Christie’s World, or Life Is Not for the Faint of Heart

I miss you, my baby girl, and will love you always

I apologize for being out of touch for so long. My computer died a couple of months back and although my husband used to be a PC technician before he injured his back, he cannot wrap his mind around whatever is wrong with it. My best friend bought me a new PC so that I could get back online and, perhaps, re-start my business when I feel able to.

I thought you might want to know…

Everything blew up and went so wrong. Christie passed away the evening of May 7.

On May 5, Christie started running a fever of 101, so we immediately took her to the local hospital’s ER. (This is the same hospital where she was originally diagnosed last October.) They admitted her and started running broad-spectrum antibiotics. They also took blood and started the cultures going. By the next day, she started feeling really sick. Nothing had come back yet on the cultures, so they kept running the antibiotics, along with some potassium and magnesium, as her levels were low. (We hadn’t been able to get those counts back up since her last chemotherapy.)

She continued to get worse until they became so concerned over her worsening condition that they moved her to the ICU. Her breathing had become very rapid and they were worried about the strain on her system, so they put her on a respirator and heavily sedated her. They wouldn’t let us stay with Christie in the ICU, so we stayed as late as we could and around 10:00p, they asked us to leave. I spoke to Christie and she opened her beautiful grey eyes - apparently,
she couldn’t be sedated enough that she didn’t recognize my voice or presence. *sad smile* I told her that we had to go home, that they wouldn’t let us stay in the ICU overnight but that we would be back in the morning. She started to cry, the tears silently spilling from her eyes. I cried, too, and told her, “Baby girl, I love you SO much.” She was trying to communicate something, trying with her eyes and attempting to move her head. I smoothed her brow and asked, “You love me too?” She gave me as much of a nod as she could manage. I hugged her as close as I could… not close enough because of the machinery around her and the fact that her hands were restrained to keep her from yanking the respirator tube out, but I was able to touch her, hug her, kiss her sweet face.

And C.R. and I went home. We were distraught but eventually I managed to fall asleep. As we were getting ready the next morning to head back, the phone rang. It was the hospital, letting us know that Christie’s condition had gotten even worse and that they didn’t expect her to make it much longer. We immediately headed out, thankful that the drive only took a few minutes.

She wasn’t conscious but I think that she knew we were there and knew how much we loved her. Her gallbladder was in bad shape and she had acidosis, to boot; she couldn’t have tolerated surgery. They attempted to do dialysis but the blood kept clogging the machine. The oncologist who diagnosed her brought in the results of research he was doing to find out what was happening to Christie - the end stage of anaplastic large cell lymphoma mimics sepsis.

After several hours, during which we called a few of her friends to let them know that Christie was in dire shape (they showed up almost right away, in droves… we filled the ICU waiting room), Christie
crashed. C.R. and I were in the room when it happened, but much of what happened is a blur to me. They were able to resuscitate her, but the doctor told us that there was no hope… this was just to let us say goodbye to her. We started letting her friends come in, one by one, to say goodbye.

She had become so tiny, so fragile, that when they resuscitated her they broke several of her bones. She crashed again and the doctor, who was almost in tears herself, begged me to let them stop trying to revive her. “They’re not doing anything but hurting her. Please, let them stop. She’s not going to make it,” Dr. Lendeman said. “They can’t stop until you give the word.” So, hysterical and barely coherent, I gave the order to stop… to let my precious, so very beloved daughter pass without any further intervention.

Since that day, our lives have fallen apart. I am so consumed with grief that just breathing is often difficult. My youngest son and my husband have become enemies. If we cannot come up with $500 by the 20th, the landlord (my father-in-law) is going to allow the house to be foreclosed on, which will also begin immediately. We will then lose everything - out pets (who have helped keep us as sane as we can be right now), most of our belongings, and we will be homeless in an old pickup truck with no inspection and no insurance… and
nowhere to go. Our food stamps were discontinued because I was unable to get the review paperwork in on time as Christie was in bad shape when that was due. I’ve reapplied but it can take months to get an appointment.

On Friday morning, our Internet will be terminated, with phone service to follow suit on Monday. I’ve already requested two 4-day extensions; they won’t extend the services any further after this. I WAS able to get the electric, gas and water paid, and the last two months we’ve paid $200 over our regular rent at my father-in-law’s demand. We completely lost our business… and the pittance I receive in child support doesn’t go far.

To make matters even worse, my youngest son (who is 17) walked out of the house yesterday afternoon with his favorite fedora, his skateboard and a change of clothes, and said he was going to live with his best friend, Aaron, and Aaron’s family. Ryan’s sick of having to do chores and had started treating my husband like dirt, calling him a “stupid stepfather that [he] doesn’t like very much.” This is new behavior for Ryan but he has said for some time that his friends who have step-parents treat them like this… and Ryan thinks it’s “cool and funny.” *sigh*

I don’t know what is going to happen to us. My oldest son came up from Austin for Christie’s memorial, which we held on May 23, and will be here in no more than 4 days, so I’ll have him around but… everything is horrible right now. I feel so hopeless and lost.

We get so very lonely these days and so many people have turned away because they can’t stand our pain. Just like the “friends” who turned away from Christie because they couldn’t stand to see her so sick. Oh, we will remember who was and who was not there for her and for us…

As the subject line says, Christie is still with me. She talks to me often - sometimes, her voice is so clear and strong that I’d almost swear she was right here with me still. C.R. often feels her presence and her love; he says that the days when I indicate that Christie is talking to me more are the same days when he feels her presence very strongly. The clearest, strongest thing she said to me, one day when I couldn’t seem to stop crying and wondering about the seemingly cruel Powers That Be, was, “Mama, I’ll wait for you.” I’ve never been much on angels - both Christie and I were both wary of angels but loved faeries! - but I don’t know what else to call her but my guardian angel.

Oh… we were supposed to be getting our dogs, a male and female Akita, fixed, but with everything that was going on we didn’t have an opportunity to get that done. So Sango, the female, ended up pregnant and had puppies on Memorial Day. They are adorable, and the only thing that makes me smile now. I thought I’d try to end on an upbeat note… *wry grin*

I apologize if this is disjointed and rambling, but I hope you will understand. I am so bereft and can’t think straight since Christie passed. I am barely functional. I know I’ve left things out - I cannot keep anything straight, I’m sorry.

Blessings and peace to you all,
Melinda

This entry was posted on Friday, June 19th, 2009 at 2:30 AM and is filed under anaplastic large cell lymphoma, cancer, childhood cancer, lymphoma. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.