So Beloved saw the second liver specialist yesterday, and his bilirubin is too high for the procedure where they shoot radioactive glass beads into the tumors (his albumen is also too low). If everything isn’t just-so, the procedure can kill his liver. The doctor spoke very frankly to him, told him that realistically we are looking at three to six months.
When I got home last night, he shared that news and started telling me all the things we are going to do between now and then to make it easier for me.
We are inviting his boys to come over for a work party, most likely weekend after next, during which all the things Beloved has been planning for years to hand off to one son or another, will be emulating Elvis and leaving the building. If he does it now, there can be no question of who was supposed to get what, and our Fibber McGee garage might actually be usable for its intended purpose.
He is finally ready to address the issues of an advance directive and a formal will. His late wife had no will. Her name is still on the deed to the house. An attorney I know (not the one I work for) has kindly offered to draw up the quitclaim, gratis. (Our mortgage holder wanted $1000 to get it all switched over, and there may still be a fee, but I most devoutly hope it is a smaller one.) We have an appointment next week with my personal attorney to update my will and formalize Beloved’s will and draw up his advance directive.
Last night was pretty soggy, as you might imagine, but I still got some knitting done, and this morning I got the second sleeve attached to the body of his sweater. Five more rows and I’ll start the raglan decreases.
He got all of his kids told last night, and one of his sibs. He told the rest of his sibs today, and I told my kids and my sister today, plus my attorney and best friend(s) at work and the office manager and the managing attorney.
The tears come and go. Quietly, at work. Less quietly in Lorelai, but rarely for more than a few seconds and then I’m damp but basically OK. I am planning on getting a massage in the next week or two.
I found the most amazingly perfect Christmas cards at Half Price Books last night (I made a quick run for ice cream, and the bookstore was just around that corner). Tonight I picked up green pens to address the envelopes. Yeah, I know. Not red.
Heading out to the living room for maybe another row of knitting before I crash. Keep calm, carry yarn; works for me.
- Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!