When It Seems There is No More Hope
I was sitting at my desk on Monday evening. It had been a hard week-end, with learning of Josh's death, and a hard day, thinking of his family during his funeral. My daughter called me about 10:00 a.m. - we were both thinking the same thing - It's time for the funeral. Then came the call that evening.
"Patsy, this is Karen." I could barely hear her - through her tears and her labored breathing. "The doctor told me I am going to die and there's nothing more he can do." New tests had revealed that the cancer had now spread to her lungs. I had not been able to talk to her in over two weeks, and now this. What do you say? I said the only words I could think to say. "Karen, I'm sorry. I didn't want it to be like this. I am so sorry."
She had fought so hard. No one could have fought harder. From the time the cancer was found - first in her leg, then in her brain, then in her spine, through the paralysis, through the staph infection, and now there was no hope.
I had to go to work the next morning and share the news with my co-workers. One of them had known Karen all her life. I told her first. She gathered the others for me, and we shared the news. A little later I went to share the news with a former co-worker who is also close to Karen. As soon as I walked into her office, she came to me and hugged me. She told me, "I don't know how I am going to get through this." I told her we would get through it together. We talked a bit and she told me that Karen's husband had called her Monday night. She shared that they were allowing Karen to have visitors. She was going to go to the hospital. I told her to call me when she was ready to leave and I would go next. As I left, she hugged me, and said, "I love you." [There is another whole redemption story in that.]
I got to visit Karen briefly on Tuesday. She was groggy from medication, but had her make-up on to perfection, as usual. Her right eye was opening on its own. Ironic, she said, that she might get her vision back, now that it's too late. She told me, "I thought I could beat this, but the doctor told me I can't." She told someone else, "I guess I didn't fight hard enough." It breaks my heart.
Yesterday, after work, I went to the hospital. I didn't get to see Karen because she was busy taking care of things - things like making sure her life insurance specified the right beneficiary, and making sure the family knows her funeral plans, and getting all the details taken care of. But I went to the Family Room and was blessed to be able to visit with her sister. We talked and shared stories of Karen, and I gave her information Karen's husband will need to keep his insurance coverage - details of life that must go on. Karen's husband came into the room. He was sitting near the window - looking so lost and forlorn. "Come on, Patsy, sit down," he said. I sat down and put my hand on his shoulder. He reached out for my other hand and held on tightly. He wondered why God doesn't choose to heal Karen. I told him I have no answers. He had asked someone else why bad people live and good people die. I told him I don't know - maybe God is giving them time to come to know Him. He said he had never thought of it that way. Karen had told me her husband is not a believer. I think he is becoming one. What else is he going to hold on to? Karen's son - a junior in college - was also in the room. I sat by him and he hugged me and held on. We talked and I hope I was able to say something that will help him. It seemed what they needed at that time was someone who would just hold on to them - so I did.
As I was leaving, Karen's sister had just come from her room. Karen's daughter wants to do her mother's make-up when the time comes. But in case she can't, Karen asked if I would do it for her. I swallowed - hard. "Could you do that?" Kelly asked. "I will," I told her. "If that's what Karen wants, then I will do it." I've never done that before. But you see, Karen is my fellow Mary Kay beauty consultant - my recruit. And she knows that I will do her make-up the way she always wears it. So, when the time comes, I told Kelly, I will be there in the background for Kimberly, if she wants me to, and if it's too much for her, we'll do it together. A final blessing for Karen.
Today, I went through Karen's desk and file cabinet at the office. She had asked her mother to bring her personal things home. Her mother said she couldn't do that, so a co-worker and I said we would. I came across a "Slinky." She used to drive me crazy with those things - the k-clink, k-clink, k-clink. I sat and held in my hands, and tossed it from side to side and the tears came. Funny how it's the little things that get us.
Today, Karen got to go outside for a while. It was a beautiful day. I got to visit her a few minutes this evening. She had been sleeping when I went by earlier. She was a little confused about the time - she thought it was morning so we had a laugh. I told her my father-in-law had just had surgery and she asked how that went. And I told her about another co-worker in our Lubbock office who has just been diagnosed with a brain tumor. Karen's eyes filled with tears and she couldn't say anything. Because caring about others is the way Karen is. In spite of all her pain and illness, she is always asking about someone else.
But today, Karen got to go outside and feel the sunshine and wind on her face and to see the trees and the birds at least one more time.
Tonight, God, I pray for Karen - that she will not suffer in these last days, but will have time to get the picture made of 4 generations, to toss a Slinky a few more times, to hold her grandson, and make some memories that can last her family a lifetime.
For more about Karen - read "When The Table Seems Empty"
"Patsy, this is Karen." I could barely hear her - through her tears and her labored breathing. "The doctor told me I am going to die and there's nothing more he can do." New tests had revealed that the cancer had now spread to her lungs. I had not been able to talk to her in over two weeks, and now this. What do you say? I said the only words I could think to say. "Karen, I'm sorry. I didn't want it to be like this. I am so sorry."
She had fought so hard. No one could have fought harder. From the time the cancer was found - first in her leg, then in her brain, then in her spine, through the paralysis, through the staph infection, and now there was no hope.
I had to go to work the next morning and share the news with my co-workers. One of them had known Karen all her life. I told her first. She gathered the others for me, and we shared the news. A little later I went to share the news with a former co-worker who is also close to Karen. As soon as I walked into her office, she came to me and hugged me. She told me, "I don't know how I am going to get through this." I told her we would get through it together. We talked a bit and she told me that Karen's husband had called her Monday night. She shared that they were allowing Karen to have visitors. She was going to go to the hospital. I told her to call me when she was ready to leave and I would go next. As I left, she hugged me, and said, "I love you." [There is another whole redemption story in that.]
I got to visit Karen briefly on Tuesday. She was groggy from medication, but had her make-up on to perfection, as usual. Her right eye was opening on its own. Ironic, she said, that she might get her vision back, now that it's too late. She told me, "I thought I could beat this, but the doctor told me I can't." She told someone else, "I guess I didn't fight hard enough." It breaks my heart.
Yesterday, after work, I went to the hospital. I didn't get to see Karen because she was busy taking care of things - things like making sure her life insurance specified the right beneficiary, and making sure the family knows her funeral plans, and getting all the details taken care of. But I went to the Family Room and was blessed to be able to visit with her sister. We talked and shared stories of Karen, and I gave her information Karen's husband will need to keep his insurance coverage - details of life that must go on. Karen's husband came into the room. He was sitting near the window - looking so lost and forlorn. "Come on, Patsy, sit down," he said. I sat down and put my hand on his shoulder. He reached out for my other hand and held on tightly. He wondered why God doesn't choose to heal Karen. I told him I have no answers. He had asked someone else why bad people live and good people die. I told him I don't know - maybe God is giving them time to come to know Him. He said he had never thought of it that way. Karen had told me her husband is not a believer. I think he is becoming one. What else is he going to hold on to? Karen's son - a junior in college - was also in the room. I sat by him and he hugged me and held on. We talked and I hope I was able to say something that will help him. It seemed what they needed at that time was someone who would just hold on to them - so I did.
As I was leaving, Karen's sister had just come from her room. Karen's daughter wants to do her mother's make-up when the time comes. But in case she can't, Karen asked if I would do it for her. I swallowed - hard. "Could you do that?" Kelly asked. "I will," I told her. "If that's what Karen wants, then I will do it." I've never done that before. But you see, Karen is my fellow Mary Kay beauty consultant - my recruit. And she knows that I will do her make-up the way she always wears it. So, when the time comes, I told Kelly, I will be there in the background for Kimberly, if she wants me to, and if it's too much for her, we'll do it together. A final blessing for Karen.
Today, I went through Karen's desk and file cabinet at the office. She had asked her mother to bring her personal things home. Her mother said she couldn't do that, so a co-worker and I said we would. I came across a "Slinky." She used to drive me crazy with those things - the k-clink, k-clink, k-clink. I sat and held in my hands, and tossed it from side to side and the tears came. Funny how it's the little things that get us.
Today, Karen got to go outside for a while. It was a beautiful day. I got to visit her a few minutes this evening. She had been sleeping when I went by earlier. She was a little confused about the time - she thought it was morning so we had a laugh. I told her my father-in-law had just had surgery and she asked how that went. And I told her about another co-worker in our Lubbock office who has just been diagnosed with a brain tumor. Karen's eyes filled with tears and she couldn't say anything. Because caring about others is the way Karen is. In spite of all her pain and illness, she is always asking about someone else.
But today, Karen got to go outside and feel the sunshine and wind on her face and to see the trees and the birds at least one more time.
Tonight, God, I pray for Karen - that she will not suffer in these last days, but will have time to get the picture made of 4 generations, to toss a Slinky a few more times, to hold her grandson, and make some memories that can last her family a lifetime.
For more about Karen - read "When The Table Seems Empty"
posted by pawatson at
5/04/2006 07:56:00 PM
