It's been a lot of less than stellar news out of hospice lately. In time, so long as I intend to remain honest (and I do), that is inevitable. I have low days, I feel the pain of loss of my outside life. But I mark little milestones, celebrate little pleasures, and do my best to be a little silly every day.
I don't always succeed. Succeeding isn't the point. Remembering that I have tried before and can try again is whats been keeping me going.
In April, I finished what would turn out to be my final cycle of chemotherapy.
In April, I was hospitalized in Midland, Ontario, for the first time for a partially obstructed bowel.
In April, I finally relocated from Midland, Ontario, my home for a decade, to Elliot Lake, Ontario, my parents' home for the same time period, and a place where they could assist in my increasing care needs.
In July, the obstructed bowel reoccured, canceling my Great Canadian Roadtrip Adventure, landing me back in hospital.
Briefly, for a couple hours, I was clear of this condition. But it quickly returned, I returned to hospital, and we made the difficult decision to end most interventions and transfer to hospice.
It is now late September. I've been in hospice for 76 days. I called the apartment I moved into back in April home for 76 days. I've lived in hospice half my time here.
I don't really know what to think or make of this, but I've had some fudge procured to celebrate, for a milestone is a milestone, even when it's a confusing one.