I’m not sure how I feel about that title, but we’re going to go with it.

It occurred to me the other day how lucky we are (????) that Brock and I are only 38 and 37 years old, as we deal with his having terminal cancer. Specifically: those of us who will someday die a gradual death, due to aging or a progressive disease, will naturally get weaker and weaker as our bodies slowly fail. For someone as sick as Brock is, even having a conversation or sitting tires him out.

Sometimes he doesn’t have enough energy to swallow water.

Take a moment and think about how tired you’d have to be, to not be able to swallow.

Normally, someone at this stage in their life is in their eighties or older. Their spouse (if they have one) and friends are around the same age, with their own health challenges. Their parents are deceased. Maybe they have some children, or even grandchildren, who aren’t estranged, who live nearby or who are able/willing to relocate, and who have the work/life freedom to be able to take on the role of caregiver.

Brock, being 38, has a healthy, able-bodied wife of 37 to support him all day, every day. He has healthy, able-bodied parents, in-laws, a brother and sister-in-law. His friends are generally between 25-60 years old.

So when Brock needs help getting up from his Lazy Boy, I’m there — either to pull him up, or to carry over the walker that will lever him vertical. I can move his oxygen tanks up and down the stairs, no problem. I can carry a comfortable folding chair for him to use at the farmers’ market, or when we go to the park with Isaac, along with his bag of supplies.

If we need reinforcements, we have our family and friends on stand-by. Easy peasy.

Now consider the 87-year-old childless widower who is in the final stage of his life, who is sometimes too weak to swallow and who lives alone. Who does he have to keep him company? Who will switch over his oxygen source when there’s a power outage in the middle of the night? Who will help him up from his Lazy Boy recliner?

Hooray for Hospice

We did an on-camera interview with local filmmaker Nick Versteeg and Shelley from Cowichan Hospice on Friday. The video will be part of a fundraising campaign to build a proper hospice house with seven rooms for people who are dying and who (for whatever reason) can’t or don’t want to die at home or in the hospital. People and their caregivers will be able to stay there through the dying process, getting  the professional health care and support they need without having to be in an institutional, loud, chaotic hospital. Currently, there is only one full-service bed like this in Cowichan.

Victoria has a hospice house. I’ve heard only good things from the families in my support group that have used Victoria Hospice. Brock and I would love to see a similar resource in Cowichan, which is why we agreed to be part of their video project.

Because not everyone has a 37-year-old spouse to take care of them.

I see Brock losing his strength and mobility, and I suspect I’ll only really understand what he’s going through when I’m at that stage myself: with luck, at eighty-something. With luck, Isaac or a grandchild will be there to care for me at home, or I’ll have a hospice house to go to.

And sometimes I feel lucky that, even though I won’t be able to have Brock with me for the next fifty years, I’m able to watch him grow old now. It’s like we’re living one of those magic-realism Hollywood stories, Benjamin Button-style, and his life has been fast-forwarded while mine has stayed real-time. I am grateful that I’m able to help take care of the man I love when he needs me.

(For more information on the Cowichan Hospice House project, click here.)