Sushi, Xanax, and Marijuana

Losing a parent is a loss like no other, but isn’t it the natural order? Still sad, overwhelming, and tragic, but still “expected” in some way.  

Losing a friend who is the same age as you to a terminal illness is pretty fu%cked up! The shock at the news brings you to your knees at first, and when things begin to “settle in” (does that ever really happen?) then you are in a mad race. 

I was shocked to hear the news that Marci had been diagnosed with Stage IV Ovarian Cancer. She and I had been estranged for several years when she was diagnosed, but none of that mattered. I don’t even know what happened, and absolutely nothing could have kept me away from her. I cried for hours on end, and then I reached out to her. She and her family received me back into the mix with no questions asked. From that moment on, we were together again, but not exactly like old times. This time our relationship, while it still involved a lot of fun, laughs, movies, sushi, sarcasm, and dark humor, was also filled with doctor visits, screenings, chemotherapy, clinical trials, hair loss, long drives to M.D. Anderson, shots, nutritionists, tubes, scans, Xanax, and marijuana. 

This was all so devastating for her, her family, and her friends. She was one of the most well-liked humans in the history of humans: a longstanding and happy marriage, two children and a grandson. She was funny, smart, energetic, and would do anything for anyone. She had done so much for so many. She welcomed a couple of teen-aged boys to live in her home and helped guide them along a better path through education and sports. Together, she and her husband started and ran a successful community sports non-profit organization. 

Once the doctors realized she couldn’t beat the cancer, we talked about next steps and decided on Hospice. I had the hard task and honor of getting her settled into a facility and being a part of a “family only” group to attend meetings where discussions were had and decisions were made regarding her palliative care. We got her settled in her new room, the place where she’d take her last breath, but as soon as her husband arrived, he knew he had to bring her home. 

And that’s what we did. Meetings, questions, discussions. After review and consideration by doctors, palliative care specialists, nurses, and other care-givers, we were given the green light to take her home. She spent that time surrounded by the love of her husband, her two wonderful children, her adorable grandson, her devoted parents, her loyal friends, and her sweet fur-baby. 

Marci was diagnosed and dead in 13 months. She lost her chance at a long life and to enjoy the life she’d created with her husband. The beautiful part  is  that she spent the end being cared for by her family and closest friends. I was humbled to have spent much of that time with Marci and her family. She left this world surrounded by love.