his friend had not shown up as promised, and she wasn’t answering her phone when he called. I knew it was bugging him; he feels extremely vulnerable when she does that. Anyone in his position would feel the same.

I strolled into his room with my announcement.

“It’s time you made yourself useful,” I said. His gaze switched to me, his surprise indicated by raised eyebrows. I elaborated. “You know that box of CDs I mentioned the other day?” He remembered. He began the slow preparations necessary to get up and about.

Talk to a musician about music, and it’s pretty much a given that his attention will be all yours. Soon there we were – the Bird and Grump and me – installed comfortably on the sofas beside the fire, fresh coffee in hand…and that huge box of jumbled CDs between us.

This box has been bugging me for ages. Every loose CD found lying around in any part of the house, the garage, the office, or the cars had been gathered up and shoved into it with the notion that I would find time to organize them somehow. Many were mixed copies burned and received from friends, some from my brother himself, with no labeling information. Others were just loose, or had been hurriedly stuck into whichever jacket that was on hand, not necessarily the right one…and the box was one of two! It was a mess!

Bird is a whiz when it comes to music. More times than not he can rhyme off not only the tune, but also the name of the artist doing it. The whole family on my father’s side is musically inclined; they can play various instruments and have sweet singing voices. I believe I am the only sibling who wasn’t included in that bank of talent; my calling in that domain is limited to loving nearly all types, and knowing what I like to hear.

Time passed as we worked together – Bird naming the tune and artist while I made lists to insert in the CD jacket. I would press the button to skip forward to the next song…then the next. Occasionally one of us would say ‘Hey, wait – haven’t heard that for awhile. Let it play through!’, and we’d sit back to enjoy that particular special sound. At one point I started to sing along. Bird glanced over at me, his expression inscrutable.

“What?” I asked. “Am I that bad?” He thought about it for a moment.

“Well, I wouldn’t call it bad,” he answered. Then added – “But I wouldn’t call it singing neither.” His face was serious as he studied my hurt expression. He grinned. “It’s more like…a joyful noise.”

That darned Bird managed to duck in time again, and the plastic CD jacket I let go flew right by him to land on an innocent sleeping Grump. The startled dog lifted his head to stare at us, then relaxed… we were both SMILING.

Luv from The Bush in Quebec

STILL SMILING

When scans showed that the lung tumours are growing in spite of radiation and chemo injections, the doc prescribed an oral chemo called Tarceva. It is terribly expensive but is “the last resort” (the term the doc used). Because Bird was already on a disability pension, the government agreed to pay for it. Bird read over the side effects, and has refused to take it. It is not a cure, but a palliative measure. He has decided to go with dignity; once again the quality of life wins out over the quantity.

In the meantime, we have visited a Naturopath. I read Kevin Trudeau’s books (still growling!), at the suggestion of the Bird, by the way, and have been preparing organic food and juices for the past two weeks. It HAS made a difference. He has more energy, is more alert...just feels all-round better. The Naturopathic doctor suggested injections of Vitamin C and mistletoe. These cannot be done legally in Quebec; only traditional doctors can administer such a thing, so we have made an appointment to have them done in Ottawa. Ontario is more lenient it seems. I made sure to inform his lung specialist who, although disappointed that Bird is not doing the Tarceva, asked us to meet the Homeopathic representative from the hospital just to be certain that any treatment, be it pharmaceutical or organic, is not in conflict with the other. Problem: the injections were to start on Sept. 20th, but the appointment with the hospital rep is on Sept. 27th...which means another delay for time that is already short.

What we are living right now is not easy, nor is it made easier by knowing that others have, and will again, go through the same thing....or worse. However, there are special moments of love, of sharing, of laughter, that would probably not occur during days of ordinary existence, and for that I am grateful. We have been allowed time for a proper goodbye and, as Bird quips “We’ll just take our time saying it, thank you!”

The sense of humour is still intact. When going for a scan of his spine (a tumour has shown up there too), the Bird was wearing his Toronto Maple Leaf cap. The young technician grimaced when he saw it.

“You’re lucky I allow you into my scanning room wearing that hat,” he told Bird. Used to the reaction he gets in this Hab-fevered city, Bird smiled.

“Been waiting for years to see them take the Stanley Cup,” he answered. “Now that I’m dying, they’ll probably get it.”

“Ha!” scoffed the technician. “If that’s what you’re waiting on, you’ll live for another 30 years!”

The Bird winked. “Exactly!” he exclaimed.

And we all SMILED.

HE AIN'T HEAVY, HE'S MY BROTHER

Daisy & Bird,8 months ago

The nights are the hardest. I shouldn’t hear him breathing from my bedroom, but I do. I can tell when he is sleeping, or the minute he sits up, laboring to get air. Although rasping, the cough is also muted because his lungs are so full and his throat is so swollen.

The hospital bed rented from the CLSC is in the living room, placed so that he can watch constant television and/or admire the beautiful view of my mountain. Each snooze doesn’t last long, one or two hours at the most. Timed with this erratic schedule, I pull up the comfy footstool beside him and we chat off and on, make coffee, and now and then I set out some of his favorite munchies in an attempt to have him eat. His appetite is at zero, of course. Radiation had already wiped out most of his taste buds, and the chemo has screwed up whatever was left.

Our chats consist a lot me saying ‘What?’, and he grins, then shakes his head a little before repeating what he had whispered.

“We’re two parts of the ‘hear no evil, say no evil, see no evil,’” he laughs back at me. “One dumb, the other deaf. Or maybe it’s the same one who is both…”

He knows enough to duck.

In spite of his pain, his sense of humor is intact. Teasing and giggling are part of our all night conversations. There is no serious talk…not yet. We’ll wait until after the first CT scan, scheduled for August 6th (yep – hospitals are so busy the appointment is on a Saturday, at 9 PM!!). The scan will tell us what the radiation and chemo have, or have not, accomplished.

As anyone who has lived with cancer knows, there are good days and bad days. On the good days, the nice weather coaxes us out onto the gallery, and we swing, enjoying that special, peaceful silence found only in the bush. Grump alternates between us – head and neck rubs are on double offer, and he’s taking full advantage. Louka and Sally join us more often than not. Those two ladies are again in heat, and Grump’s confused reactions are fodder for Bird’s hilarious one-liners.

“Stonas”, my brother said to me when I joined him on the gallery yesterday. “That name just came into my mind. I’m trying to remember where I’ve heard it before.”

“Neighbors down the road from the farm,” I answered, surprised. “Geez, I haven’t thought of them since we left there! A long time ago, Bird!”

He nodded thoughtfully; started naming others who peopled our past. From there we recalled incidents from our childhood, one leading to the other. He has always been able to glean amusement from the most commonplace events, and things that make another’s hair rise in anger bring a grin to his face. Being such a rascal himself, very rarely will he judge anyone else, although it doesn’t stop him from making smart-ass comments. He is easily forgiven because the comments are also witty and most times comical.

As happened for both my sister and my mom, friends and family gather to give time and support. Line is doing more than her share for the business, and Helen, who was also there for my mom, makes herself available whenever I need to go into the office. Since we already have one day a week to drive into the hospital, I work from home as much as possible. Fran is an important part of my bro’s life, and spends hours watching movies with him, bringing along her little daschund, Daisy. That tiny, noisy creature loves Bird, and the feeling is mutual. Animal lovers will agree – having a trusting, furry creature cuddle up to you is ultimate comfort.

Bird bends down to Daisy, crooning whispers, and she pushes her long nose under his chin. When her warm tongue gently licks his cheek, he glances up and winks at Fran and me, and we SMILE together.

SMILES are on their way to all of you too. And again I thank you for your prayers and positive thoughts; we can feel them surrounding us.

Luv from the Bush in Quebec