She's Sherrie

Training, training, training.  We really had to keep a positive outlook.  It was grueling, and we had to stick together and keep our spirits up collectively.  One had to maintain a certain level of self-confidence.  If you didn't, if you doubt yourself, you might not have enough confidence to make it to the end of the training and graduate.  We were all determined to get our full-fledged service rep ears.  None of the four of us wanted to be sent back to our old jobs because we flunked out of class.  That was the only option, either that or quit.  We were not biting into that failure sandwich. Obviously, we started our training with the easy stuff and added more difficult pieces of the puzzle as we went along.  That meant that our time taking real phone calls from real customers increased as our skill level widened.  One of the more difficult parts of our training was dealing with customers who had delinquent bills or customers who passed the late phase and whose phones had now

So much heartache, how do you watch your strong, vibrant child fade away under the control of cancer?  How do you, as a mom, live over it?  Where do you get the strength to move past it?  What can you do to get past it?  I'm afraid that I don't have the answers to any of those questions.  It has been ten years since Jeff died, and I have not recovered from his loss.  It is insurmountable grief and sadness that follows you like a constant shadow, always present.  A noise, a smell, a thought can trigger an emotional avalanche that buries you.  I will never get past the horror, the sadness, the loss, or the "what ifs."  I have post-traumatic stress from the ordeal, yes absolutely diagnosed with PTSD.  The first two years after Jeff died, my head became a VCR, and vivid pictures and scenes from events that happened would kick on for no reason and play.  Sometimes, the same scene would play over and over.  It still happens but is usually triggered by an external event.

It was now time for Jeff to come home and be placed in Hospice care.  He wasn't aware of the significance of the change; in fact, he had been pretty much out of it for about a week.  I needed to go home and wait for the hospital equipment to be delivered. It was like moving the hospital to my house.  There was so much equipment.  There was an electric hospital bed, oxygen machine, wheelchair, IV poles, safety rails, and pretty much everything in the hospital room.  I had the young man set it up in Jeff's bedroom so he could be in a quiet location. Next, the hospice people showed up to set up his care plan.  This was unnerving for me, I guess, because it was the reality of accepting the end of his life smacking me in the face.  Part of the meeting was to brief me on what to expect regarding the deterioration of Jeff's health, the type of care he would get, and scheduling.  The medication was brought along, and they instructed me on the technicalities of each one.  I wa

After the chemo treatment, Jeff watched TV, converse, talk on the phone and even play games on the Playstation with his brother Kevin.  That was a vast improvement.  His pain was tolerable with low dose pills, not IV infused.  He was much better, but still could not eat. During the week of my visits with him after work, he continued to have a much better attitude.  I did notice that his energy level was lower every day.  He would switch back and forth between knowing how sick he was and forgetting that he had a terminal illness.  That was very disturbing to me, but I didn't correct him.  As long as he seemed to be improved, I would not do or say anything to make him feel hopeless. By the time Friday arrived, his pain level was starting to increase, and the doctor ordered him back on the pain injections of morphine.  He had started sleeping more again and talking less.  I was grateful for the few days that he had felt better and knew that it was just temporary.  When I would

Jeff presented with his company colors by his men.   Jeff slept most of the time; I was at the hospital with him.  He was heavily medicated all of the time.  I don't think he was even aware that I was there.  Maybe he did because a couple of weeks before he died, he told me that his brothers and I were the only people in the world that cared about him.  So maybe he knew. On weekends I would stay there until two or three in the morning.  It was, I guess, a death watch.  One of the cafeteria workers, an older lady, was always so concerned about him not eating.  Technically I suppose she had to leave the food, and when she would come back to pick up his untouched tray of food, she would get tears in her eyes.  She didn't really know exactly what his illness was.  One evening she asked me what was wrong with him.  "Terminal colon cancer."  She looked horrified, "How old is he?"  "Thirty-four."  "I'm so sorry; I knew it was something

Always open. The two months that I worked before Jeff finally was placed in hospice care were hell. My mind was with my child; my body was at work.  I would leave work and go to the hospital.  The earliest I ever left was 12:30 am.  I had to be up at 5:15 to get ready for work.   The sicker Jeff got, the longer I stayed.  There were crisis nights when I only had an hour's sleep. It took a toll on me; the stress and lack of sleep were my two constant companions. After Jeff's surgery and recovery time of 9 days, he was released.  He was pretty much back to his usual self for about five days and then began to feel ill again.  He was in pain, and it was increasing every day.  His last meal was on July 5, the day after coming home from the hospital.  He tried to eat, but it was making him sick and hurting his stomach.  He stopped eating altogether.  On the day he died, he weighed about 75 pounds; at the beginning of his illness, he weighed 220.  He drank coke or Slurpees; th

National Christm as Tree 1968 Christmas 1968 would be the last Christmas as a young, carefree, not quite an adult.  Each year relationships during high school changed.  My life, as well as my grouping of friends, changed as well.  Shelley had been closer during my first three years of high school, Judy was now closer to me.  We were seniors, and that did seem to make a difference in interests and maturity levels. Judy and I both participated in the Distributive Education or Work-Study program, meaning we only attended three classes a day and worked the remainder of the day.  That gave us a nice break depending on our work hours of anywhere from an hour to two and a half hours before we went to work.  We had a lot of pleasant long lunch hours with our classmates before we "clocked in." Somewhere in early October, Judy stayed with my mom and me for a while.  It was like having a sister, but one that you liked and got along with.  We both went to school and worked, and