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Dec. 14th 2001
James
This will be a mixed
up email, because the interruptions are many and frequent, and because
James' condition rapidly changes.
Yesterday the super soakers
started arriving, and soon the end of James' bed was piled with
giant water guns. James awoke, grinned, and uttered a quiet "Hi
Dad" and then "Wow!" as he saw the arsenal. But then we were unable
to go further, and draping the room with plastic for a water fight
became an idea best forgotten. Pain under control, but James too
weak for much more than watching a movie with Pam. He enjoyed "Land
before Time 8", sharing all kinds of astute comments with Pam. I
walk past with a dirty furnace filter. "What's that Dad? How does
it work?" His mind buzzes along, never missing a beat.
The day was filled with
new memories, some shocking and others beautiful. In the morning
James sleeps in, and every unexplained noise causes me to leap to
my feet and move to the family room to gee if the noise was James.
Usually it was Bigsby, moaning or growling in some exciting dog
dream, or perhaps it was the creak of a door being closed.
I will treasure the half
hour during which he allowed me to hold his hand as we watched the
kids TV show Art Attack. I reach out tentativeley from the sofa
and lay my hand on one of the pillows surrounding and padding him.
Usually these days he pushes you away, as any touch adds to his
discomfort, but this time I am lucky. He reaches out to find my
hand, his fingers wrapping firmly around three of mine, unexpectedly
strong for one so ill. While he watches and gets on with the show,
I go in a different direction, and seek to fix the details of this
hand holding session in my memory, the gentle strength of his grip,
the warmth of his small hand, the way his child's hand fits into
my adult hand.
We spend a lot of time
reading in the evening. Lots of stories from our battered Children's
Bible. It's beautifully illustrated, and as I hold up a picture
James says "I like that one." We read of Jesus calming the storm,
Jesus calling the children to him, Jesus calling the disciples,
the miracle of the water into wine. Somehow I don't have the courage
to hold up the pictures of Jesus performing miraculous healings
for James to choose, and I pass by the healing of Jairus's daughter,
but we read the crucifixion and the resurrection accounts .
The growing medical
concern of the day is the urine output. The catheter appears blocked.
We flush with saline, it works for a while, it stops, we put in
a new catheter, no improvement. We understand the implications all
too well. There are no emergencies anymore. Dr Beamish arrives this
morning and it seems clear that James is in secondary renal failure.
His right kidney was removed with the tumour three years ago. As
always, Sick Kids phones to check that all is as well as can be.
Our friends there have been a great comfort to us. So here we are
at last, the final stretch. Two or three days? This morning was
rough, he awoke in much pain, rejecting all our efforts to comfort
him. "I can't stand it when you put your hand on my head!" We administer
this pain med and that one, add a warm bean bag here, another there,
and he begins to calm down and asks us to read to him."More bible
stories please." He sleeps. The rest of us slip out of the room
have a big cry in the kitchen.
James has awoken, and
I end this note abruptly.
Syd
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