When It Rains . . .

So I imagine many have experienced this, hence the old saying "when it rains, it pours."

I have experienced this first hand several times in my recent past, clusters of bad news or happenings. In my case it's generally death-related.

And it sucks.

This will be a very depressing entry so I don't blame you if you bail on it now, but I have to vent since it's 'raining' again.

My sister's stepson 'started' the first downpour. He drowned while boating with his parents and young family. They were in the Mississippi River swimming when he suddenly said, "Mom, I can't make it" and went under. His little sister was close to him and she tried to get him to hold on to her. For whatever reason, he didn't/couldn't and he drowned, leaving behind a young wife and two baby girls.

I lost my mother to breast cancer August 9, 1999, after a five-year battle. Not that I wasn't prepared for the eventual outcome. Her type of cancer had a 50/50 survival rate and I, being the pessimist that I am, prepared myself mentally for the worst. I always figure if you're prepared for the worst, then good news is always that much better, while the bad news is eased by not smacking you aside the head with a 2 x 4.

My little sister was an optimist during Mom's illness and her eventual death was a blow she's never recovered from. She has cut herself off from her family almost entirely and that's sad. We all miss her so much. She brought so much to our family.

My little brother, too, was greatly affected my our mother's death. She was his lifeline as he was an alcoholic bipolar. He got married the summer before Mom died. We'd hoped that his bride would give him the support and comfort and understanding that Mom was providing. Unfortunately not as she was too immature and selfish. After Mom died, she demanded that he choose his family (and his support system) or her -- he couldn't have both. The lack of family support and the selfishness of his wife created a situation that he couldn't handle.

He committed suicide June 16, 2003, on his 40th birthday after his wife walked out on him in her continuing power struggle to control his life and cut his family out.

Again, not something I was surprised to hear of, his suicide. I'd been preparing for it since he was in his early twenties. He used to call me when he was in a depressed state, drunk and threatening suicide. But he was reaching out as he really didn't want to do it. We'd be on the phone for hours, until he sobered up and got the emotional support he needed. When his wife had him choose, she cut off that emotional support system. And I blame her for his suicide.

My dad had bad kidneys from an illness in his childhood. Just before Mom died, he had surgery to 'install' a shunt for kidney dialysis and he started soon after her funeral. I went to pick him up and go out to dinner with him once a week after his dialysis. Someone had to be with him until it was certain that his arm had clotted off. (He also suffered from blood clots and was on massive doses of blood thinners which caused him to start gushing blood from the needle holes after dialysis.)

In November 2003, he received a kidney transplant. Everyone thought it was a great idea. Everyone but me. Dad went along for the ride and since his heart wasn't committed to it, he fell into depression shortly after the surgery.

A lot of the depression came from the major change in his routine. Dad liked to sleep in -- most days until almost noon. It didn't help that he stayed up 'til all hours watching stuff he'd taped on two different VCRs. We tried to convince him to either not tape so much or to watch it in the daylight hours by getting up earlier. He was like a baby with his days and nights mixed up. His anti-rejection regime required him to get up by 8:00 am and take his 17 pills with food. If he could have just rolled over and taken them with water while staying in bed, he would have been more compliant.

He also didn't want anyone helping him except 'his girls'. Well, his girls had families, jobs, and a life besides daddy. We tried several times to get someone to clean his house. He managed to make them all quit within a month. We tried to get home health care CNAs in to help him bathe and do his therapy. Nope, no good. I'm sorry, but bathing my father just wasn't a comfortable thing to do. He didn't want his friends coming over to visit. He didn't want to go out to eat with them or go to the theater. He didn't want to cook for himself. It was a mess.

In February, 2004, he suffered a brain bleed. That's what they called it. Never classified it as a stroke or anything like that. It was my day to spend with him and I found a cop and my brother-in-law with him in his living room. He was having trouble recalling things like phone numbers or the emergency call button on the necklace he wore.

He went into the hospital and sunk into a coma for over two weeks. Several times we thought we were going to lose him but since he didn't have a DNR on file, they did everything to save him. My sister, the RN, had his medical power of attorney but she couldn't let him go. They inserted a gastric feeding tube that he promptly and continually pulled out when he finally regain consciousness.

But he wasn't the same man. The bleeding in his brain caused major brain damage. He could no longer communicate. He couldn't swallow to eat. He had to wear a diaper because he had no control over his bodily functions. He couldn't walk and could barely sit up. If his brain was at all aware of his surroundings and of what he couldn't do, he was in Hell. We had to put him in a nursing facility after the hospital would no longer keep him.

That was his worst fear -- being in a nursing home. Thankfully, he didn't last long. He died one morning alone in a hallway in his wheelchair. That was May, 2004.

In the midst of my dad's illness, my 'heart dog' Samantha Jo, my first border collie was diagnosed with lymphosarcoma in February 2004. I decided against chemo for her on various grounds and the prognosis was maybe three months. I got lucky and got almost seven. She suffered a grand mal seizure just before midnight and we put her down early September 2nd. She was not even 8 years old.

Then Labor Day weekend, 2006, my 17 year old nephew came home from school and instead of going to work killed himself in his home. His sister found him. He suffered from depression but seemed to have had a great weekend, going to a Cubs game with his mom and stepdad and then watching his Bears play a preseason game with his dad. No one saw it coming.

Then the rain went away for a while.

But in February of 2008, my niece was diagnosed with a very rare muscle cancer. And rare cancers have a very poor prognosis. She had surgery to remove the mass and surrounding muscle in her leg on August 11th, the anniversary of Mom's funeral. This past June, the cancer returned in her lung. Fortunately they were able to remove it.

Her twin sister (identical) suffered a miscarriage at 10 weeks, and has just suffered another, only this time at 20 weeks. She had to actually deliver the baby. She almost died from complications and is now suffering the loss of her daughter and the possibility that she'll never carry a baby to term. The worst is that it seems that it's her own body that is killing her babies. She has a uterine defect that doesn't allow the placenta to attach firmly enough for blood flow to the fetus. She is very distraught.

And now her twin sister has just been told that she once again has cancer in her lungs, only this time it is inoperable. Her oncologist (cold bastard that he is) came into her hospital room and told her that she should go home and prepare to die, that any experimental treatment that she had been considering was a waste of time. She is only 30 years old.

And now my friend also has a rare muscle cancer and no family support system as she is an only child with only a 90 year old mother. I'm not sure I can go thru another round with cancer, especially another one with a poor prognosis.

God help her, my nieces, my brother, my family, me.

When ir rains, it pours.