Fiftyfive Years of Pictures of Janet Wendy

I'm no expert as I load photos of Wendy, mostly with others, extending over the fiftyfive years that we loved each other. I haven't arranged them in strict chronological order, but starting at the bottom and working upward, there's the fuzzy photo Janet Wendy's traveling companion Louise Zuhrer took of us on the day we met, then Wendy on the day we announced our engagement, a few wedding photos, and so on up to recent times when most images got misplaced. The top one was takem at Daly's Restaurant on Christmas Day 2009 when her illness had weakened her neck muscles but left her face (and her smile!) intact. The next two date from about 1985 then follow others more recent. I'll ask a child to help me get them in order and add captions, though some are self-evident...

A Memorial Ceremony

Perhaps this should be called a Memorial Service. It was held yesterday in a chapel that is part of St Mathias church, conducted by the lady vicar whose first name is Joan -- I don't know her family name but she is a sweet and kindly lady. She conducted a short memorial service honouring Wendy. Rebecca and Jonathan came with me. I think it was probably organized by Wendy's friend Shiela Carr and her husband Peter. There were some 20-25 women present, almost all, perhaps all, members of the Family Life group of which Wendy has been part ever since we came to live in Ottawa 41 years ago. By that time, 41 years ago, I had renounced my Christian faith -- I could not believe the basic tenets, the concept of the Trinity, rising from the dead, life everlasting, nor any of the rest of it -- and Wendy was in the process of following in my footsteps into atheism. But she remained a member of the family life group because of firm friendships with its members (and I venture to suggest, closer adherence to the values and behaviour expected of good Christians than some members of the group). It was a simple yet moving ceremony: a few readings, including the 23rd Psalm, no hymns, an opportunity for a few reminiscences, and for me to announce the Celebration of her life that we are planning for Friday February 11, 2011. After the ceremony we sat at tables for six to eat a sandwich and cake lunch, where I noticed that one variety of brownie looked and tasted very like the most popular of the cookies that Wendy used to make when our kids were young. It was the one that my father called "Compressed haggis" -- a name by which it's been known in our family ever since.

Today I was visited by Lianne Johnston from the ALS Society. She called at my request to collect leftover supplies that might well be useful to another person with ALS. I suppose this was in a way part of the process of letting-go. Last night there was another part of this process: Rebecca and I went through several boxes of winter gloves, hats, scarves, etc, selecting a few to keep, depositing most in a box to go to the Food Bank, which collects warm winter clothing as well as food items for the needy people of Ottawa. So that was Letting Go -- but the memories those warm winter gloves evoke haven't gone away, and never will. I'll have more to say about Letting Go when I've had more experience of it. One thing I won't let go, and will tell if other family members don't tell before I get a chance to say it at the Celebration on February 11, are a few anecdotes about Wendy's occasional oddities and eccentricities: the time she stormed out of our home on a freezing winter morning because each of us in turn had said we didn't want "again" or "yet again" our favourite Edinburgh winter Saturday lunch of pancakes; and the time, in our first Ottawa winter, we went blundering off into Lanark County looking for what must have been mythical snow sculptures (this was a year or two before the winter carnival was firmly established as an annual event in Ottawa). I think we will be able to muster half a dozen or more such anecdotes -- although one or two of them will require very careful use of words and expert phraseology to be suitable for use in mixed company. More of this topic anon.

A modest request

I miscalculated; it would be useful to have more copies of Wendy's death notice from the Globe & Mail or from the Ottawa Citizen. If any of my neighbours happen to read this post in the next day or two, just drop your used copy of Saturday's G&M or Citizen at my door on the 11th floor. And any department colleagues could just drop their used copy (or the relevant page) in my mailbox in the office, which I will be visiting later this week. I thank you in anticipation

Another point of view about Wendy

Here's Daughter-in-law Dorothyanne's perspective: (Ex-daughter-in-law to be precise, but she was married to David for well over 20 years, is the mother of our grandchildren and she is still my daughter-in-law whatever the technicalities say). I've left out one short paragraph but haven't corrected a small, irrelevant mistake: Wendy wasn't raised on a farm, but her sister married a farmer; and that farm might have resembled Cold Comfort Farm ever so slightly in some respects.


There was this wonderful woman, raised in the depths of New Zealand on a farm that could have stood in for Cold Comfort farm. She was tough and hardy and smart and funny and unafraid to be herself. She married an Australian, high risk for a New Zealand gal. I’ve watched Australians chase New Zealanders around a room with their conversations – Aussies are aggressive and Kiwis tend to seek compromise, and thus it was for some 50 years of marriage between these two people.

I only got to see in from the outside for a while when I was married to their son, another tough, hardy, funny, smart type, who had a perfect blend of Oz and Kiwi temperaments which made for an interesting life with him. His sister, ever so slightly older, constantly astonishes me with her wisdom and humour and I’m honoured to call her a friend; his younger brother is a character in his own right and much fun to know.

They all circled in their own orbits around this sun of a woman – she would pull them in with her love but, compared to my mother, rarely used guilt as the short leash. She made wonderful cakes, some heavy enough to support buildings, and lighter than air Pavlovas that swept across the tongue like a cool spring breeze. She worked tirelessly for those less advantaged than herself and made me ashamed of my own selfishnesses.

She and her husband supported each other through years of happy marriage – yes, lumps and bumps and a few muttered asides as occur in all happy marriages, but they rubbed along together well, even through her last challenge, ALS.

ALS is a horrible disease – it shrinks you and wastes you and for her, it was a huge challenge in that she had to let others do things for her. She fought this and strove to look after herself, walking on her own until her last week of life. One visit I made she was barely able to hold up her head, and yet she was offering me tea, and had to make it for me, hostess parfait til the end.

But, being the practical, wise, thoughtful sort of woman that she was, she’d also know that without her to pull the family together, they might just spiral outwards, get involved in their own lives, touch base infrequently. When she married, she left her family behind in New Zealand. She’d understand the need to focus on husbands, wives, friends, careers. And she’d be above using guilt to try to drag people together. Nope, she’d just be there, quietly or noisily supportive, making people want to come to her.

As we all did.

Much love to you, wherever you may be.

Janet Wendy's death

Janet Wendy Last, born 85 years ago in Christchurch New Zealand as Janet Margaret Wendelken, died peacefully on Monday November 15 at about 2 pm. Her death was gentle and calm: she had been slipping in and out of rather deep unconsciousness to a more wakeful state in which she could squeeze my fingers very gently and even from time to time open her eyes and look about her at her assembled family, Rebecca, David, Jonathan, Rebecca's husband Richard and David's first wife Dorothyanne and his second wife Desre. She tried to speak to me several times, I think to say 'Goodbye' which is more or less what I whispered to her. Almost everybody present, even the excellent nurse who gave her occasional medication, had tears in their eyes. I was too full of emotions and memories of our lives together to feel able to cry, and that's my loss I suppose - but I know the floodgates will burst sooner or later and I will release those pent-up signs of strong feelings.

Wendy's last few days went exactly as Louise Coulombe said they would, very quickly after the long, slow progress of the disease. About the middle of last week she said she felt too tired to be bothered getting up and dressed; by Thursday for the first time her legs were too weak for her to use the walker to get from our bedroom to the power wheelchair on the far side of our living-room, so we used the transfer wheelchair. Then when she sat in the power wheel chair, tilted far back so her eyes could focus on the TV screen where most evenings she watched an episode or two of one of her favorite BBC TV programs that we have on DVD (usually the long-running As Time Goes By) she dozed or slept, was not interested in the small domestic follies and pleasures of Lionel and Jean and the other characters whom she regards as old friends. By Saturday it was clear to me that she was dying, and we began 24/7 nursing. She remained comatose from then on, with brief spells when her eyes opened and once or twice she tried to say something but her powerless voice muscles frustrated those transient efforts. But as I sat by her bedside holding her hand there were responsive squeezes and I know she was communicating with me, as I was with her, signals of love and innumerable memories. Despite occasional misunderstandings about requests for suction, the fan, a rug over her knees or a mouth-moistening pad, she and I had over the years developed some sort of telepathic or extrasensory way to communicate important things.

All of us gathered here Monday morning: Rebecca, Richard, David, Desre, Dorothyanne, Jonathan,taking turns holding her hand, engaging intermittently in irrelevant and rather light-hearted conversations. By mid-morning her imminent death was obvious. She had Cheyne-Stokes respiration, alternating runs of shallow breaths and no breaths; her fingers were blue and ice-cold. The nurse kept her as comfortable as possible. Finally she slipped out of this life about 2 pm.

From the beginning it was a gentle, painless process. The saddest, most frustrating aspect was Wendy's loss of the power of speech. She was always such a warm-hearted lady, communicating her feelings for others so aptly, it was a cruel fate to have that power taken from her.

We have so many shared happy memories, so much to be thankful for, that the pain of losing her has been softened by these memories.

People we've met

Wendy's journey with motor neuron disease, or ALS, brought us into contact with some remarkable and wonderful people. Her personal support workers are the ones we know best. Several times I've mentioned Sharon Morrison, and her photo has appeared on this blog. Sara Kerrigan merits more than the passing mention I gave her. At first she seemed such a kid, only 22 years old, half way through her nursing degree at Ottawa U, working part time as a PSW, aspiring to specialize in palliative care nursing. In the months she has been coming here she has matured, become more proficient, more self-confident. She has an outstanding role model in Jodi Gannon, the visiting nurse who came every day. Jodi is the epitome of everything a good nurse should be: skillful, competent, compassionate, charismatic, a splendid professional. I would love to have had her on my team. Courtney Henderson, occupational therapist is another who went the extra mile on Wendy's behalf. There were others too, nutritionists, nurses, and above all of them, Louise Coulombe, MD, palliative care specialist physician, whose wisdom and experience and calm words of comfort sustained both of us through Wendy's journey. In a separate category each and every member of the entire team at the ALS Clinic gave Wendy their undivided attention whenever we went there. As her disease progressed and her needs changed, the focus shifted from one part of the team to another, but throughout the course of her illness, every one of them seemed to us to have the same compassionate approach that makes all the difference to the patient's level of comfort and confidence. I am profoundly grateful to them all, can't find adequate words to express my gratitude.

Another way fate has been kind to us

A few days ago I attended a meeting for family members caring for a person with ALS that was organized by Heather Allen, the social worker at the ALS Clinic. Listening to the wife of a young man who is afflicted I thought, "There but for the grace of god..." When Wendy and I were in that age group, the thought didn't haunt me, but did occasionally cross my mind, that she and our (then 2) small children would have been left destitute if I had been killed or incapacitated during those immensely happy and scientifically productive years. Our only security was a puny life insurance policy; our family support networks were fragile and far away on the other side of the world. We survived on a scholarship stipend intended for a single man with no dependents, then later on a salary not far above the minimum wage, and there were no fringe benefits. In this way as in so many others, fate or chance or whatever it is that determines life's course have treated us kindly. No such calamity ever struck us when we were most vulnerable. That's another blessing to count at this sad time as Wendy's life ebbs away. Today for the first time her legs are too weak to support her and I had a hard time holding her up on my own during the middle of the day when we have no personal support worker. We are closing in on the time I'll need more help...

* * *

As a compiler and editor of dictionaries I'm always interested in words. Today, reading the Guardian Weekly, I came across a word new to me, I suppose a rather new word from computer-speak, 'petafloppies' which from the context I infer to be a word signifying the speed at which a computer can process data (or the number of bits of data a computer can process simultaneously). I like the sound of it. The prefix 'peta' is a unit used to signify a very large number, 10 to the 13th power; and 'floppy' (as in floppy disk) means flexible or capable of being changed or transformed. I couldn't find the combined word 'petafloppies' in any of my shelves of print dictionaries. But I'm sure my grandson Peter will know what it means. And now David has told me that 'floppy' is an acronym, but I've forgotten the words so he will have to add them in a comment on this blog post. The word appeared in a news item: the Chinese have a super-computer that can process data and more bits of data, than anybody else ever has. It's yet another sign that China is becoming the top nation. I hope it won't require another war to establish that reality securely.

Support networks

Today Francine ("Frankie") Nadeau, occupational therapist in the speech language pathology section of the Rehabilitation Centre/ALS Clinic came to our apartment with a mechanic/technician (Rob?) to fit a bracket on Wendy's wheelchair, so the Dynavox can sit there all the time, or as long as she wants it to anyway, instead of having its heavy weight perched on a cushion on her lap while one of us stands there to hold the weight off her. This is a great step forward and she has been making good use of the machine since this bracket was fitted. We are profoundly grateful to Frankie and Rob for coming here rather than asking us to go out to the ALS Clinic. The personal care and attention to details that everyone is providing for Wendy is heart warming. All members of the professional team who care for her are cheerfully compassionate and competent; they lift my spirits as well as hers. I can't find adequate words to express my gratitude for all that everyone is doing to make her remaining time with us as comfortable as humanly possible. Words of comfort and support arrive almost daily also from distant places, some frequent and with photos of new additions to the family, like Dodie Ziemer's and brother Peter's, others like Stephanie Blackden's email today from Scotland, with interesting news updates. And of course Rebecca and Richard visit us, and David phones or Skypes, almost every day from Kingston or Toronto, friends and neighbors drop in just about every day, as do our visiting nurse, usually Jodi or Mark on her days off. Our living room is like a garden too, with all the flowers we receive. These multiple supporting networks are a tremendous comfort to both of us during this difficult journey that Wendy is embarked upon. We never feel alone. It is very comforting that Wendy, who all her life has done so much for so many other people, has so many tangible tokens of other people's concern for her. I suppose it's a demonstration of the truth of something I said and wrote not long ago: we humans are hard-wired to care for each other.

Miracles

It's been unusually cold in the past few days with drizzling rains and even threats of snow flurries - wintry by Adelaide standards, late autumnal by ours but bleaker than usual; and leaves still cling bravely to branches of many trees I can see from my window. Daylight saving ends today, so it will be dark an hour earlier tomorrow and we will know that winter isn't far away. Perhaps Wendy's condition is adapting to the season and she is preparing to hibernate. She is sleeping more of the time, drowsy and dozing off after each meal. Her oxygen saturation readings have been lower lately too, in the low 90s rather than the high 90s which probably explains her drowsiness. I offer to read to her from Bill Bryson's latest book, or Alexander McCall Smith's, but she isn't interested: it requires concentration and she doesn't have any to spare. So I put on a CD of one of the Dave and Morley stories from the Vinyl Cafe, the one in which Dave finds a little sprout of green leaves of a plant growing in the mess that has accumulated on the floor of his car, nurtures it, and it grows into a tree. Morley thinks it's a sumac, but it's an ailanthus, the Tree of Heaven, and when Dave and Morley carefully transplant it to a corner of their back garden it could and probably will ultimately grow to a height of 60 feet. I want to say this is one of my favorite Vinyl Cafe Dave and Morley stories but I have so many favorites the list is longer than the handful that leave me cold. Stuart McLean is indeed worthy of the accolades he's beginning to accumulate; his latest book, just out, isn't more of the stories but a haphazard collection of remarks (many from the opening moments of his weekly radio show); and some of these are wise, funny, even occasionally profound. I thought Wendy had dozed off towards the end of the story about the tiny green leaves on the floor of his car that grew into a Tree of Heaven, but she didn't, she was listening with her eyes closed. I'm happy about that, because this story is a rather lovely celebration of the miracle of life. Even though her life is approaching it end, Wendy and I can still celebrate the miracle of life, and the miracle that brought us together 55 years ago.

O tempora! O mores!

Some of my American friends have described me as an honorary American and at times I've thought of myself this way too. My remarks today will offend and alienate some, perhaps most or all of these friends.

In 1964-65 Wendy and I decided after a few months in the lovely little New England university city of Burlington, Vermont, that beautiful though it was and with many delightful people who became our friends, nothing would induce us to settle permanently there or indeed anywhere in the USA. Even then it was clear that the nation was headed in the wrong direction. Despite its vast wealth, squandering it on pointless foreign wars fomented by paranoid fantasies would lead ultimately to economic ruin. I don't recall ever meeting an American who recognized the war in Vietnam as the war of liberation from foreign domination that the Vietnamese and fair-minded Europeans and others perceived it to be. (The same must be said of the war in Afghanistan). I've discussed before in this blog other, more important, factors related to culture and values that led us to choose the University of Edinburgh rather than Johns Hopkins School of Hygiene and Public Health in Baltimore. The Iraq war, launched on another paranoid fantasy (or on lies) plunged the nation deeper into debt. Americans have squandered their riches, spilled much blood, wasted the natural wealth and despoiled much of the natural beauty of their country with total disregard for future generations. But it's the immature political system, its corruption by "lobbyists" and its total subservience to money that unnerves me most. The bizarre and juvenile "Tea Party" movement spent over $1 billion on a campaign based on its fantasy that lower taxes and "less" government would solve their problems; and of course they won massively because the ill-informed and poorly educated American masses believed this claptrap. But the USA's trouble is older and deeper than the little turbulence of the latest elections (parenthetically, part of the trouble with the USA is frequency of elections: planning with a time horizon of decades is an impossible dream in a nation that plays musical chairs with elected policy-makers every 2 years!). Greedy stockholders seeking instant wealth and conniving boards of directors who dismantled thriving American industries, exported jobs to countries with lax or non-existent labour and environmental laws in order to boost quarterly dividends, and corrupt incompetent banks eager for quick profits today with no thought for tomorrow, have combined to ruin the USA. Its industries have been dismantled and exported to China and elsewhere; its skilled workforce has to make do with poorly paid part-time McJobs and no benefits. Meantime legislators were bribed by lobbyists to dismantle safeguards against irresponsible home loans and several million who lost their jobs have lost their homes too. So of course they are angry, but instead of blaming the corrupt and incompetent politicians who created these fiascoes, the incumbent president and his party get the blame. An evil subtext, never spoken aloud, is the colour of this president's skin. (The far right wing Tea Party is overwhelmingly white. And it is covertly racist as well as against gays, freedom of choice for women and other progressive causes). I hope enough Canadians are savvy enough so Canadian politics can't be dragged down to the gutter level of the Tea Party.

winter is a- comin' in

The last few days have been a little rough, mainly because of broken sleep and colder weather. We used to think nothing of slipping out of bed to have a quick pee, but now it takes two of us to accomplish this solitary function: I have to transfer Wendy from a semi-horizontal to a momentarily vertical position while I dance with her a step or two from bed to commode then back again under sheet, eiderdown and blankets. She's light as a feather now, 70 pounds if that, so easy to dance with; but her shrunk shanks have very little muscle strength and it saddens me to behold when I recall her plump thighs and shapely calves of former times. And once back in bed she rapidly goes to sleep again, thanks to a bolus of her sedative tranquilizer; but I don't, perforce I must sleep lightly in case she needs me again, so no sedative-tranquilizer for me. Last night we had our first skiffs of snow, just a few flurries really but enough to cover rooftops. This morning it feels colder because it looks colder, although a glance at our indoor thermometers shows it's actually not any colder in our apartment, steady at 20-21 C - it's not quite all in the mind though because I can actually feel the icy blast of the wind as it whistles though the crack by the balcony door which still has its summer screen. It's time to put the storm door on, yet another sign that winter will soon be here. But the sun is shining, there's still plenty of colour in the trees. They will keep their leaves again this year until well after November 9, the anniversary of my arrival in Ottawa in 1969. That year there wasn't a leaf left on any tree anywhere and I remember feeling depressed at the thought of the long winter ahead, worried too that I'd made a big mistake uprooting Wendy and our three children from Edinburgh where we were so happy and life was so good in so many ways. Happily, time soon showed that coming to Ottawa was no mistake, far from it, indeed it was the best decision we ever made. This feeling is reinforced whenever I observe or reflect on the excellence of the team that cares for Wendy with such competence and compassion. What good fortune it is, to live in a city where such superb care is provided when she needs it!