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Dianne, Jimmy, my father, and Peggy, in our trailer home, 1972 |
I haven't written sooner because too much has been happening, and it is also for this reason that I haven't visited anyone's blog. Just know that I offer you my sincere thanks for your support, the moreso because I have become so nearly reclusive in the past decade or two that I know only person who lives nearby, and with whom I can share the full extent of my misery, and I haven't seen him for three years. It's not that I don't want friends; it's that I've become vaguely disappointed with what other people have to offer, and with how little other people seem to value what I have to offer. Now...
Peggy and I are on the verge of collapse. Some examples of what I mean... We are so consumed by fear that we can't think straight and we keep losing things. Our home phone went missing for three days. Books, shoes, wallets, stereo controls, car keys, shopping lists, and garage door openers, have all disappeared, some of them multiple times. Twice, I've taken a half dozen or so things from the big freezer in the garage in order to reach something in the back, and both times, I failed to put them back. For my entire adult live, my blood pressure was around 125/70. Today at the endodondist (I just had a five hour root canal over a period of two days) it was 195/128. As was getting out of the shower yesterday, I spent a long moment trying to remember how to turn the water off. I'm functioning so poorly that I'm terrified by the knowledge that Peggy's very existence could depend my ability to function well. Despite this, our 54-years together have made us as one, and I am determined to be the lion at her gate, so I must be strong and vigilant no matter what, but it's so very hard. I'll use yesterday as an example of how both of us are doing.
It was a day on which we were dealing with one overworked druggist and three doctors, and because I'm legally authorized to speak for Peggy, I spent nearly as much time on the phone as she did, and that was a lot. Yet it was one of those days when it seemed like everything that could go wrong did go wrong. Peggy's pain was worse. Two packages were stolen off our porch. Doctor visits that we were trying to schedule ASAP were delayed because insurance hadn't approved them; or because one person had failed to call another person; or because a doctor hadn't filled out a particular form. We walked to the pharmacy to get our Covid boosters and to pick-up Peggy's Tylenol 3 and my Buprenorphine, only to learn that the pharmacy was out of vaccine; and that our regular doctor was out of the office, and his replacement had denied our refill requests (we finally got them approved). I now stop breathing twenty times an hour while sleeping, so each time, I partially awaken to gasp for air. I'm told that I need a new sleep study, but I don't want to take time away from Peggy to get it done. I could go on, but I will stop here because there's something else I want to share. I question the appropriateness of what I'm about to tell you, but I'm going to do it anyway. Because it's a story that could take pages, I must of necessity condense it somewhat.
After Peggy learned that she had pancreatic cancer, I pondered the fact that we very little of a support structure to help us survive the coming ordeal. I soon hit upon the idea of forming a sister-based support group that would primarily focus upon Peggy, but would also support me and everyone else, by which I mean Peggy's sisters Pam and Dianne, and Dianne's husband, Jimmy. I will now tell you about the result, but the story is so strange (in my view at least) that I will preface it as follows. While I have never argued with any of these people, I have also never shared an affinity with any of these people, or seen them more than twice each during the 39-years since Peggy and I left Mississippi.
Despite our long separation, I was confident that everyone would be enthusiastic about coming together for mutual support in this horribly sad time. Jimmy said that he was interested; Peggy's sister, Pam, said, "You need to get over yourself" (I don't know what she meant); and Dianne didn't respond to me at all, although she told Peggy that she was uninterested (she later told Peggy that I only wanted people to feel sorry for me--the term she used was "pity party"). I was so shocked by this hostility that I seriously wondered what I had done to make these women hate me. On the upside, they had told me where I stood, and knowing this would spare me disappointment later on.
Before I leave the subject, I'll share my final email exchange with Dianne, which occurred on Saturday. It's obviously a continuation of an earlier exchange, but you can still make sense of it. In the following, when I used the word yesterday, I was referring to a procedure that Peggy had a day earlier in which a endoscope was run into her stomach; a hole was cut through the stomach wall; and tissue was taken from her pancreas. It was the first of perhaps two biopsies, and it conclusively verified that she has pancreatic cancer:
ME: "I acknowledge that you too need support. I tried to give you support yesterday by texting frequent updates and by having Peggy say hello to you on my behalf. It is such gifts of affection as these that I want to give to you on a regular basis, but to do so, I need your affection in return."
Dianne: "No"
After sending this one word response, she texted Peggy as follows:
"I have blocked Lowell from my phone. I don’t ever want to hear from him again. He feeds on this kind of stuff and I refuse to take it anymore. I’m sorry you are hurting. I am too."
By "kind of stuff," I suppose she meant that my sharing of emotion is excessive, perhaps unmanly. As for blocking my calls, the number she blocked is the number of our landline from which Peggy often calls her, but I never do, In fact, I don't think I have ever called Dianne from any phone, but if I did, it was only to leave a message. Peggy is so hurt by her sisters' behavior that she has ended contact with Dianne, and has said that if one of them should propose a visit, she would say no. As for my reaction, I feel terrible that my attempt to form a supportive group led to a Titanic-size disaster. Peggy saw it coming (possibly from things her sisters had said about me) and even warned me that my attempts might lead to ruin, but I saw no reason for her concern, so I didn't listen.