Black Holes

If Boulder or Bust was posed as a question to the Lawler family, we would emphatically scream Bust! Yesterday, Craig's energy crept lower than Saturday's and far too low to trouble with traveling 30 minutes to Pearl Street to watch funky people parade about in a funky setting. Why travel when we can bring funky to him? We drove the short distance to watch a funky IMAX show on Black Holes in the Denver Planetarium. I can't recall the name but it happens to be the same place where we toured the Body World exhibit and its plasticized cadavers just before Craig had his kidney surgery more than two years ago. Two years ago, I recall standing beside him as he stared at a person's cancer consumed kidney, and listened to him relate to his own kidney cancer (what we now refer to as ‘baby cancer' considering the goliath he's battling now). Days later, he had surgery, got through it, and began his path to recovery. It was beyond a surreal experience pushing Craig's wheelchair through doors and hallways instead of following his confident steps.

We enjoyed a 30 minute IMAX show on Black Holes, Super Novas, Worm Holes and the like and, though we were mesmerized, we left with more questions than answers. Craig's number one question was, "why was he so tired?" Avoiding the obvious answer, we joked "the Black Hole probably sucked your energy!"

It's true. We've said it before but Craig is growing more and more tired. It's not just "sleepy tired" but something deeper, something different. His hospice nurse visited today and noted he looked better than he did on Thursday, but his heart rate is a staggering 124. She mentioned that this likely indicates that he's floating in and out of heart failure, and that his heart is working overtime to keep up with the cancer and to protect his organs. He's not necessarily at risk for a heart attack but a fast heart rate is one step further in the "dying process" -- one that might invoke increased fatigue, changes in respiration and decreased circulation. Circulation changes in his arms and legs have begun, though not nearly to the point of our mom's, which image still haunts me to this day. 

It's a strange feeling to try to describe or define. There just aren't words to properly articulate the sense of reluctantly waiting for something. It is as if you look outside to see a storm slowly encroaching on the horizon. You carry on with your daily life keeping one eye locked on the storm's path, preparing for its impact. It seems for us there's an event on the horizon we know awaits us, and we unwillingly wait for it - not happily, not in an anticipatory way, and certainly not idly, but waiting nonetheless. It's as if we're running in quicksand, gaining no progress and no forward movement except in the wrong, southwardly direction. We try everything in our power to change the days, to brighten them in the shadows of this that follows Craig, but some days the symptoms (namely fatigue) are too much.

The days aren't particularly busy with tasks, yet they feel full with tension surrounding the changes that each new day brings. Still, we go on with daily living and planning our next memorable acitivity with Craig, despite "battening down the hatches". The question is whether we have enough two-by-fours to weather the storm. ~E