I just spent the last couple hours making sure a little helicopter finds its way to the promised land with my index finger. The little sucker never runs out of gas.
Link to lifelong Carpel Tunnel Syndrome:
THE HELICOPTER GAME
Jul 24, 2002
Jul 21, 2002
September by Rosamunde Pilcher
Death is nothing at all. It does not count. I have only slipped away into the next room. Nothing has happened. Everything remains exactly as it was. I am I, and you are you, and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged. Whatever we were to each other, that we are still. Call me by the old familiar name. Speak of me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference into your tone. Wear no forced air of solemnity of sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me, pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was. Let it be spoken without effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was. There is absolute and unbroken continuity. What is this death, but a negligible accident? Why should I be put out of mind because I am out of sight? I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just around the corner. All is well.
-Quoted by our friends at the wonderful Radiation Oncology Department at El Camino Hospital, Mtn. View, CA.
Death is nothing at all. It does not count. I have only slipped away into the next room. Nothing has happened. Everything remains exactly as it was. I am I, and you are you, and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged. Whatever we were to each other, that we are still. Call me by the old familiar name. Speak of me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference into your tone. Wear no forced air of solemnity of sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me, pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was. Let it be spoken without effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was. There is absolute and unbroken continuity. What is this death, but a negligible accident? Why should I be put out of mind because I am out of sight? I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just around the corner. All is well.
-Quoted by our friends at the wonderful Radiation Oncology Department at El Camino Hospital, Mtn. View, CA.
Jul 12, 2002
Something happened a couple years ago. It almost seemed like you became extremely wise. A more likely scenario: I began to listen. I don’t remember exactly what you said, and I probably should have written it down, but I do know that whenever I had a problem, after talking to you I always knew what the right thing to do was, even if you didn’t explicitly say it. I remember being amazed more than a few times after you’d got off the phone with me or left the room after talking to me because of the clarity you brought to any problems I had. Of course! It’s so simple!
It was through this disease that became a part of your life that you learned many lessons; lessons that you passed on to every person you came into contact with, be it for minutes or for months. I know our family in particular has learned these lessons first-hand through the example you set for us by fighting through your pain with a smile on your face. Many times you didn’t have the energy to speak. Your voice was very soft and sometimes I think that it became that way for a reason: it was not because of the cancer, but because the things you had to say were so important that we had to lean in a little, and listen intently to hear it.
You gave many people the opportunity to know how it feels to really help someone, and I’ve slowly realized that no matter how small the deed, the appreciation is, many times, multiplied on the other end. Some of the other things I’ve learned I cannot put into words, and some lessons I probably have yet to fully comprehend, but as I live my life and keep in my mind all that I have heard, seen, and felt these past years with you, these lessons will become clear at the right times—I’ve no doubt in that. And from the stories I hear from your friends I believe they feel the same way. Selflessly, you fought through your disease for years just to pass on these lessons. Thank you for everything. I love you very much.
I picture you smiling because that is how youlooked every moment of your last years here with us. I know that you are in a better place. To me, you were my mom: a warm, loving, beautiful, intelligent, courageous and amazing young woman that I am proud to have known.
It was through this disease that became a part of your life that you learned many lessons; lessons that you passed on to every person you came into contact with, be it for minutes or for months. I know our family in particular has learned these lessons first-hand through the example you set for us by fighting through your pain with a smile on your face. Many times you didn’t have the energy to speak. Your voice was very soft and sometimes I think that it became that way for a reason: it was not because of the cancer, but because the things you had to say were so important that we had to lean in a little, and listen intently to hear it.
You gave many people the opportunity to know how it feels to really help someone, and I’ve slowly realized that no matter how small the deed, the appreciation is, many times, multiplied on the other end. Some of the other things I’ve learned I cannot put into words, and some lessons I probably have yet to fully comprehend, but as I live my life and keep in my mind all that I have heard, seen, and felt these past years with you, these lessons will become clear at the right times—I’ve no doubt in that. And from the stories I hear from your friends I believe they feel the same way. Selflessly, you fought through your disease for years just to pass on these lessons. Thank you for everything. I love you very much.
I picture you smiling because that is how youlooked every moment of your last years here with us. I know that you are in a better place. To me, you were my mom: a warm, loving, beautiful, intelligent, courageous and amazing young woman that I am proud to have known.
Jul 6, 2002
WITH A LITTLE HELP FROM YOUR FRIENDS
I don't know what I'd do without you guys right now...thanks for all the support.
My mom's friends come at a constant influx--with food for her, food for us, all their sincere & heartfelt condolences and love. It really is appreciated. She loves you all too, even though she can't tell you so right now. She's been fighting for 8 years now and couldn't possibly have made it through this far without you all. Thank you with all the love in our hearts.
-The Chen Family
I don't know what I'd do without you guys right now...thanks for all the support.
My mom's friends come at a constant influx--with food for her, food for us, all their sincere & heartfelt condolences and love. It really is appreciated. She loves you all too, even though she can't tell you so right now. She's been fighting for 8 years now and couldn't possibly have made it through this far without you all. Thank you with all the love in our hearts.
-The Chen Family
Jul 5, 2002
PLEASE CHECK IF YOU WANT GRAVY
patient: Hello...?
cna: Mr. C, I'm gonna feed ya. Are you hungry?
patient: Yes, yes. Hungry.
cna: We have salmon tonight!
patient: No, no...
cna: You don't like salmon?
patient: No, no...No salmon.
cna: It's poached!
patient: No...
cna: Well, we have some chicken broth, you want some soup?
patient: (pauses, thinks over response carefully) Do you have muffins?
cna: No, Mr. C, we don't have muffins for dinner.
patient: Can you buy?
cna: No Mr. C, I cannot go buy them.
patient: I pay you...then you go buy.
cna: Sorry Mr. C, I can't even buy them for you.
patient: What about pancakes?
patient: Hello...?
cna: Mr. C, I'm gonna feed ya. Are you hungry?
patient: Yes, yes. Hungry.
cna: We have salmon tonight!
patient: No, no...
cna: You don't like salmon?
patient: No, no...No salmon.
cna: It's poached!
patient: No...
cna: Well, we have some chicken broth, you want some soup?
patient: (pauses, thinks over response carefully) Do you have muffins?
cna: No, Mr. C, we don't have muffins for dinner.
patient: Can you buy?
cna: No Mr. C, I cannot go buy them.
patient: I pay you...then you go buy.
cna: Sorry Mr. C, I can't even buy them for you.
patient: What about pancakes?
PEACHES
It's kind of like peaches. They will be nice and ripe, but then when you leave it for a while they start getting a little soft, then softer. You put it down in one position and it starts bruising there. You try all of these different positions and eventually it starts bruising there too and you realize that soon you won't even be able to enjoy it anymore. So enjoy your peach, every drop & morsel that you can, at the right time. You'll remember how it tasted. She certainly did.
I love you, Mom.
It's kind of like peaches. They will be nice and ripe, but then when you leave it for a while they start getting a little soft, then softer. You put it down in one position and it starts bruising there. You try all of these different positions and eventually it starts bruising there too and you realize that soon you won't even be able to enjoy it anymore. So enjoy your peach, every drop & morsel that you can, at the right time. You'll remember how it tasted. She certainly did.
I love you, Mom.
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