Hospice has delivered an endless supply of equipment for our use: a hospital bed, a continuously inflating mattress, a shower chair, a wheeled walker, a movement alarm, a bedside table, plastic bed liners called chucks, an automatic chair that raises people to a standing position, a bag of Depends and a magic-foam pad to sit on. We’ve met four nurses, one doctor, one social worker and one aide. And we have phone numbers to call for 24-hour access to these people or to request additional supplies.

Today we had an appointment with the aide, our helper, who was coming to give Nate a shower. She’d come once before, and I thought we were over the hump of Nate’s embarrassment with a woman other than me seeing him naked. But today when I said, “Guess who’s coming?” Nate answered, “I hope it’s not that woman who gave me the shower. I hope she never comes again.”

We all laughed, and I said, “Oh she’s coming all right, and I’m sure she’ll see to it that you cooperate!”

Lori is a powerful woman who doesn’t take guff from patients. She has a heart of gold and works hard all day bending and twisting to get dirty people clean, most of them struggling with body movement, unable to help her very much.

“She’s bathed people for 20 years,” I assured Nate, “and you’re just one of many she’s helping today.”

He winced and muttered, “Oh boy,” but then resigned himself to her arrival.

Bubbling with good cheer and strong respect for Nate, Lori chatted with him throughout his shower, covering him carefully at strategic moments to give him an illusion of privacy. She rubbed him dry with a towel, careful to keep an extra one over his shoulders so he wouldn’t get cold. It was a scene similar to hundreds in my past as a mother drying the bubble-bath-clean bodies of seven children.

Lori also dressed Nate, careful not to hurt him or touch the dime-sized tumors erupting here and there on his body. When he was dressed, she combed his hair, continuing to talk soothingly and deliver praise. She also helped him with his electric shaver.

After Nate’s bath, Lori showed me how to handle a new set of circumstances coming into our future as Nate’s caregivers: changing the messy diaper of a bed-ridden patient. This is work I never dreamed I would do. Even as she was explaining it, I was wishing it away. But she left us with a big bag of pull-up Depends, and this reality is right around the corner.

Preparing to leave, Lori looked at Nate. “OK, big guy, you’re a new man,” she said, standing back to admire her work. “And I’ll see you again on Friday.” He gave her a weak smile but was too worn out from the ordeal to be enthusiastic. Later he made a joke about her wanting to have her way with him, but we all heard a hint of appreciation in his voice.

I love Elisabeth Elliott’s quote: “Just do the next thing.” This is simple, wise counsel. Lori demonstrated this in her approach to Nate’s bath. One task at a time, she just did the next thing. It was hard work, and she was huffing and puffing as she lifted, supported, bent and squatted. But she made a point of steadily moving forward.

As Nelson reminded me tonight, “Don’t stress about that diaper thing today, because you don’t have to do it today. Wait til its right in front of you, and stress about it then.” That fits right in with Mrs. Elliott’s quote above. While you’re stressing out, just do the next thing.

My sister is fond of saying, “God doesn’t call the equipped; he equips the called.” She’s right. And God is in the process of equipping me, equipping all of us, to simply do the next thing.

“Commit your actions to the Lord, and your plans will succeed.” (Proverbs 16:3)

Nate, the serious lawyer, is morphing into a comedian these days. Unfortunately, his “jokes” are unintentional. Yesterday he asked if there were any male-female couples in our immediate family that he hadn’t yet met. I quizzed him again and again to be sure I’d understood him correctly, but I had. Finally I said, “You’ve met each of them: Nelson, Lars, Linnea, Adam, Klaus, Hans, Katy, Louisa and Birgitta.”

He responded with satisfaction and a nod, “Good. I just wanted to be sure.”

I had to laugh, but at the same time it wasn’t laughable. His comments in the last few days are a bit off, not always, but often. I try not to think about the possibility of his cancer being responsible, but my mind goes back to a conversation I had privately with his doctor two weeks ago. I’d asked him if the cancer could go to Nate’s brain. Instead of giving me a “yes” or “no”, the doctor had said, “It’s in his pancreas, liver, lungs, bones and blood. What do you think?”

We haven’t changed his meds in two weeks. Although I’d like to blame the drugs for his new off-kilter comments, most likely they’re not responsible. We’ve watched Nate lose weight and strength, lose his appetite and energy, and lose the ability to write and read. But watching him lose common sense and prior knowledge is the worst of all.

Nate has always been a walking, talking encyclopedia. We didn’t need Britannica or World Book with him sitting at our dinner table. He’s been exceptional at remembering history’s dates and places, names and faces. Where has all that gone? Is his mental slate gradually being erased?

Yesterday we were expecting a visit from one of the Hospice nurses, and he asked me seven times who was coming and at what time. This is a man who never forgot an appointment and kept his whole life straight with a few Post-it notes and a very sharp brain. It’s not easy to see him become forgetful and confused.

Sometimes he recognizes he’s said something off-the-wall. When that happens, he’ll shake his head, as if to disperse the fog, and say, “I don’t know what I’m talking about.” Hospice tells us he’ll soon cross over a mental line after which he won’t realize when he gets his facts mixed up. This, they say, will be a relief to us and a gift to him. Who knows. He may come up with all kinds of interesting knowledge and counsel we never knew was in him. On the other hand, he could end up saying whatever is on his mind without any social filter, possibly causing offense or embarrassment. These adventures lie ahead of us in the not-to-distant future.

I’ve asked two doctors and several nurses how we should handle this. All have said we ought to “get into the fantasy” with him. Attempting to bring him back to reality will only agitate him further.

Proverbs 12:25 says, “Anxiety in a man’s heart weighs it down, but a good word makes it glad.”

Maybe our “good words” will be those that go along with Nate’s confusion. Such a tactic might decrease his anxiety and even our own about what is causing him to lose mental ground. As always, it does no good to dwell on the losses. Instead we’ll continue to appreciate the Nate we are privileged to have today.

Lately, it’s become difficult for him to work his cell phone, but this afternoon he managed to pull up a voice mail left by a friend. “I should call him back,” he said. “Can you get him on the line for me?”

I dialed the number and put the phone to his ear. He listened quietly, eyes locked with mine in an expression of deep thought. All of a sudden he said, “I just really want to get this over with.”

I was shocked. Was he referencing his battle with cancer? Inviting him to talk further, I said, “Get what over with?”

Screwing up his face like a little boy who’d just sucked on a lemon, he said, “This phone call.” I laughed and took the phone from him, snapping it shut.

“Done,” I said.

“Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting
away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light
and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that
far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen,
but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is
unseen is eternal.” (2 Corinthians 4:16-18)