Donna's Eulogy, with Messages from Martha and Mhizha

Sixteen years ago I went to work in Zimbabwe for a few months on a strategic plan for the Zimbabwe YMCA. Valjean decided it would be a great adventure to visit me for six weeks. In typical Valjean fashion she set about networking to cook up some work she could do in Zimbabwe so she could write off the trip as a business expense. Her plan, as it emerged, was to help me write the plan for the Zimbabwe YMCA and to record the stories of a Shona storyteller and musician (through whom she meet her African family) with the idea that someday she might turn them into children’s books.

I had been in Zimbabwe for a couple of months when Valjean arrived. I had had some time to process the great beauty and many contradictions of Africa and Africans. Valjean stayed in my apartment with me and we shared a bedroom. At night I would be exhausted from working all day and she would want to talk well into the night, processing what she had experienced that day. About a week after she arrived, I was just drifting off to sleep and Valjean bounded up in bed, turned on the light, flung her arms open and yelled “Zimbabwe exclamation point.” “Zimbabwe exclamation point what?” I asked. She replied that was the name of the store she could open on Milwaukee Avenue to sell the things Zimbabweans were making to help them make a decent living.

Although Valjean never opened Zimbabwe! she also never stopped scheming of ways to help the people she met in Zimbabwe. I wasn’t a bit surprised when Giudi found a container of Zimbabwean crafts in Valjean’s garage that she had yet to sell.

All of us know of her African family and the money she raised to help support them. Martha Timbenawo, the mother of her African family, has asked me to read this to you on her behalf.

Firstly I greet you all family and friends of aunty Val. I’m Martha. I knew aunty Val for about 12 years. Aunty took me as her daughter, she always said you are my African daughter, l took aunty as my mother I have really lost a mother and a good friend. Aunty Val loved me and my family very much, sometimes when aunty Val comes I asked myself that aunty Val travelling half way across the world to see us you know she really had true love, when she came to Zimbabwe we lived with her in Mbare its a high density suburb I thought she would say I want to stay in a hotel but she would say I will stay with you here in this house.

What we ate she ate also, she did not even complain aunty Val was full of love. I’m going to miss her. I’ve a daughter and aunty gave her name, she is 9 she will be turning 10 on the 20 of August, she likes to read and write stories she is following aunty footsteps please remember that there’s young Valjean in Zimbabwe.

I want to take this opportunity to thank you all for the support you gave to aunty Val. I really thank you all. I love you all from the bottom of my heart.

The former director of the Zimbabwe YMCA, Mhizha Edmund Chifamba, who became Valjean’s good friend and Shona (the main tribal language in Zimbabwe) teacher wrote this:

“I met Valjean through you almost 16 years ago. Both of you became my very dear friends. Over the years Valjean was always there for me. When I arrived in Chicago from Canada, Valjean was there at the airport to meet me. When I looked for jobs, she helped me with her writing skills to put my resume together, she would say "You are writing for Americans baby." She taught me how to live alone in the West and to navigate my life out of loneliness. The most important thing she taught me was how to network and to be positive. This was always mired in humor, quick wittedness and kindness. Our friendship developed over the years to a level where she counseled me on life issues in America and I guided her on how to be part of her African family. We shared how to read in between lines about American politics and she always consulted me on African political and cultural issues. She was an avid reader and I emulated her for this attribute. We liked some of the same music and good food. I relied on her as a friend. I miss her a lot. I will not be able in words to thank her sufficiently for her friendship, except to say may her soul rest in peace, until we meet again. Valjean learnt quickly one of the Shona profound sayings, "Ndiyani anoziva nzira dzaMwari?" - "Who knows God's ways, but God Himself ?" She repeated this quite often. I know some of what She meant.”

Valjean’s commitment was unwavering and her love felt intensely half way around the world. In addition to this commitment and love and our travel adventures large and small, when I think of Valjean I think of all the great dinners we shared together. From stir-fried caterpillars in Africa to countless dinners as neighbors in Chicago. Many were in restaurants, but the best was when she would call and tell me she had decided to cook. I would arrive at her place tired after work to delicious smells and I would feel so grateful and well taken care of.

I think of her commitment to make the world a better place – from her days as a “video revolutionary” to her work with Freeze Frame to the work she did with the organization I work for, the Delta Institute. Valjean was always happiest at work when she was using her considerable talents to write “deathless prose” about something she cared about. The last piece she wrote for us was called “The World You Wish For, We Work For.” I think that this aptly describes Valjean as well because the world you wish for she worked for.

Finally I think of her commitment to spiritual growth – her meditation practice and how she evolved over the years we were friends to take life in stride and to see all of life’s challenges as “an opportunity to practice.”

Periodically throughout our friendship Valjean would announce that she was back on her “body of a goddess campaign.” As I thought about Valjean’s life I realized that she was really on a much larger campaign – she was really on a “life of a goddess campaign.”

In my opinion, it was a stellar campaign.

~ Donna Ducharme

Mary's Eulogy

To borrow a line from EB White and his classic Charlotte’s Web, “It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer. Valjean was both.”

She was my friend, but when I first met her I was looking for a writer. Denise Zaccardi gave me her name, and she showed up in my office, this classy, feisty, brainy, beautiful woman. She wrote a piece for me called “Sustainable Manufacturing,” back in 1988 when nobody had ever heard the word “sustainable.” She told me later that she had no idea what we were talking about, but she was a pro, she could write anything she put her mind to.

She wrote all kinds of things, in her near-forty years as a writer: children’s books, marketing copy, radio scripts, reports for nonprofits with complicated names like Center for Neighborhood Technology and even more complicated agendas that she managed to explain in simple, compelling terms.

Much of her best work she did in partnership with the wonderful designer Kym Abrams. Every so often, I would find on my desk a book with a bold fresh look, arresting copy, and clear compelling messages, and I would think: Valjean and Kym, at it again, and find their credits on the inside back cover.

Her writing was like the woman herself: smart, stylish, no-nonsense, spare, honest, clean, beautiful. It’s hard work; she made it look easy.

So from that initial work together we became friends, and later almost like sisters. We shared that old Catholic background, and she came to church with me sometimes, here at St Gertrude’s, or other places. Like many people here, and in Africa, and elsewhere, I became part of her circle, and she became part of my family, attending my children’s weddings, visiting my mother, welcoming my granddaughter.

Three summers ago, she and I took a trip to Ireland, in search of her own family, the family her father James McLenighan left behind when he emigrated to America as a little boy. It was a magical trip, and I suspect she has told most of you the stories. She found the township where the McLenighans came from; she found the church where her grandparents were married, the graves of distant cousins, the records of the land they farmed. Most important, she found a whole new set of friends and family, and became part of their lives. That same gift of friendship she shared with all of us, and with the family in Africa, and with people all over this country, she brought back to the Irish countryside her father had left a century before.

As she became sick, she used her writing, that wonderful blog, to share with her friends and family what she was going through: her hopes, her determination, her pain, her acceptance, her love.

A few days after her death, I got a call John McLarnan, Valjean’s great friend over in Ireland, who celebrated his 94th birthday last Wednesday and whom Valjean and I had planned to visit next week. His words speak for me and I know for all of us: “When you’ve been given a gift, you have to say thank you. And it was a gift to have known her.” Thank you, Valjean.

~ Mary O'Connell

Franny's Eulogy

My parents gave me an older sister. The nuns at the Immaculata High School gave me a younger one. Her name was Valerie Jean McLenighan.

The only child of Wanda and James Mclenighan, Valjean was raised by her devoted mother who recognized early on that she was an extraordinary child. She received a scholarship to a private elementary school, skipped several grades, and entered high school at the age of eleven. That’s when I first met Valjean, almost fifty years ago. She had so many qualities that immediately drew me to her that it’s difficult to know where to begin.

There was her enormous love of learning. Although she figured out many clever ways to get out of study hall for more interesting activities, she often said that it never even occurred to her to cut a class. She devoured her studies, and it showed. She always focused on the goal—and pursued it with a passion, as long as it didn’t hurt anyone in the process.

There was her straightforward, unpretentious manner. Even back in high school, she meant what she said and said what she meant—without hesitation. Her strength and courage to stand up to anyone . . . Even the nuns, when she would question a doctrine—were impressive to witness.

Her creativity was unique, whether it was writing for the school newspaper, starring in one of the high school’s many plays, or being a cheerleader . . . Yes, that’s right. Valjean was a cheerleader—not your typical cheerleader, but rather one who wrote her own cheers to the tune of Peggy Lee songs and other jazz standards. She had a sophisticated appreciation and love for music even back then.

She visited me once at college, and I remember her kindness when she went out of her way to include a very shy roommate in our weekend plans. Inclusiveness was the name of Valjean’s game. She had a knack of making people feel special—letting them know that she truly cared about them.

She loved children. I don’t know who had more fun crawling around on all fours . . . Valjean or my kids. That love would be shared with the children of many of her other friends and demonstrated years later with her African family’s little Valjean and John Davies.

While some of her friends were raising families, Valjean was raising people’s consciousness of social issues that were having profound effects on many. Valjean truly made a difference.

Over the years, Valjean and I took about a dozen vacations together. And the one constant memory of our travels that remains most vivid is the laughter. I think I’ll miss her sense of humor most of all.

Valjean had a practical nature, and she couldn’t help speaking out against inequities, both large and small.

On a high school trip to new york, she ordered a snack from the hotel’s room service, and when it was delivered, along with the bill, Valjean immediately got on the phone and asked to speak to the catering manager. She said that she had never heard of such outrageous prices for a small bowl of chips and a few glasses of lemonade.

Another time, when she had just returned from one of her trips to Africa, we went to the movies, and when we bought some popcorn, she said to the kid behind the counter, “My African family could live for months on what we just paid for this popcorn.”

And when her picture was taken swimming with the dolphins in Puerta Vallarta on her final trip just a few months ago, she said “Eight dollars for a picture is obscene.”

Yet although she had been taught at an early age to be practical—even frugal—her generosity toward others was unparalleled.

We were coming out of one of her favorite Italian restaurants one night with our leftovers, when a homeless woman approached us and said she was hungry. We gave the woman our doggie bags, but Valjean did more: she touched the woman’s arm and said, “God bless.” And as we walked away, Valjean turned to me and said, “Damn, i was looking forward to having that fetuccini for lunch tomorrow.”

Her spirit of generosity continued . . . Even through her final months, and it was humbling to observe. When she was admitted to Northwestern hospital, she expressed concern about the long trips that many of her friends and family had to make to see her. When her doctors suggested hospice at Lincoln Park Hospital, her very first question was, “How much is the parking fee for visitors over there?” And on the second to her last day of life, when she was surrounded by her friends and family, I stood leaning over her, holding her hand, talking to her, and she looked up at me and said, “Sit down Franny, you’re going to hurt your back.”

She touched so many during her lifetime . . . Not just family and friends, but the guy selling streetwise on the corner, the incarcerated, the homeless, those plagued by afflictions and addictions, disadvantaged families both here and thousands of miles away. She felt it was her responsibility to reach out to them—to ease their pain—and to try to make the world a better place for them and for all of us. That was the heart and soul of valjean . . . The heart that I suspect will live on in ours forever and the soul that we’ll all join someday.

So let’s thank Valjean for being in our lives— for her love, her laughter, her strength, for always caring and for leaving her mark on our world. And although her death leaves an enormous void, let’s try to fill it with the many beautiful memories that she left behind.

~ Francine Friedman

Party Time - RSVP to Join Us

To Valjean's many friends and family: Please join us directly after the memorial Mass to celebrate Valjean with a reception at Piper Hall at Loyola University.

Date: Saturday, August 16

Time: 2-6 PM

Place: Piper Hall, a two-story building on Loyola’s Lake Shore Campus in the Edgewater neighborhood. The building is immediately behind (north of) the Loyola University sign, at the corner where northbound Sheridan Road turns west in front of the University.

Easy parking is available for $6 in the University’s parking garage. Or try your luck at street parking.

Are you coming? Please let us know by August 13.

The best way is through a comment on the blog. Simply click on the word "comments" under this blog entry and you'll see a box to enter your comment. Let us know how many people you're speaking for. Choose an identity ("anonymous" is fine; you can always identify yourself in the comment box if you wish); then click on "publish your comment."

Directions from St. Gertrude's church (1420 W. Granville)

- Go east on Granville, cross Broadway and Winthrop and turn left (north) on Kenmore. If you hope to find street parking, start looking here; you are now within two blocks of the university.

- Continue north on Kenmore,cross Rosemont, and continue through the light at Sheridan and Kenmore to enter the Loyola campus. If you have riders in your car you can drop them off at this point and they can walk east (towards the lake) to Piper Hall (on the lake at Sheridan.)

- To park in the garage, turn left as the entry drive curves. Continue straight and you will come to the entry gate for Loyola U parking.

- To walk back to Piper Hall, simply head toward the lake on the entry drive or Sheridan Road.

If you need a ride, just ask. You can also catch the #151 or 155 bus, or walk (it's less than a mile).

If you get lost, you can call Mark McKelvey at 773/220-2815. No rescue dogs will be sent, but you will get an ear full of sympathy.

Memorial Mass and Party, August 16

At last! The memorial Mass for Valjean will be held Saturday, August 16, at 1:00 pm, at St. Gertrude's church, 1420 W. Granville (at Glenwood). Parking is available just north of the church, off Glenwood.

A fabulous party will follow, at a location to be disclosed very soon.

The Empty Guest Room

This is Stan Vernon and Tom Fischer writing from Portland, OR.

Valjean has been much on our minds this week: she was supposed to be here now, a five-day visit we were all looking forward to. Tom and I haven’t lived in Chicago for 20 years, but we kept in touch with VJ and would see her on her occasional trips to Boston, where we then lived, and our occasional trips to Chicago. Her first trip to Portland was intended to be not just our first reunion with her in several years but a real celebration: she booked the trip in the spring when the prognosis looked promising. Her ashes were buried the day before she was to have arrived.

We were going to make her a present of a children’s book, the proceeds of which go to help the children of AIDS victims in Zimbabwe. Now we will keep the book as a reminder of our dear friend who touched so many lives here and abroad. We raised a glass to Valjean on the day of her death and have raised several more since. In the Anglicized version of the old Scottish toast:

“Here’s to you. Who’s like you? Nobody.”

Resting Places

On Friday we buried the ashes of Valjean and her mother, Wanda, in a single grave at St. Adalbert's cemetery on Milwaukee Avenue. Family and close friends were there to say goodbye, to mourn our loss, and to recall the many facets of Valjean's life and the impact she had on us and others. How absurd that she should now be in the ground. That she should not be. (She, of course, would say that I am the one being absurd: "We all have to get off the conveyor belt.")

It's a lovely spot, should you care to visit, away from the road, open to the sky but surrounded by trees. Surrounded, too, by many graves, old and new, with markers and, farther back, monuments, most of them bearing Polish names. Several of Wanda's relatives (Gawel) are there, in another section of the cemetery. Mary has ordered a simple marker for the two of them.

On another note entirely: Many people have asked about Sasha, Valjean's cat. She is now the proud owner of a new keeper, Sharon Kelly, in a veritable feline palace above the Kelly sisters' yarn shop, Arcadia. (Location, location, location.) Sharon -- a gifted caretaker -- reports that Sasha has taken contented ownership of the place, where she has a private bedroom and bathroom, an 80-foot run from one end of the apartment to the other, and many nooks and crannies for naps and cat-like solitude. A steady supply of high-quality and novelty yarn awaits her for many years to come.

To Be Read with a Brogue

Mary had a call today from Valjean's "Irish boyfriend" (pictured). She offers his words as a gift to all of us:


It was a gift to have known her.

I’ve rung everybody she met here, or gone and talked to them. People can’t believe it. She made so many friends here. She would go into people’s houses and talk to them – one man said, she made you so comfortable, talking to her. Young people, old people, children, it didn’t matter, she just was so natural, she would come into your house and sit down and talk to you.

She loved to have fun. Sometimes it amazed me, how she kept up the pace -- she would just keep going, eating, visiting people – only once or twice did she go back to the guest house for a bit of a rest.

She said she would come back for my 95th birthday. I said Valjean, that’s a long way off. I said, Valjean, if I were sick, I wouldn’t want you to see me like that. And she looked in my eyes and said, John, if I were sick I wouldn’t want you to see me either. Little did I imagine that Valjean would be in heaven before me.

We said goodbye, I said no tears now, just hugs and kisses. She said she would come back this year, I know you were coming too. You were a good friend to her, you and your mum, she loved you. She made so many friends – and that family in Africa too, the little girl, Valjean… We’re all praying for her – not that she needs the prayers, she’s in heaven sure, someone like her.

I had to call because, if you’ve been given a gift, you have to say thank you. And she was a gift.

Services for Valjean

From Champaign, Elihu Smith sends the following message to Valjean's friends:
We are planning to have a service celebrating Valjean's life and death at the Prairie Zen Center; tentatively this will be at the end of the July retreat, Sunday, July 27, at 11:00 AM. Valjean asked me to have this service when I visited with her in Chicago last week.

Please be comforted and healed in your grieving.

From Mary O'Connell:
We are currently working on arrangements for Chicago services for Valjean. The basic plan, following her wishes, is to have her cremated and then have a memorial Mass and reception/party later. Details will be posted here; and please be in touch if you are interested in helping arrange a party to celebrate her life.

Back Porch Anyone?

(from Mark McKelvey)
If you read nothing else of this – go to paragraph four below re: a get together today, Wednesday, July 9th.

Hi everyone - Kate and Francine, I just got your phone messages and send our love to everyone with a broken heart. When I left last PM I didn't know what to hope but did focus on a good passage and I'm sure Val got that. There was certainly a wonderful crowd of friends gathered to say good-bye! Thank you Kate, again, for making sure we were all properly lit. Valjean would have particularly appreciated that thoughtful touch as those bright lights can be so unforgiving.
I'm so glad Judith was there at the end. Could one of you forward this to her as I don’t believe she is on this email?

I know that acceptance comes after the anger and we'll all get to that but for now Edna St. Vincent Millay sums it up pretty well -
"Gently they go, the beautiful,
the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent,
the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve
and I am not resigned."

I also know that everyone's exhausted and needing their quiet - and that we'll all gather later to celebrate our dear friend.

But - like Val I’m Irish and I feel a strong need to share time today in celebrating Val and having a good cry. If anyone's interested in joining in (please come!) I’ll be sitting on her back porch/stairs as of about 5PM today. I just talked to Kate and she’ll be there. Val’s back porch is the closest I can think to get to her – wanted to go to the hospice this AM but you’re all gone and the bed’s empty and I can’t bear that thought. I know Val will be with us looking out over the back yard so I’ll be there around 5/5:30PM and will bring some drinks and a cooler. We can get a pizza, if we want, from Leona’s and I may even bring some Irish tunes. Bring a Kleenex and your favorite stories. God knows Valjean helped create enough of them! Francine – Giudi – Kate and Mary – could someone please bring the swimming-with-the-dolphins photo? That’s a must.

Valjean and I sat on her porch when we lost our dear friend David 14 years ago next month. We sat in the sun and had a good cry. We'd celebrated David's birthday in early August and then he and Mike went to Traverse City to see David's family and David took ill and died there. Val, Betsy and I'd talked about going up to see him but it was too late. After we got the call from Mike I went to Val's and we sat on her back porch and had a wonderful pity party. She and I'd sort of set up a network of care for David and Mike, though nowhere near as sophisticated as the one set up this year for Val! Betsy and I were going to California the next day and thought about canceling and going with Val to the Traverse City funeral but she said David would say "go - go - go" re: our long-planned trip, and we did. Val promised to remember and share every detail of the Trav City trip and didn’t fail us. When we called from the west coast after she came back one of the first things she said was that "the comfort food was really good"!! I thought of that last PM when Francine or someone brought in the pecan sandies. The comfort food was really good!

Hope to see you later today.

Valerie Jean McLenighan 12/28/47 to 7/9/08

Valjean died this morning around 2:30. Judith Conaway was with her, so she did not go alone.

Valjean's body will be cremated. Her life will be celebrated on a date to be determined. Keep watching this space.

(Kate is kindly posting this for me because my internet connection is down- Giudi)

Letting Go

Tuesday morning I received a call from hospice that there had been a significant change in Valjean's condition. When I arrived, around 10 am, she was in the state in which she has remained for the past 14 hours or more: unresponsive, taking difficult breaths at long intervals -- about 10 seconds apart by the time I left, around midnight. Many of her close friends gathered around and spoke lovingly to her; some read or sang or prayed. We recalled for her the good times we had enjoyed together -- and they were legion! Could she really have taken so many trips, with so many of us? When did she work?

The nurses say she could hear us, and I hope they're right. We assured her it was OK to go, that everything was taken care of and that we would be alright. But her body continues, working every muscle in her chest, back, and shoulders to take those labored breaths. I hope this is a short night.

Getting Ahead of Ourselves

We were so encouraged by Valjean's oxygen accomplishments on Sunday that it was terribly disappointing to see her on Monday: very weak and pale, sleeping fitfully much of the day, and breathing with enormous difficulty, even with the mask. Still, glimpses of the girl we love shone through as she opened her eyes and smiled at visitors, practically purred at Laura's massage, cracked a joke or two, and at one point burst into not-quite-identifiable song.

It's not clear whether this apparent setback is due to the change in medications, too much time on low oxygen (overreaching with the cannula), or simply the progression of the disease. Probably a combination of them all; we are complex creatures, and never more so than when we're ill. We hope for better news tomorrow.

Anticipation

"Looking forward" isn't something you'd normally associate with hospice, but as long as you're realistic about the boundaries, it's sometimes possible. Valjean is beginning to look forward to going home -- still in hospice care, of course -- hopefully this week.

On Sunday she took an important step in that direction: she received her oxygen through a nasal cannula (a plastic tube with forked outlet) instead of a mask. And last night she slept with the cannula instead of the bi-pap. She may go back to the mask today, at least for a while, but being able to tolerate the cannula could make things easier for her at home, possibly even allowing us to wheel her onto her back porch to enjoy that beautiful garden. Mary will set the search for 24-hour nursing care in motion today.

The New Chemical Regime

Valjean's meds have been changed -- from dilaudid, with its peaks and valleys, to a longer-lasting morphine -- to keep her on a more even keel. That means she tires more quickly, sleeps more, and says she feels somewhat hazy when she's awake.

Her own condition, plus the cramped hospice environment, lead me to suggest a (voluntary) change in visitor behavior: Please keep your visit short, and be alert to her energy level; it's more difficult now for her to ask people to leave, so she's counting on you. Keep the number of visitors in her room to no more than two or three; if there are already people in her room when you arrive, there's a very nice family room and a kitchen at the end of the hall where you can hang out.

We're in the process now of looking for 24-hour home care so VJ can have more pleasant and familiar surroundings. The doctor has suggested we get an LPN because of the complexity of her needs, though he says the right CNA might also do. If you've had experience, good or bad, with any local agencies or caregivers, please let us know with a comment on the blog.

Thanks for keeping up with Valjean's progress.

Boogie-town

Years ago, Valjean started thinking about what her old age might be like. No placid retirement village or assisted living facility for her. She would gather a group of compatible friends, and together they would buy a large, cheap building in an underdeveloped neighborhood -- I think she imagined Englewood at the time -- renovate it, and create Boogie-town, a community where she could keep on dancing, talking, and gettin' down all night.

Seasons Hospice is no Boogie-town. It's a quiet environment, with clean floors, freshly painted walls, tolerable food, and very nice staff; it looks like she's being well cared for. But the rooms are small, with few amenities, and she has a roommate who seems barely there (and who I hope is not bothered by VJ's visitors). It's not a place you'd really choose to spend your final weeks, if you had a choice.

Valjean may have a choice. The medical director, Dr. Amin, saw her this morning, and Mary talked with him afterwards. He told her they would try to maintain Valjean at an oxygen level and medications that would make possible a transition to home, maybe next week. He said that because of the complexity of managing her symptoms, home hospice would send a nurse daily rather then 3 times a week, and she would also need 24-hour care, possibly from a nurse (LPN or RN) rather than a home aide. He repeated what Ken had told us a few days ago: if Valjean does go home, there is always the option of returning to inpatient care if needed.

Dr. Amin said one other thing that I debated whether or not to put on the blog, but I think it's important. He said that her big issue now is anxiety. Hospice is doing what they can to manage this with medications, especially to make sure she doesn't experience "air hunger." What her friends can do is be as supportive as possible. And part of that is starting to let her go.

Turning on a Dime

The USS Northwestern has turned on a dime. Valjean is being transferred to Seasons Hospice (at Lincoln Park Hospital) today. Time is uncertain. Check back for updates.

Step by Step

On Tuesday Valjean took the first steps toward hospice care, meeting with Ken, a nurse from Seasons Hospice. He struck us as an empathetic man, experienced and knowledgeable in his field. He made it clear that home and inpatient hospice are both feasible for VJ, that they are not mutually exclusive, and that neither is an irrevocable choice -- she may move from one to another, as her needs change. No one is pushing her precipitously toward a decision, and we may look into other hospices as well, but I left the discussion feeling significantly more positive about Valjean's options.

Wednesday brought many visitors...after I had left, so I rely here on Kate's report. Among them was Elihu, Valjean's Zen teacher from Champagne, who left her in what Kate describes as "a very placid yet positive, almost joyful mood." Her friends Steve and Lilly also arrived from Canada -- but before they were able to see VJ, Lilly was admitted to the USS Northwestern with a badly infected finger. ("Couldn't they wheel her in here and we can have a pajama party?" asked Valjean.)

I had left Valjean this morning when the physical therapist came in -- I assumed to move her legs around a bit. Would that I had stayed! The grapevine now informs me that in fact the PT got her to stand up and take a couple of steps. Small and stumbling though they were, this may bring her one step closer to home.

Three Trees on the Balcony

Valjean took the midnight special last night -- OK, it was only 10:30 -- and is now comfortably ensconced in the Palliative Care Unit on the 16th floor of the new Prentice building at Northwestern. This morning I watched her devour French toast, pay a couple of bills, and try to comb her hair under the elastic band of her oxygen mask -- each act a moment to cherish.

She has a fabulous view of the lake, from which I expect she'll be able to see the regatta on Wednesday and, if we can twist the bed around a bit, the fireworks on Thursday. But those are future events, and what the-girl-who-lives-in-the-moment focused on was the sight of three trees growing on the unprotected balcony of a high-rise to the northeast.

Mary was present later in the day for a meeting with Korey, the unit's social worker. Korey told VJ and Mary that of all the options we had discussed, three (skilled nursing facility, L-TAC, and the Rehab Institute's cancer program) are not appropriate for various reasons. A fourth, home hospice, may not be feasible because of her acute oxygen needs. The fifth is inpatient hospice.

Korey recommended Seasons Hospice at Lincoln Park Hospital, because it's good and because it's flexible: they accept patients for a variety of reasons -- including acute symptom management (her severe shortness of breath) as well as end-of-life. Thus it might be a place she could go and stay till the end. She very much doesn't want to move.

Mary and Kate went there this afternoon, separately, to check it out. It's on one floor of a 1970s building -- the old Grant Hospital, I believe -- and the rooms are small but clean. It would be a major change from the spacious and modern accommodations of the past few weeks, "institutional" in a very different way, but both of our intrepid reporters had good encounters with the staff.

Someone from Seasons will come to the hospital on Tuesday to evaluate whether Valjean meets their criteria. There remains the question of whether they meet hers. At least two of us will be at this meeting for support. Do not call us trees.

How Can I Miss You if You Won't Go Away?

It's too bad this blog doesn't come with a soundtrack, or I'd post a rendition of Valjean's singing -- still strong, but not improved by 6 or 7 months of lung disease. The prologue:

As we feared, Dr. Patel, the oncologist, confirmed that it is not only pneumonia and radiation pneumonitis but cancer that is thriving in and around Valjean's lungs. She has started her on Tarceva, which should shrink the tumor and have some palliative effects, but is not meant to be curative. Still, Patel said she thinks Valjean could look ahead as long as three months or, if she responds particularly well to the Tarceva, even more. Valjean's response: "Three months? My friends will be saying [and she sings] 'How can I miss you if you won't go away?'"

We had a visit from the Palliative Care liaison, and it looks like Valjean will be moved there on Monday. Kate and I checked it out and gave it our seal of approval: fabulous views, big screen TV, internet access, fold-out bed in the patient rooms, an exercycle in the family lounge, very friendly and accommodating staff. I think Valjean will like it, though she's become quite attached to life in the ICU. What's not to like? "I have a room with a great view. People wait on me hand and foot. And my friends come in and shower me with love. The food could be better." (Not a lot you can do with Ensure and jello.)

We will use the week in Palliative Care(and the PC social worker) to weigh the options for next steps. We've learned that inpatient hospice is reserved for the last 2 weeks of life, so we'll be trying to learn more about long-term acute care hospitals, home hospice (combined with a 24-hour hired home health aide), and possibly a cancer program at the Rehabilitation Institute of Chicago.