Danger. Warning. Cancer Just Ahead

Chronicling this journey through widowhood continues to provide relief by sharing some dark days. Up until now, I’ve reflected back on soul-blistering events while writing about them. Events that happened on insignificant dates, randomly remembered on a day I was strong enough to think about them.

Something new is happening now, unexpected and surreal. Just one year ago, VST became sick. On all the unthinkable events remembered before now, there wasn’t the compounded memory of last year’s nightmare and today’s grief. Now it begins in earnest. The last of my widow’s journey through the first year.

One year ago, VST and I were still looking for our dream town and house. There were so many signs of illness. Looking back, the warnings had been stacking up for months, all there, so plain to see. At the time, we didn’t put the puzzle pieces together that spelled the word CANCER. We were too busy navigating trips and our lives. With no RV trip taken in weeks, we decided to give the true desert one last look as a possible home town.

Pahrump is a fascinating little place in a very dreary way. Many people work in Las Vegas and live there, making the daily hour-long commute. It’s a flat desertscape surrounded by beautiful mountains. The sunrise and sunsets are fantastical, the colors changing with the seasons. People there are tough. Desert sand runs through their veins and they take pride in being Pahrump-ites. Many famous people quietly live there hidden in the sage, because it’s the kind of place you go to be. Just be. No one is better than anyone else. Everyone just gets through the sweltering desert heat, to enjoy the remaining seasons that are pretty pleasant. There is one main road through town and a mixture of housing developments, increasing in number every year. POOF dirt has ruined many dreams. Pahrump isn’t a place for everyone.

Pahrump is a favorite winter destination for retirees from all the cold places in the country. Affordable and quiet, the snowbirds take over in the winter. RV parks are filled with rigs from Minnesota, Nebraska, and Idaho. They move in and the town takes on a different feel. Pahrump-ites are content to buy essentials from WalMart. They like Bingo, slots, and visiting. Nightlife begins at 4 with Early Bird Specials. The nights are dark and star filled.

VST and I liked Pahrump. I don’t think anyone can say they LOVE Pahrump. It’s just a place to kick up dust in the desert. Lovely houses at great prices sit in nice neighborhoods. A dollar in Pahrump buys alot in the housing market. But, in the end, you are in Pahrump. You better like your neighbors and the desert, because there isn’t much else.

We’d gone on a fact finding mission. At this point, VST was becoming emotionally brittle. He wasn’t content just being, he wanted to be racing. That we did. The 7 hour trip, left us tired and cranky, with rig set-up to finish before dinner. Fast food burgers and fries were the dinner choice with our salt intake in the unhealthy range.

The next day, we met the sweetest realtor and her partner who’d arranged for us to view 10 homes over the course of six hours. While viewing, it became apparent something had changed. VST was depending on his cane much more than usual and didn’t participate in conversations like usual. He’d view each home, but not participate in the way we always had before. I would look at cabinetry and interior, while he’d be examining roof lines and foundation issues. We were a whirlwind of observations, exchanged at lightning speed, with a rating. “No”. “Maybe”. “Put it on the list”. On to the next. On this day, I knew something was wrong, but chalked it up to a very long day-before. Viewing ten homes in one day bends the mind, but, we were on a mission. We had seen “WINTERPAST” and wanted to be very sure about our decision.

That night, while eating more fast food, I saw his ankles and feet for the first time. The swelling was intense, stretching his skin way past comfortable. The scariest part was that he hadn’t noticed anything different. DIFFERENT and WRONG on steroids.

Here’s the deal. These are my memories of a year ago now. Not of the closet construction. Not of our last Christmas caring for each other through colds. Not of walks with Oliver, or being at the beach. This first memory involving cancer and death happened one year ago today, with more becoming progressively worse until April 8th. For these days, I need to prepare. Storms they are coming.Flashbacks can be intense and scary. My journey of widowhood is far from over, and the next two months may be a bumpy ride.

My 2020 Planner lays closed. Inside, it holds all the activities and appointments we endured. January 24 was still a normal day that found VST a little under the weather. We’d go to the doctor and get him checked out. He’d probably need a diuretic. We’d eliminate the terrible food we’d been eating and get back to our regular diets. Elevating his legs at night, everything would return to normal. Except, it didn’t turn out that way.

Resting is important now for me now. Walking is vital. I’m paying attention meals. Remembering to get out a little, I make my cocooned time positively comforting. Sleep comes when I am tired, and creativity is a vent to help me heal. We all choose our own Food, Shelter, and Clothing, (my Widow Words during Month One). Just by taking control of the most basic things in your life, your foundation will have time to strengthen. One day at a time, we’ll make it through.