Dear Friends and Family,
Since I am at work, I have to write quickly. It is hard to type because my mind is racing a bit too fast for my hands. Additionally, my hands are uncontrollably shaking with excitement.
Jayna just called. There were no surprises at the hospital this morning and Nancy is in the car beside her. The back seat of the car and trunk are filled to the brim with room decorations because Jayna arranged the car so that Nancy can recline (and sleep) if she wants to or has the need to rest.
So far, all Nancy wants to do is feel the warm sunshine on her skin, comment on the buildings and flowers and people, and roll down the window so the wind can blow on her face. She wants to smell the fresh scent of summer flowers from the fields on either side of the highway ascending the canyon leading home, too. She and Jayna are singing along with the radio, and Jayna tells me Nancy is dancing in her seat.
I am sad not to be with them now and even sadder that I won’t be there when Nancy walks into our bedroom. But I can see in my mind’s eye the look on her face when she first sees our new bed. (Thirty-five days must have been an eternity for Nancy to be confined to her rather small hospital room.)
My shift ends early so I will be home for dinner. As has occurred each and every day since Nancy was hospitalized, a friend and supporter has provided dinner. Nancy has so many friends. I have witnessed and been the recipient of more kindness this past month than I ever expected in ten lifetimes. (Tonight’s meal includes rib eye steak—Nancy’s favorite and one containing lots of protein and iron. Thanks, Joannie!)
A few answers to questions you have recently sent me:
(1) Nancy is now able to have “live” flowers, and if you want to send a card during the next seventeen glorious days, use our home (Woodland) address.
(2) When I ask Nancy what she wants to do, at the top of her list is reading your (already received) best wishes, letters, and emails. My feeble attempt to read a paragraph here and there before her slumber each night has been inadequate, and I look forward to rereading them to or with her.
(3) Should you call Nancy? This is a tough one because I really don’t know the answer. My plan is this: feel free to call our home phone. There will be a phone in our bedroom, where I expect Nancy will spend most of her initial days; it will be unplugged unless she chooses otherwise. We may or may not answer in one of the other rooms depending on what we are doing. Even if we don’t answer, there is an answering machine, and I know she will enjoy listening to any message you leave. I suspect at some point Nancy will have enough extra strength to converse. Right now, she plans on putting her total energy into preparations for the next round of chemotherapy.
(4) I will address your requests for potential visits as soon as I have a better understanding of this new phase.
As usual, dial or write with any questions or thoughts. My mobile phone won’t work when I am in Woodland, because the electrons don’t reach that far for “technological” reasons that for some reason are beyond my comprehension.
Summary: Finally, today is the day Nancy leaves the hospital and returns home.
All my love,
Winnie