Archive for January 2017

Claudetta I. (March) Littrell 8/30/1950 – 1/21/2017

What a crazy, crazy, crazy life we journey through.  The small “dash” from birth to death holds memories of a life time spent, and regardless of how much time or how many memories were made…it is never enough.

I sit here at 5:30 in the morning with two cats piled on my lap, who are trying to figure out why I moved from bed to the couch at this hour on my day off.  But I feel they can sense that the universe has altered and they sit peacefully providing pet therapy by purring more loudly than normal (and not fighting) while their fur catches my tears and I contemplate the “dash” while finding comfort in putting my feelings/thoughts into words.  My form of therapy.

This contemplation is going to be full of memories and recounts of situations that has built my life and experience with my Aunt Claudetta.  She was the first of six children, five of which were born to Christine and Samuel March, and the sixth came with the union of Christine and Kenny Foster.

My Aunt C. loved photography, or I should say pictures, and she had photo albums stacked everywhere with pictures and newspaper clippings.  Many times you would not even realize an article or picture had been taken until you picked up one of her albums and found history/the memory that had been captured and forever kept and marked.  I recently found out she has a section in her album of my journey through nursing school.  I was at her house a few months ago and she was like “did you ever see my picture” and pulls out the photo album and I had a whole section dedicated to me.  She loved her family and this is how she kept us close and created bonds of memories.

At Christmas time one of the doctors at the hospital brought in rock candy.  The mason jar full of cinnamon candy flashed me back to years gone by and brought memories flooding in of my Aunt C. and her shelves of rock candy.  It was tradition at her house to have divinity (she was the only one that could get it to turn out right) and rock candy.  The rock candy was in every flavor imaginable, placed in mason jars, and displayed on the shelves that make up the window between her kitchen and frontroom.  It was a colorful display and readily available to the little urchins that were running around the house.  We would often climb up on the cream colored couch that had the rust floral design and pilfer our treasures.

Aunt C.’s was where we would gather for games.  We played outside games of horseshoes, badminton, washers, and later hillbilly golf and bean bag toss.  Inside we held boxing matches between all the cousins in the “add on” while our dads looked on giving pointers from the side lines, and piled into the laundry room around the Saga game console, the pre Nintendo game that Elmer Gene had.  We didn’t question the fact that we were sent to the furthest room from everyone trying to talk, sat on linoleum flooring, and played for hours…always in sight from the kitchen or livingroom area and easily within “hearing” distance to be yelled at if we squabbled.  The adults would play spoons, dominions, or just sit around and talk for hours.  The house was full of love and laughter.

On January 5, 2017, our lives were altered.  We finally received answers that had been being searched for since September 2016.  In September we had been given a green light by Dr Peter’s office saying everything was good, yet things were not good.  So in October surgery was done to remove her gallbladder, and things still did not improve.  After many doctors and a visit to the ER, and weeks of waiting, we were finally told that she was diagnosed with Large B cell Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma.  She met with a new cancer doctor on a Monday, January 9, and had her first chemo treatment was given on Wednesday, January 11.  We tried to prepare ourselves, we knew that day ten would be the “worst” and we were preparing for weakness and vomiting and overall malaise.  We were not prepared for what day ten held.

Throughout the past two weeks as I would visit and assist my aunt she stayed positive and would always have the attitude of the Shunammite woman of “it is well”.  This past Wednesday I stopped on my way home from my shift in Arkansas to visit and check in, and she shared with me the scripture in Isaiah 54:17 “No weapon that is formed against thee shall prosper”.  She stated “this is good stuff”.  Then of course we talked, or I should say I talked, about how this situation “doesn’t happen to us”, it’s something that you hear about and deal with for friends, not something that we should have.  She calmly looked at me and said “sickness is no respecter of persons”.  I left Wednesday night with the “I love you’s” spoken and reassurances of calling me if she needed anything given.  I had two more days of work (of my five day stretch) and I headed out the door to get some sleep.  I was not prepared for the next call of assistance I would get.

Saturday morning, January 21, started for me at 0637 when I received a call from Diane to come to Aunt Claudetta’s.  It was DAY 10.  She was weak and sick.  Blood was drawn and we found out her white count was zero; her doctor said to get her to the hospital.  The ambulance was called and the process was started.  She wasn’t herself, but it was DAY 10, so we thought this was her day 10 self…though each time I would go to her to give ice chips or give assistance I could tell she was declining.  But who knew what to expect?  They don’t give out instruction manuals or books for “what to expect when you’re chemo-ing” as they have available for expectant mothers; and when you asked people that had been in the situation with family or themselves you’re told of the weakness, hair loss, and vomiting.

Working in the medical field as a nurse, and in my own community where I was born and raised, I have always had the “what if” scenarios that play through my head of how it will be when I get into a situation of caring for someone I know personally in an emergency situation.  I have had a few scares of some close acquaintances that have visited the ER on my watch for chest pain.  We either ruled out heart attack, or got them out the door to the proper care with no harm.  I have never had to have a close friend or family member in trauma one….until Day 10.  It didn’t play out as my scenarios in my head, it happened on the side of the road in my church parking lot in the back of an ambulance as I had to put my nursing cap on and abide by my state license and oath as a nurse of giving assistance where needed….regardless of the situation.  When the door closed everything left except that I am a nurse, I help people in emergency situations, and I am trained for this.  I did my job.  I assisted where needed, and we succeeded.  I stepped back out of the ambulance and got into my car and drove the two minutes to my house so I could at least brush my teeth and change out of my night shirt…and the enormity of what had just transpired hit me full force in the middle of my chest.  This part was as I had envisioned it, though I was not pressed against the fence behind the hospital, I was standing on my car port bent at the waist hyperventilating crying…trying to make it into my house so I could complete my plan of brushing my teeth and changing clothes so I could go to the hospital and see what else Day 10 held.  I walk away knowing that training takes precedence, a person does what one has to do in that moment of time, and then when the moment is over self comes back.

We made it to the hospital, actually I think half of Ripley County made it to the hospital, and the wait started.  Decisions had to to be made.  We prayed, had faith and hope, and was holding onto the promises that are given throughout the Bible.  We knew and believed that God can and would heal…it’s just not always how we envision or want the healing to take place.  God chose to give complete healing, body and soul.  He gave it on Day 10.

I had came home to put some feed away for my dad, take care of my cats, and take my medicine that had been forgotten earlier in the day.  I was on my way back to the hospital when the call came at 11:24 that she had passed away.  We were not prepared for this on Day 10.

I walk away from Day 10 knowing that you are never prepared, that I have the ability to compartmentalize and can function as a nurse when it is required regardless of the situation, that we have a massive family and network of friends that will bind together at a moments notice and help anyway they can, and most importantly that God is God regardless and that He loves us.  We may not understand His plan, or comprehend the ‘why’ of the situation…we must continue to trust and believe.  Is this the answer we wanted, definitely not.  Is this what we envisioned for Day 10, definitely not.  Will we continue to move forward, live life, make memories, and succeed at it?  Most definitely.

Our lives were altered on this day 10.  We will have bouts of grief, anger, and confusion throughout the next few months or even years…because life sometimes just does not make sense.  But we will walk through it all knowing and trusting as the Shunammite woman that “It is well”…and it will be well not because of who we are, or the strength we possess but because of who God is and His strength.

Aunt Claudetta…It is well, the weapons formed against us shall not prosper.  We mourn your passing but rejoice in your freedom from pain.  We miss you and love you more than we ever let you know…but we celebrate this journey of a lifetime.

ERM

 

Family…Memories…Life

My life pretty much revolves around my family…blood, church, or work.  Regardless of which aspect I’m in, each one provides a foundation for that part of my life.  Then it builds a stronger me, because the foundations intertwine making me who I am today.  This post though I am going to be reminiscing and sharing my “blood” family. <love them more than they know>

My family is pretty large…growing up when we would get together with my Dad’s family there was easily fifty plus people there, and that was just immediate (brothers, sisters, their spouses and their kids).  It has gotten to the point where we have separate family gatherings now because the respective family’s have gotten to large to all fit under one roof.  My mom’s family is a more intimate affair, we had a total of maybe 15 tops if everyone was there and accounted for.  Regardless it was all about getting together, eating, and playing with our cousins.

Through the years the number of both families has diminished due to death or family members moving away and not being available for family gatherings.  I personally moved away for awhile, but the draw of “home” always brings you back to where the hub of the family is.  My Grandpa March knew this, or maybe he couldn’t find his “hub” hence the reason he moved frequently throughout my dads childhood and then through mine.  He did stay grounded for the majority of mine, living in a white house down the road from us.  We would go there to play, experience chickens being beheaded, and watch as new chickens were born in the incubator.  My Grandma Foster (my dads mom) lived just a few hills down in the opposite direction, there we would play in the old oak tree out back, or run amuck through their field and into Granny’s field that was connected.  Or we would play dominoes or spoons.  Between the two of them sat three of the kids and their kids.  We would often end up at one or the others houses, riding bikes or playing in the woods.

The life at my mom’s parents, the McClintock’s, was totally different.  They lived in a log cabin, ran a store from their home, made home crafted items, and my grandpa lived in buckskins and linen shirts.  We would always explore Elephant Rocks, Johnson Shut-ins, or spend our time at a  Fort that had a reenactment going on — getting to dress up in our period style clothing (from the Civil War Days) and run around learning history first hand.  We would pile into a white box van, and be on our way.  My grandpa looked like Abraham Lincoln, and I often ended up looking like Laura Ingels Wilder off the TV show Little House on the Prairie.  Grandpa and Grandma created a t-pee for us, provided us with toys and other items that were made personally by them.  Though when grandma would make my stuff, I would always have to see how my name was spelled…through my whole life she maybe got it right once.

Family is the foundation that we are built on.  Sometimes there are squabbles and misunderstandings.  Sometimes there are rifts or situations that happen that cannot be undone, but you still go forward.  And you know that regardless they will be there.

The other day I was texting my uncle concerning a trucking job opportunity and the final text that came through was “10 4”.  I smiled and warmth spread through my chest.  That simple response brought back a flood of memories of my life growing up.  We were in the lower middle class, my dad was a self employed contractor (still is for that matter) we didn’t have big flashy things and we sometimes had chicken and dumplings without the “chicken”.  We knew when things were tight, BUT we never went without.  My parents made it a point to take us on vacations out side of the Missouri.  We drove everywhere, but we went.  Our ride was our 69 Dodge Charger, with a CB installed.  We would listen to truckers while we traveled, and often would get or share information with them along the ride…especially about Bears in the median. :)  We have gotten away from having CB’s installed in our vehicles, but that is part of my foundation.

Recently we have been faced with the dreaded “C” word coming to our family.  Didn’t even polity knock and ask for permission to join the gathering.  Invaded our foundation and is shaking it to see what we are made of.  It’s been here before, in small situations that were easily taken care of by a minor surgery.  This time it has decided to come in a way that will make us take notice.  Not that our family hasn’t dealt with crazy diseases before; two of us have MS, one lived their life with epilepsy, others have arthritis and heart disease.  All diseases in their own right…but non have the ambiguity of cancer.  It’s ugly and unknown.

I know that if we stand strong, keep our feet planted in the memories and continue to make more memories that strengthen and bind us together…then we will make it.  We will have life and that more abundantly.  We will be strong…we will be family…regardless of what happens or what we have to face.

ERM