I just don't know how to handle any of this, you know? How am I supposed to know? I've never done this before. I've never sat by and watched someone I love be tortured to death until now. I mean, I know my great grandma and my great aunt were in a lot of pain when they dfied but I was young, I didn't live with them and I think I was kind of shielded from the worst of it; we went and saw them but I guess I just didn't get it, or didn't see them at the worst. I wish with everything I have I could shield my kids from this.
 But kids, they're more resilient than we give them credit for. Yeah, they're stressed out by this and they know more than they should have to know. But their lives are going on through it. They wake up, they go to school, they do their homework, they bathe and dress and eat and play with their friends. It's my life, not theirs, that's not going on through it, because my whole life is being consumed by this. I wake up, I get Karl food, I sleep, I get the kids off to school, I help Karl in and out of bed, I empty the urinal, I help Karl in and out of cars for appointments (of which there are 2-3 every week right now, but that will end soon and I will explain that coming up), I carry his oxygen along like it's a leash; for him or for myself, I'm not sure. And through all of this, I dont' cry. I don't laugh, not a real laugh. Not a laugh that means anything. I'm trying to keep up appearances but I just feel numb and I don't think I'm fooling anyone. I'm not depressed, I'm just exhausted. My body and my heart are ready for this to be over, and I don't care how it ends anymore, and maybe that sounds cold but it's the truth. And what is the point of this blog if I'm not telling the truth? Everyone should know what happens when a person is dying from lung cancer, and it's not just happening to him, it's happening to all of us. It's not pleasant for anyone. It's not just torture for the patient, but for everyone around him as well. I'm ready for Karl to stop hurting and I'm ready for me to stop hurting, and I'm ready to let my kids' lives find some kind of normalcy.
 Karl and I are discussing hospice. The possibility of taking our focus off of a cure and putting it on comfort, and on being able to say no to 10+ appointments a month, on being able to be here together and create some memories that don't involve writhing in pain. Already it's been 3 1/2 months since Karl had chemo and he's in no shape to get it right now, probably ever again. The last CT scan didn't show very much growth, so it's not growing out of control or anything, but between his back and his leg, he's in too much pain to handle it. Hospice will help with that pain. Hospice means we're not going to the oncologist, it means the physical therapist can come to us, it means staying home for more (not all) care. And I think that will help all of us a lot.
 So that's what's going on now.

5 things no one ever thinks they'll have to do.

1. Set up a hospital bed in your living room

2. Leave your ten year old to babysit his father so you can take a shower or run to the store for food.

3. Actually carry out the advance directive of your spouse, well before they're old.

4. Use the power of attorney you have to make medical decisions said spouse is unable to make for himself

5. Wonder how you are going to pay rent, buy food, keep the electricity on, and pay for a funeral out of one month's income of $1000.