Asparagus Therapy is 4 tablespoons of cooked blenderized asparagus 2x per day for three months. When I told my hospice nurse, Beau, about it today he said, Hell I'd try that too.
It turns out that Beau is the second half of BeauJo, as in BeauJo's pizza in Colorado. Jo is his wife. They owned the little pizza joint for years and then sold it to some younger kid. I ate there when I lived in Fort Collins. I asked Beau if he ever made the pizza at home anymore and he said Sometimes. He laughed. It's pretty good pizzza.
The he changed the dressing on my Pic line IV site and helped me drain my PleurX catheter.
I was in the hospital for about 11 days. I contemplated staying there. Burrowing into the manual hospital bed and gluing my hand to the remote control so I could watch the Lifetime channel and new shows about gymnasts the whole day through. It seemed like it could go down this way, with me just melting into the weird white sheets and the bally textured blanket.
But it turned out I missed my stuff. I missed the little herbs I had just planted in old kitchen drawers and I missed my little daughter's feet barrelling out onto the backporch, jumprope dragging along. I missed my husband's look of exasperation.
Deciding that though the immunotherapy didn't seem to be working and though my body was too weak for any more chemO that probably wouldn't work any, that I could still be Hopeful. That I had some writing and teaching left to do and that I couldn't teach my daughter anything with my hand stuck to the remote at the Hospital. And that it was weird and kind of awful being constantly around these people who stick needles in me and ask me constantly How's yer Pain? and give me advice bout moving my bowels, these people who I Don't Know who are possibly getting to see the last glimpses of me. Having decided all these things, I discovered I could still be Hopeful.
I could try Asparagus Therapy and Go Home.
So here I am in the little Garden Room, looking out into my backyard. We had friends down from Seattle this weekend. For several past years, we have spent time watching fireworks on the pier of Jami's folks lake house. Jens and Scott spent good amounts of time at Boom City picking out a plethera of dynamic fireworks to dazzle us with. Upon arriving back, they would find the kids running around with sweatshirts over bathing suits, hairtips still wet from the day, and marshmallow sticks in hands. Us with vodka frescas and blankets ready in big chairs. Then off the show would go on the pier - big booms and sprays with a backdrop of fireworks shows from all over the lake.
This year was different. Jens and Jami and Marley came down here. They did get to see some fireworks at Mt. Tabor, but nothing like the display on the pier from Boom City.
I listened to the fireworks from my Garden Room.
But because of all of the love around here - the visitors and nonstop parade of sheer love (as cheesy as it sounds) - I did not feel left out.
As Luka ran out the door and tossed back a quick Bye Mom quite hurriedly, I did not panic. I turned to my little notebook and thought about all of the things I could still teach her. I washed up and hung a new piece of art to look at in the Garden Room with my two savior girlfriends.
I am making peace. I am making it work. I am hopeful.
I am eating 4 tbs of asparagus 2x per day and visualizing Boom City Fireworks next year on the pier.
I am not giving up.