Not the week off I had planned

Most of my local friends (and some of my far-flung friends and family) know my friend Lesley Lawson. Lesley and I met when we were both hired at the new Barnes & Noble that was opening in Butler Plaza way the heck back in… 1993? 1992? We were both hired pre-opening, which meant building shelves and unloading trucks and unpacking books and designing floor plans for different subjects. We initially bonded over our love of books and movies, and have been friends ever since.

Things that make me think about Lesley include my first wedding, movie trivia, how I can say “you know, that guy, in that movie” and she’ll not only know who I’m talking about but will list off five other different movies the actor was in, and behind-the-scenes trivia about each movie. Barbie – Lesley is a HUGE Barbie fan, and not like “oh I like pink” but full-on the history of Barbie and how feminist she was and how I didn’t even know all that until I met Lesley. And collections! Any long-time Gainesvillians remember when her antique purse collection was on display at Lightning Salvage like 15 years ago?!

Lesley never met a stranger. Her head is full of so much trivia about every subject, that all she had to do was be introduced to someone with “hey, this is Bob, Bob is really into 50s Pinups” and next thing you know the two of them would be having an in-depth conversation about everything you ever wanted to know about Bette Page.

I think, that because Lesley knows all these things about all these subjects, is why she never wanted to talk publicly and out loud about her journey with Breast Cancer. She doesn’t want anyone’s sympathy, she doesn’t want people to look at her with pity, and she doesn’t want to be defined as “that woman with Breast Cancer.” She wanted to be thought of as herself.

Which, in turn, is probably why she didn’t make it known far and wide about how in the last few months, treatments weren’t working as well. Then they weren’t working at all. Then there were no more treatments that could be done. She called me … what is today… Friday? She called me about ten days ago to tell me that her doctors couldn’t do anything more for her, that he was recommending that she look into Hospice.

She didn’t have time, and was in the Emergency Room and then at Shands before she could even look up the name of the hospice facility here in Gainesville. It’s one I know well, having had Hospice care for my grandmother Lorena, my father Jack, for my bonus!Uncle Bill, for my Good Stepmother From the North, Barbara. It’s an amazing, compassionate place that makes you feel at home, and there’s so much more dignity to ending your story here than in a loud, busy, clinical hospital. No beeping, not hooked up to anything, no nurses coming in every hour to take your temp and blood pressure. Instead, are you hungry? Here’s food. Thirsty? What do you want to drink. In pain? Let us take care of that. Ashamed? No need to be. Everyone here is … doin’ the Lord’s work, y’all.

I’ve been at Lesley’s side almost every minute since… Sunday? Monday? This week is a blur, now. The most compassionate doctor I’ve ever met, at Shands, was also suggesting Hospice. He and I were very much on the same page, and while it took a couple of days of us explaining the difference to Lesley about care at the hospital vs care at Hospice… yesterday morning she decided to go ahead and take steps to move here. Here, where I write this now, in a room eerily the same layout as the one my father was in.

Lesley is sleeping a lot, but it’s important to tell you that she’s not in any pain. I can hardly describe the weight that came off her shoulders last night when we finally lined up transfer and got her here to Hospice. Her sleep is better, she’s laughing and smiling when she is awake (she is still VERY much Lesley, even though she gets tired easily and is starting to find it hard to find some words). She is not in any pain. Last night her breathing was so much better, easier, restful and even, than it was any night that I stayed with her in the hospital.

(Yes, I am staying with her every night here at Hospice, too. I asked her if she wanted me to go home and she looked at me like I had three heads! She says she sleeps better knowing I’m here, so you could no more pry me away from her than you could get a frat boy off a free pizza.)

Thanks, y’all. xoxo

PS. Wasn’t I supposed to be at ICFA this week? Yes I was. But (and I’m sorry, ICFA friends) this is more important. I kept the boarding I’d set up for the dogs so I wouldn’t have to worry about them at home, pooping all over the floor, or eating the cats (Jeff went to ICFA with Aunt Gay and Uncle Joe). It was weirdly-sadly-oddly-maddeningly perfect timing.

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“But I don’t want you to go, I love you!” – Harold
“That’s beautiful, Harold. Now go out and love some more.” – Maude