12/31/2006

The 12th month

Prognosis runs out, but time doesn't

By Kathy Gibbons
Features editor

Editor's note: This is the first in a two-part series chronicling the past month of a Traverse City woman with lung cancer who was told last January that she had six to 12 months to live. Record-Eagle features editor Kathy Gibbons, whose column regularly appears in Thursday's Our Town section, collaborated with Record-Eagle photographer Tyler Sipe to produce the series on the woman, whose name is Carol; while she agreed to being pictured, she did not want her last name used in this article. Look for the second part in Monday's edition.

Record-Eagle/Tyler Sipe
Carol, left, is overcome with emotion after describing missing future moments with her family and enduring a day of pain caused by a tumor. She is comforted by registered nurse Nancy Patterson. Carol was re-diagnosed with terminal lung cancer last January and was given six to 12 months to live.

Part Two:

• Multimedia slideshow - January 1, 2007

Carol never thought she'd see Christmas. She was sure that once cold weather hit, she would be gone.

Last January, she got the news that the lung cancer she had fought during the previous two years was back. She wasn't about to go through chemo and radiation or anymore tests. Given that, her doctor told her she had six to 12 months left.

She went home to die, but kept on living, as best as she could. She made it through summer, one of her favorite times of the year. She lives in the country, at the end of a long two-track in a picturesque setting on a river. An avid gardener, she has multiple beds of perennials she has tended for years. This summer her husband did much of the work for her, when she couldn't.

But the prospect of winter loomed — and not in a good way. Winter can mean darkness, plus isolation, in good times. And the onset of cold weather brought her closer to the 12th month of that prognosis.

Tuesday, Nov. 28

While we had several phone conversations since late summer, Carol and I only meet in person when I go to her house in late November. I'd asked her if she'd let me write about her, and she had agreed.

She tells me a little about her background. She's 65 — even ill, she looks about 10 years younger — and was born in Kalamazoo.

She met her husband Pat on a blind date when she was 30; he was about four years younger. All she knew about him was what the friend who fixed them up had told her: "He's got Paul Newman eyes and he's really cute and he's Catholic and he loves kids.”

It all turned out to be true. While they didn't have a lot in common, something clicked. They married the following May 5, 33 years ago.

This past May 5, they celebrated by taking a drive to Glen Arbor and walking a short path to the beach. Shortly after, she saw a picture taken by Grand Traverse Pie Company owner Denise Busley of the very path they walked that day. After Carol admired it, Busley insisted she take it. It's now framed and on Carol's bedroom wall, where "Pat will always see that; it's a memory of our last anniversary.”

Upon their marriage, Carol and Pat moved to his family's property in Grand Traverse County, where they still live. While Carol had held a variety of office jobs until then, she felt it was better to stay home once their two daughters started to grow. The older one, Rebecca, is now 32 and married with a son born in June; Natalie is 31 and single. Both live nearby.

Besides family, the other constant in her life is friends. There's a stack of letters waiting to be answered on her kitchen table. She doesn't have a computer and has always put a lot of stock in writing letters to keep in touch with friends back in Kalamazoo and elsewhere. Now, her day is made when there's a letter in the mailbox.

She also counts on outings with her friends. She loves meeting them for lunch in town, or stopping at Mary's Kitchen Port and talking with the staff there.

But as her tumor grows, causing her pain and depleting her energy, and as she takes a multitude of medications, she can't always do that anymore. Sometimes she's too tired to drive. That makes her crazy. She wants life to be normal.

Carol's lung cancer was first diagnosed in December 2004. She began chemotherapy, then radiation. The following June, she was done with radiation and hopeful the cancer was gone. Three months later, her doctor said there was a mass on her left side, but that it wasn't growing and to return in January. When she did, the cancer was back, and with that came the six- to 12-month prognosis.

She entered hospice in August. A nurse started coming to her house once a week, supervising her medications and giving her someone knowledgeable to talk to. It helped — to a point.

Monday, Dec. 4

When I see Carol next, there's a marked change. She's had a bad weekend. The pain caused by her tumor is excruciating. She flinches and grabs her left side when she coughs — which today, is frequently. She's breathless when she talks.

Just as significant, it's now December, the 12th month.

Nancy Patterson, her hospice nurse, is there and ups Carol's dosage of methadone, which she takes regularly as a long-acting treatment for pain. Nancy also gently suggests that going on Roxanol, a liquid morphine that works in 15 minutes and is designed to treat episodic flare-ups of pain, would give Carol marked relief. But Carol doesn't want to be "loopy." Taking Roxanol is like giving in. She won't do it. Not yet.

Nancy says the tumor is pressing on Carol's organs and bones as it grows, making space for itself, literally feeding off her.

"I know you don't really want it, but one of these days you are going to call me and you're hurting, and it will be here,” Nancy says, ordering the prescription.

Nancy also wants Carol to consider a visit from a hospice social worker and volunteers. Carol doesn't want that. Having to wait around for more people to visit would keep her from meeting friends for lunch or going out with Mary Core, one of her newer friends. A nurse in one of Carol's doctors' offices, Mary regularly picks her up for outings of late.

Carol tells Nancy how her husband has begun doing the vacuuming for her, since it hurts her to. Keeping a tidy house always has been important to Carol, and having to give it up has been hard.

Carol also keeps little notes, reminding herself of things she doesn't want to forget. Some have questions for Nancy, some are for Pat. The notes are everywhere — on the table, counter and refrigerator and by the phone.

She reviews her questions for Nancy, then talks about how sad she's been, concerned for her husband and her kids.

"I always wanted Becky and Natalie to have a good life,” she says. "You never stop worrying about them.”

Carol talks about how her quality of life is slipping away. She's told Nancy that when the time comes that she can no longer care for herself, she wants to check into Munson Hospice House. She does not want to die at home.

Meanwhile, at Carol's request, Nancy gets clearance to come twice a week. Carol feels better knowing she'll be back again in a few days.

Coming Monday: Bittersweet holidays