An obituary, of sorts
Filed in Being ill - January 29, 2008Christian (aka Potentilla) isn’t dead, but her life as an independent person has come to an end. As independence was one of the defining features of her life, then this is an obituary, of sorts.
When, in 2002, we agreed to go an live in a remote place in the Scottish Highlands, the idea was to give work a miss for a while and spend the remainder of our youth climbing the mountains we were always too busy to climb before. Christian was diagnosed as metastatic in December 2002, in between us buying our house and moving in. She never really fully recovered from the treatments in early 2003 and although we managed to do some good stuff, the mountains were beyond her.
The emotional rollercoaster has followed the medical one since then. In April 2003 she was told to expect to live for weeks rather than months. Her doctor at the time was a Professor at the Royal Marsden hospital and he become the first of many doctors to be surprised by Christian’s resilience. There was a look of pure astonishment on his face when we attended one of his clinic appointments later that year. Christian walked into his office carrying her flight bag (we’d flown from Scotland) looking, if not fit and healthy, then at least mistakable for same. His patients simply didn’t do that, so the diagnosis was shifted slightly and other doctors became involved – some of whom became similarly astonished over the years.
Medical crises came and went. We learned to take opportunities that arose and not be disappointed by plans that had to be cancelled. If you’ve been reading this blog over time you’ll know that she hated to see belligerent language used. This was not a fight against cancer, this was life with cancer. Something to get on with as best as possible. Rage and anger were just a waste of time.
Throughout these last weeks she has focussed on getting well enough to come home again – telling, for example, the night sister on her ward that I was about to arrive to collect her (when, in fact, I was about to arrive to make sure she was comfortable for the night). This had been the pattern over the years – a medical crisis would happen and would be dealt with and then I would come and take her home where we would work on her diet and getting her strength back to the point we could resume some life resembling ‘normal’. Only this time it is different. This time she can literally not even sit up in bed without assistance. She can’t move without being attached to an oxygen supply and even at full rest, without oxygen she noticeably loses her logical rational abilities after a few minutes. We are currently waiting for a bed to become free (yes, that is as macabre as it sounds) at the local hospice in the hope that she might be a bit more comfortable there than on the ward in the busy hospital.
If you haven’t worked this out, this is Colin writing. It’s my first post on this part of the site. ‘Metastases’ was Christian’s way of communicating with friends and getting things straight in her own mind. She is particularly proud of the post titles…
Talking of friends, I am indebted to friends old and new. Old friends who have stuck with us and new friends who have come along despite the obvious potential for an emotional overhead. In a twist to the old saying that you don’t know who your friends are until you need them, I’ve found that the world quickly shakes down into two sorts of people. There are those who, when presented with the news of somebody else’s distress immediately ask what they can do to help, and there are those who explain at length how the news impacts upon them. The latter group is surprisingly large. Anyway, no names here, but friends, my thanks.
I’ve no idea whether Christian will now live for hours, days, weeks, or months. All I know is that I plan to make her her morning coffee (latte now, not cappuccino, because the froth doesn’t survive the drive to the hospital) just like I have daily for twenty six years. I hope that she does indeed go gently (look at September 2006 in the sidebar).
We never did climb those mountains. I hope you climb yours before it is too late.
Colin: I’m terribly sorry. As you probably already know, there is a thread dedicated to Potentilla in the The Philosopher’s Magazine Blog. We’ll keep communicating with both of you there. Amos
January 29, 2008 @ 9:45 pm
Colin, this is not just an obituary of sorts, it is a testimony of the strength of your love for each other and the tremendous unfailing support you have given to Christian, may God bless you both with peace in your hearts.
Helen
January 29, 2008 @ 10:51 pm
Colin – thanks so much for going to the trouble of keeping us updated at this difficult time. Our thoughts are with you and Christian…
January 30, 2008 @ 12:21 am
I’m so sorry to hear about this. Please pass on a hello from Japan.
Also, Colin, thank you, for your practical unsentimentality in your caring for Christian. Having a partner who ‘gets it’ is enormously important, as I know from my own experience with illness.
January 30, 2008 @ 4:54 am
I am heartbroken.
I want to send my love to you both and to your family. I wish I could do more. love to you both from Canada.
January 30, 2008 @ 5:08 am
Keep strong Colin. It’s a bummer having to watch someone you love slip away, and there being nothing you can do. I hope she has a peaceful end. Our tears must be for what she is missing in this life.
Phil
January 30, 2008 @ 7:13 am
Colin,
My thoughts are with both of you. I deeply admire the fortitude and bravery you have both shown through these pages, which are an inspiration and a source of strength to me, and I’m sure many others, who are a dealing with similar situations.
David
January 30, 2008 @ 7:57 am
I only know Christian through Dr Crippen and occasional recipe-related email exchanges, but I like her very much. Please send her my love and tell her that I will be forever indebted to her for the Slothful Cook archives.
January 30, 2008 @ 8:07 am
I won’t forget Christian, who told me all about how to grow Potentilla in orkney; I’ll have one every year for her – I came to know you both late – ish on, but you both taught me a lot, mostly about unsentimentality – in which spirit – get rest, Colin, when you can. Snow’s forecast.
January 30, 2008 @ 9:55 am
Hang on in there both of you. Hope the hospice place is sorted out real quick.
January 30, 2008 @ 9:59 am
Thank you so much for this post which must have been so hard to write.
I worked with Christian many years ago in London, when she took me under her wing and taught me an enormous amount, about independence of thought, and being, among many other things.
My thoughts are with you.
Jennifer
January 30, 2008 @ 10:43 am
From where I’m sitting you climbed a lot of mountains…
XX
January 30, 2008 @ 3:15 pm
I don’t want her to go at all, but “go gently” if you must go. I read the earlier entry from Sept. 2006 and Christian is as reasonable there as always. I hope the transition to hospice is smooth and that’s going to be a helpful place to be.
January 30, 2008 @ 3:22 pm
I just want to thank you for sharing with us, and showing us your strength and your love for life. Colin, Christian and you climb the mountain of life in a courageous and inspiring way.
You are in my thoughts ever since I came across this site accidentally, and you will remain so.
January 30, 2008 @ 3:25 pm
I know neither of you outside the writing on your blogs, but my heart goes out to you both.
January 30, 2008 @ 6:34 pm
Many of the things Christian has written have impressed me and will stay with me — her comments on “going gently” without rage, her tribute a few weeks ago to Yonder Peasant… You both have enriched the lives of people like me who have never met you, but admire your choices and your bravery.
scott
January 30, 2008 @ 7:24 pm
“Going Gently” is required reading. It is logical, makes sense and makes the reader (if they understand it) a better person. Thank you for opening my eyes and brain a little further. Life is a lesson and lessons learnt must be passed on. Thank you.
January 31, 2008 @ 2:26 pm
I only got to know you via your photo site,my daughter lost her Mum last July in our local Hospice.
Our thoughts go out to you at this time.
January 31, 2008 @ 7:41 pm
Don’t know you in ‘real life’, but have greatly enjoyed mulling over the NHS (and the rest) with Potentilla. She is a star. I hope and pray the hospice works out.
January 31, 2008 @ 8:22 pm
My heart goes out to you and Christian but it sounds like you’ve really come to grips with this and have been loving, faithful, and true. You and Christian have certainly climbed some steep mountains together. My thoughts are with you!!!
January 31, 2008 @ 10:14 pm
Colin, it is so good of you to post this, as it is to have kept us informed these last weeks. I, well, I am glad there is a chance of a hospice bed. And you are both in my thoughts.
February 1, 2008 @ 12:43 am
“And there’s another country, I’ve heard of long ago,
Most dear to them that love her, most great to them that know;
We may not count her armies, we may not see her King;
Her fortress is a faithful heart, her pride is suffering;
And soul by soul and silently her shining bounds increase,
And her ways are ways of gentleness, and all her paths are peace. “
I crossed swords — and often agreed — with Potentilla many times over at Dr Crippen’s, and every dual was a delight.
May gentle Christian find her peace.
DK
February 1, 2008 @ 5:05 am
I’m so so sorry to hear this. I’ve been reading this blog for a while and I’ve been so impressed by the way that christian came across as a woman who had cancer but wasn’t about to be defined by it. An inspiring lady indeed. I hope you get your hospice bed soon and that the end is as you both want. She is brave, brave lady who will be long remembered by many people, plenty of whom, like me, have never met her but have been impressed by her spirit and yours. Take care, Vicola
February 1, 2008 @ 8:53 am
I have just discovered your site and I just want to say that I pray that God will be with you during this difficult and challenging time. That He provides comfort and strength and I say thank you to people like Christian for sharing her story and being such an inspiration to the rest of us!
Lea White
Wellington, New Zealand
http://whitesinnz.blogspot.com
http://bravefighters.blogspot.com
February 1, 2008 @ 9:45 am
I too read Potentilla’s posts at Dr Crippen’s blog – they were worth reading.
February 1, 2008 @ 2:02 pm
I have enjoyed debating with Christian on several occasions on my own and Dr Crppen’s blog. Whether I agreed with her or not, her comments were always worth reading. I am so sad for the both of you.
February 1, 2008 @ 2:45 pm
First & foremost, I want to say peace & love to you both. This is my first time responding to you however, I have been tapping in to your blogs for a minute & I need to thank Christian for helping me as the son & first time primary caregiver of my mom. She has stage IV GI cancer & won’t talk about it or her final wishes. She stays angry & Christian played a major role in telling me what she is feeling. Thank you from Kevin in the South Bronx, NY.
February 1, 2008 @ 3:39 pm
Another admirer of Potentilla’s razor-sharp and gracious intellect. I have thoroughly enjoyed her perspectives and insights over at Dr Crippen and various science blogs.
In which spirit, and apropos the mention of latte/cappuccino, I feel that she would want me to mention a discussion about the protein content of milk and how this affects the longevity and quality/quantity of froth.
I should also admit that her recommendation was behind my first purchase of a Buff. A remarkable person whom it is a privilege to have come across, no matter how remotely.
February 1, 2008 @ 7:04 pm
I admit I originally came to your site for Photostream. But of course your feed includes posts from all parts of the site and, as time went on, I found myself – not unwillingly, but certainly without wilful intent – browsing the odd metastases post. And then I started following the medical updates, and feeling somehow cheered when each hospital visit or operation concluded successfully and daily life resumed. Christian’s posts on living with cancer, her gentle stoicism and her determination to continue making the most of each day have been an eye-opening and refreshing alternative to the overtly heroic or tragic cancer narratives so often presented in the media (however legitimate those may also be).
I will continue reading, and you are both in my thoughts at this difficult time. Don’t spill that coffee.
February 1, 2008 @ 8:24 pm
Second all that – sorry to hear the news. Have enjoyed conversing /sparring with, and been corrected/enlightened by, Christian/Potentilla on the blogs. Her voice there will be missed.
February 1, 2008 @ 8:27 pm
I wish there was something I could say or do that would help.
This morning I saw some mimosa blowing in the wind against a bright blue sky. It lifted my spirits.
I took a photo of it for you both. Somehow it seemed to the right thing to do. I will email it to you. I hope it might l lift your spirits too.
February 2, 2008 @ 9:17 pm
I’ve really enjoyed talking and debating (I sometimes think you’re there to keep me intellectually honest) – enjoy that coffee potentilla.
February 4, 2008 @ 4:14 pm
All the best!
February 5, 2008 @ 8:33 pm
I feel very privileged and humbled to have followed the tenderness and care that you have shown to each other. This openness should be an example for the rest of us in our dealings.
I am so sorry that we are not yet able to deal with Christian’s metastatic cancer effectively. I pray that some wisdom will come to us in time. I wish I could say “Check the magnesium level!, as the possible issue with her cerebral state. However, I know very well that she already has amongst the the finest physicians available anywhere. You have gone far beyond upturning every stone for therapy.
In all this the two of you have supported one another and it’s this beauty of caring, devotion, treasuring and valuing of another person that moves us all.
I really wish Christian better, but now mostly comfort to everyone in your whole family. My thoughts and prayers are with you.
Asher
February 29, 2008 @ 5:34 am
Colin, I’m so sorry. I just visited after a long absence to find out how things were going………..I don’t know what else to say. Just, I’m sorry.
John.
May 1, 2008 @ 7:50 am