|
|
|
My wife, Lynn, was the love of my life for the 29+ years we were together. As a couple we were very close - had the same values, the same tastes, and same dreams for the future.
However, in 1996, everything changed when Lynn was diagnosed with breast cancer, detected through routine screening. ‘Cancer’ is probably the scariest word one can hear from a doctor. To be honest, Lynn was braver than I was. From the beginning, after the tears, she accepted the diagnosis matter-of-factly, and embarked on the doctor’s suggested treatment: lumpectomy, radiation, and elective chemotherapy. Eighteen months later she had a recurrence, followed by a second surgery and a regimen of Tamoxofin for five years. We were both stunned. Neither of us had had to deal with the disease personally, and didn’t know what to expect.
Lynn never complained nor gave in to the discomfort or pain. The Tamoxofin kept things in check - Lynn looked good, functioned normally, and despite some “acceptable” side effects, seemed “okay”. But “Cancer” hung over us - and I never forgot what the doctor had said - that her type of cancer could be controlled with drugs on an interim basis, but she could not be cured. Once the Tamoxofin lost its effectiveness, things turned for the worst. It was harder to control the spread of the cancer, and it had now spread to her stomach. Lynn exhibited more symptoms of the illness, the fatigue, the pallor, loss of appetite.
Then, with a new, more aggressive regime of chemotherapy, hair loss, uncontrollable nausea, complete loss of appetite, pain, and weakness - Lynn was sick. Sicker than she had been, and she wasn’t getting better. Though we had the very best care, and well-respected doctors whom we trusted, things got to a point where there was nothing more anyone could do.
Hospitals, tests, doctor’s appointments, prescriptions, therapy - our days were filled with these realities of severe illness. Yet, throughout all this, we never stopped hoping for a miracle, and Lynn never lost her graciousness and interest in others - and she never complained. She continued to stay positive and affect those around her in a way I have a hard time describing. It was a privilege to share my life with Lynn and care for her. I devoted myself to her care - hoping against hope that she would get well, or at least “better” so life could return to some level of normal.
Even at the end - when I took her to the hospital on Sunday night, July 23, I thought it was just another trip to the emergency room (there had been many), and I would be bringing her home again soon. But this time there was nothing more that could be done, and the doctors tried to prepare us.
I called family and close friends to let them know - and they came: from Ohio, Connecticut, Arizona and Texas. The morning of July 26th I held Lynn’s hand and told her it was okay - that she didn’t have to keep fighting. Her beloved sister, Annette, best buddy “Ernie” (the dog), myself, Fr. Walt from Ohio, my sister Dawn, our housekeeper, Lori, Lynn’s favorite nurse, Catherine, and our friends the Swetts and the Kieltys were with her. Then, at 5:55 pm PDST, Lynn took her final breath.
It was an intimate time for us - we prayed, cried, and hugged each other. The worst ordeal of our lives was over - yet I would gladly relive each day to be with Lynn again. It has been very difficult for me since Lynn’s death.
There is a hole in my heart that I cannot imagine mending. I am left with wonderful memories of our life together and of the beautiful person she was.
Now - the focus of my life is the Foundation, which Lynn founded to help others facing similar struggles, and which is now her legacy.
From the bottom of my heart I cannot express the gratitude Lynn had and I have for our family and friends, Lynn’s long-time doctor, Hope Rugo, her nurse, Catherine, all the staff at the UCSF Infusion Center, Dr. Cliff Hudis at Memorial Sloan Kettering, and many, many others.
Allen J. Gula, Jr.
Foundation Chairperson
|
|
|
