Hi Ho Hi Ho it off to hospice we go

Today I spoke to the Palliative Doc and we discussed the weekend. We had mishelly home again and it was a little scary. She fell and could not get back up. She sure tried but in the end Jess and I had to pick her up. She vomited Saturday night before going home. Fortelling another obstruction It was obvious that she was not feeling well at all. I called Sunday morning and she sounded terrible. I thought for sure she would stay in the hospital Sunday. Then a few hours later she called. She said she had shit, showered and shaved and was ready to be picked up. Again, I am stunned at her fortitude. I picked her up and dropped her off at home. I gave her a full body massage and wanted to cry at the extent of muscle deteriation. By diner time she looking dreadful and I was unsure if she was going to make it through. But of course she did!
The Doc and the social worker both agreed that it would be too hard to bring her home. Her needs are too great to be met from us. I feel like I have failed her by not looking after her. The Doc said we needed to talk her into going into hospice. I hate these talks with Mishelle. I feel like we are forcing her to see the truth and it breaks my heart to see her like this. She totally thinks she is going to get better. We are dumbfounded by this refusal to come to terms with her situation. She simply will not be broken. Her spirit refuses to accept that she is not long for this world. The more this disease pushes her the harder she pushes back. She just keeps fighting. She see’s that her muscles are gone and she tries to lift weights to help get them back. She can’t pee without a catheter so she teaches herself how to do it. She can’t walk but she gets to that wheel chair and gets outside. I doubt I would have lasted as long.
The Doc used his usual tact and expertise to help her decide to go to hospice. Most people if told they were going to a hospice would crack or break down. Not Mishelle. And so, I feel as if I have betrayed her once again and now she will not be going home. I hope this is the right move.
There are brief times when I feel shear panic and terror. It reaches in and grabs my heart and squeezes, for a moment I can’t breathe. It always catches me off guard. Like when I am blowing my hair dry and a sudden image of her sitting at my table looking like she may drop, knowing she can tell we see it and watching her use every ounce of strength she can manage to pretend everything is okay. I try very hard not to focus on how her body is changing. In the last week, we have seen some pretty significant changes. She is so very very thin now. Her face is so small. Her belly is so very distended. She tries to eat but I can just tell that her body will not allow it. She believes that to eat is to live and she is trying to feed that need. Most of the time that I spend with her, I just accept that I can’t change any of the things that she is going through. I take control; I remain calm and never let her see how scared I am inside. She never cry’s … never. I don’t get that either. She has innocence about her, like a little kid would have. She is always cheerful when I get to the hospital. Her face lights up because right now those of us who come to her are her whole life. The Doc tells me to stop spending so much time here. But I feel like she is all alone and then I feel bad. I think of her house and all the things in it, I can’t imagine her not being in the middle of it all. All her hopes and dreams and aspirations, the things that brought her joy. All there without her. Perhaps it’s the fact that she continues to look for reassurance that she will beat this thing. Reassurance we can’t give her. She has spent the last 10 months in extreme pain and I guess on some level I am glad that we can see the finish line. As tough as she is, it still really sucks to watch her go through it.
Last night I stayed up all night wondering who would be my person when she is gone. My person is being pulled away from me and I don’t know who I will turn to when I am scared or when I feel like I can’t go on. There is no one who loves me or understands me like she does. We were supposed to grow old together and now I sit here and watch her breathing. It’s slow and irregular and labored.
But, it’s not all about me…..for now I will pull myself together so she doesn’t see me cry.

So, it’s off to hospice we go. It will take a few days to a week to get her in. We had to pick from 3 and who ever has room will take her. I will post again if anything should come up before that and will post when we get the call for hospice.