Legacies from the Living Room: A Love-Grief Equation , livre ebook

Outskirts Press - Debra Parker Oliver

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93 pages

English

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This is an emotionally powerful love story about family, commitment, and living in the midst of dying. It is a unique memoir written not by an individual who is dying, but by a spouse faced with caregiving and loss. It is targeted for family members facing the terminal illness of their loved one as well as the professionals who are responsible to care for them. Debbie Oliver’s husband David is diagnosed with stage IV metastatic cancer and she realizes that the life as they know it is over. Debbie experiences fear about how he will die, how she will cope, and how she will go on without him. David focuses on living rather than dying, choosing to teach others about his experience and leading the family to focus on making memories. David and Debbie create 26 YouTube videos related to their experience that become a teaching tool to educate medical students, health care professionals, friends and family. An Associated Press story on David and the videos leads to an appearance on CBS This Morning. The videos encourage the family to talk about things, and not to hide from the cancer, they provide social support from friends and strangers, and they facilitate conversations within classrooms and between people all over the world. After David finishes chemo, it’s time to attack his bucket list. The family travels extensively from Europe to the Artic Circle. Debbie finds these trips bittersweet, knowing she will someday be traveling alone. David coins the acronym, HOPE—to die at Home, surrounded by Others, Pain-free, and Excited until the end to describe his goals for the end of his days. The cancer reappears but David decides against more chemo, and he and Debbie realize that this is the real moment he’s looking death in the face. The caregiving burden grows and the kids start coming over to help. David starts saying his goodbyes. While the last days are terribly sad, they also leave Debbie with sweet moments she’ll never forget. Debbie does everything she can to let him die at home, surrounded by others, pain free and excited until the end. She gathers his loved ones, does her best to keep him comfortable, and in the end says goodbye and thanks him for loving her. Before David dies, he writes 26 letters to friends and family to be mailed after he passes. They are each personal, and emotional. David chooses to have his ashes scattered at Loch Vale Lake in Rocky Mountain National Park. He has Debbie plan the trip before he passes so he can picture it happening, and knows it will officially take place. Life goes on despite David’s loss leaving a big hole in Debbie’s life. She thrives on her family time, accepts that it’s okay to be sad, and moves on in a way that doesn’t let David go, but doesn’t keep her mired only in the grief. Debbie learns to do things alone that she and David had always done together. She joins a support group as she tries to figure out her new identity, and the whole family leans on each other as they continue to process their loss. Debbie has things she needs to say to David and writes him an emotional letter outlining the things she misses and the ways she has handled and mishandled her grief. Her letter is a moving description of how she is trying to rebuild her life, following David’s advice to focus on the love to manage the grief. The story ends as Debbie builds a new house behind her old one and reflects on how she has learned to look back at the past but live in her new world today.

Sujets

Santé et bien-être

Santé du quotidien

Vie de famille

Soutien psychologique et conseils familiaux

Caregiving

Medical

Médecine

Informations

Publié par	Outskirts Press
Date de parution	30 octobre 2018
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781977205919
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0500€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Legacies from the “Living” Room: A Love-Grief Equation All Rights Reserved. Copyright © 2018 Debra Parker Oliver v1.0
The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.
This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Outskirts Press, Inc. http://www.outskirtspress.com
ISBN: 978-1-9772-0591-9
Cover Photo © 2018 Debra Parker Oliver. All Rights Reserved – Used with Permission.
Outskirts Press and the “OP” logo are trademarks belonging to Outskirts Press, Inc.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
Dedication
This book is dedicated to David B. Oliver. I am honored to share his legacies of love, hope, and travel. May the power of love be evident in my caregiving and grief.
Acknowledgements
This story is shared as a result of the encouragement and assistance of countless others. I sincerely thank everyone who listened to my stories and helped me with this project. Dr. Ira Byock provided encouragement and initial guidance. Claire Sykes gave our children and grandchildren voice through the solicitation of stories and emotions. Brad Oliver and the Oliver Rains Group captured the story on the cover and page design. Volunteer readers provided feedback and critique that was invaluable.
I can never thank our children and grandchildren enough for the support not only found in these pages but in the love that helps me through this journey every day. Their willingness to share their inner most thoughts and memories gives me the courage to do the same. Above all else, the greatest legacy David Oliver leaves is Mike, Michelle, Matt, Megan, Brad, Carol, Emily, Abbey, Jessica, Andrew, Oliver, Parker, Becky, Justin, and Tina. In them he lives on.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 Just A Lump
Chapter 2 The “Living” Room
Chapter 3 Depriving Death of Its Strangeness Through YouTube
Chapter 4 Sandbox Legacies and Bucket Lists
Chapter 5 Bad News
Chapter 6 Never-Ending Decisions
Chapter 7 Redefining Hope in the Midst of Fear
Chapter 8 The Rapids
Chapter 9 The Labyrinth of Caregiving
Chapter 10 The Waterfall
Chapter 11 Legacy Letters
Chapter 12 Final Promises
Chapter 13 New Beginnings
Chapter 14 The More We Grieve
Chapter 15 The More We Love
Chapter 16 A New “Living” Room

Appendix
How to tell your family you have cancer
Video Blog List
Further Reading
Chapter 1
Just A Lump
This day will determine the course of all others for our family. My hands are shaking, and my eyes are puffy from lack of sleep. This diagnostic process has taken three weeks, and I have not slept through the night since it began. Initially, I let denial help me cope, believing that my healthy and very active husband could not possibly have anything seriously wrong. I reassured myself by believing he was exaggerating the size of the lump in his neck. However, last week a biopsy indicated it was cancer. The doctor took samples not only from his neck but also his throat and nose. A PET scan will discover how far the cancer has spread. David calls today a “lived moment”. He defines this as a time when you enter as one person and leave as another. It is a good description because today we hear the results and learn our future fate.
We are getting dressed, both lost in thought. The silence is making my anxiety unbearable. I turn around and look at him.
“David, you realize that this is probably at least a Stage II cancer since the doctor said last week that the primary site is not your neck?”
“No, I missed that,” he responds softly. His face is flush, and I see his hands shake as he buttons his shirt. “I have been hoping it’s early. I can’t stand the thought that the shit is spreading through my body.”
He stops talking. I can tell he does not want to think about it. I turn and finish dressing. I’ve been searching the Internet to learn about cancer staging and speaking to my friends in medicine, as a result I’m afraid we are lucky if it’s only Stage II. If it did not start with that big lump in his neck then where did it begin? I keep my questions and fears to myself so as not to increase David’s anxiety.
After entering the clinic lobby, we meet our middle daughter Becky, 23, at the check-in desk. She will graduate from nursing school in only two months, and she has gone to all the appointments to help us understand what we hear. Despite working in a medical school, neither David nor I always understand the medical jargon. After checking in, we’re put into an exam room to wait for the new test results.
Despite the room’s floor-to-ceiling windows, it feels closed-in and dark. We sit stiffly on old wooden chairs, trying to convince ourselves that everything is going to be okay. David attempts humor by raising the exam chair as high as it can go. Laughing, he declares that he wants to look the doctor in the eye. Becky and I fail to see the fun of it. My sweaty palms are clasped together as I nervously steal a glance at the door, awaiting the doctor’s entrance. After the longest 20 minutes of my life, he appears, stops at the door, and looks directly at David.
“It’s metastatic cancer behind your nose, and it’s spreading to your bones.”
Silence fills the room. I look at David, clearly shocked. His face is blank. I realize he does not comprehend what this means. He lowers his chair back to the ground and stares blankly.
I ask, “What stage?”
The doctor pauses and looks at the floor. “Stage IV.”
I quit breathing. I’m not prepared for that answer, and I know David isn’t either. David asks, “So how long do I have?”
“If chemotherapy works, three to five years. If not, six months.” Those are the last words I hear. My brain shuts down.

Our ride home is silent. We walk into the living room in a daze, trying to absorb what has just happened. The three of us sit in silence for a few minutes, each with our own thoughts. We’re numb and in shock.
David confesses, “The words ‘Stage IV’ made my knees buckle. The doctor says I have a rare cancer behind my nose, and it’s spreading into my bones. I remember him saying it’s all along my spinal column, which explains my sore back for so many weeks. Most of all, what I hear loud and clear is that it isn’t curable. When I press him, I notice he doesn’t say five years, but rather three.”
I can’t yet believe what has just happened. I’m at a loss for words. My ears are ringing, and I feel sick to my stomach. My mind seems to have shut down, unable to comprehend anything. I tell myself to think about breathing, as the natural ability seems to have vanished. David goes on. “I’m positive the doctor expects less time for me. I remember being in Nagasaki, Japan, looking at all the dioramas of the human misery and devastation. I remember the pictures of people wandering about, numb, contaminated by radiation, causing cancer that will kill most of those who survive the initial blast. Thats how I feel.”
I also can see those men and women lost and aimlessly walking around, I agree with him. This is surreal.
David looks at Becky, his hand on his chest. “Becky, I’m so glad you came with us today. It means a lot you were along. It isn’t easy, though, I know.”
Becky smiles at her father and sits in silence, tears in her eyes. She can’t speak. At last week’s biopsy, she demonstrated her advocacy skills as she insisted that the doctor wait until we were by his side before telling a foggy-minded, post-surgical David that he has cancer. Becky is a caretaker and a peacemaker. She is self-confident and doesn’t hesitate to stand up for herself. Shorter than average, she has the confidence of someone twice her size. She’s a daddy’s girl and more like him than me.
David looks at Becky and states, “You kids, all five of you, are my legacy.”
We hear the front door open, and Jessica, our oldest daughter, runs into the living room. She has been calling and texting, but we haven’t yet replied. Only starting to believe the news ourselves, we haven’t been ready or able to face breaking it to anyone.
She looks at her dad. He answers before she can speak. “Jessica, it’s going to be okay.”
“But it’s not, is it?”
He smiles. “Well, I won’t die from Alzheimer’s.”
He leans back in his chair and appears at peace. His light-hearted response aimed at relaxing Jessica isn’t successful. She turns pale and tears fill her eyes. Only yesterday, she shared that she feels we’re hiding things from her. She is upset we didn’t invite her to the appointment. She resents her sister knowing something she doesn’t. Jessica sits down, and David explains the details. Meanwhile, I step out of the room to contact the other three kids, who are also anxiously awaiting word.
Although the girls are mine from a previous marriage, David has become their father in every way. However, David’s sons, Mike and Brad, grown men with families and careers, aren’t enthusiastic about their father’s new life with me. The hurt over their parents’ divorce still stings; reconciliation is slow. Over the nearly two decades of our marriage, their relationship with David improves, but at times it still feels fragile, and so does their relationship with me. I wonder how this news will affect their bond and my relationship with them. David is always the one to communicate with Mike, 44, and Brad, 42. Today, however, he is tired and busy with Jessica, so I decide to call them. I realize I have to get used to talking with them because I’ll be doing more of it; we’re all in this together. I pick up the phone, extremely nervous, very sad. I think about the fact that I teach first-year medical students how to give news like this, and it’s now