I’ve learned to pay attention to that little naggling voice of conviction; the one that told me to “get my ass to Rockport” after Charles called to tell me he’d been diagnosed with metastatic esophageal carcinoma at the Texas Medical Center. (Recap: he had been vomiting since Thanksgiving & has lost a precipitous amount of weight. His sister came to visit in April, bundled him up to take him back to Houston for diagnostics but he insisted on returning to his home, where he wants to spend his final days)
I picked Father’s Day weekend which seemed apropos as Charles has been a positive masculine influence in Zach’s life. Unfortunately, Z stood me up because he got too far behind the 8-ball in preparation for his trip to Tampa today for the final phase of his training for his new job… Let me just say I’m so glad I went because it was desperately needed - I was even able to get Charles signed up for hospice care on Saturday. The nurse is supposed to come out today to do his evaluation - the first order of business will be to get him on oxygen, he gasps for breath with the slightest exertion. He kept on trying to help me as I cleaned up the kitchen or did this & that but he would run himself into oxygen debt & have to hit his inhaler. I went to Walmart and got him several of those handheld oxygen canisters, got him a few things in the way of groceries (which hopefully he can eat; the kitchen was stacked with picked-over portions of food). I made him one homemade meal** - that’s all I had time for as I had to come back home yesterday…
**pasta salad & air-fryer fish
I took no photos. It would’ve almost been cruel
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