The Big Dipper - Version 1.0

To begin, close your eyes (well read this paragraph first) – imagine it is a beautiful clear, cool summer’s night. Look up into the sky at all the stars and the moon shining bright. Now, find the Big Dipper. Can you remember how you learned to find these seven stars and know they were the Big Dipper? Slowly open your eyes and I will you my story about those stars.


I started playing with the image of the Big Dipper after a friend shared the idea that the stars are stories. The Big Dipper is the Big Dipper because someone decided to connect those seven stars and give them a name (also called Ursa Major). That’s how the constellations came to be. Just as the constellations come from a story someone created to identify the night sky when traveling, so too we have stories about our lives.


It started me thinking about my stories. What were my stories about those seven stars? Each of those stars represents an event - a small story that created "The Summer of 1997" for me.


Star #1 - June 26 - my 71 year old father was rushed to the hospital because he was having trouble breathing. The diagnosis was terminal lung cancer. After more tests and visits to several doctors, we learned he had less than six months to live. How could that be? He seemed healthy. My dad walked three miles per day, square danced several times a week, and was very active in the VFW. All this, plus caring for the five acres and the huge garden they had. My sister, Katie and I were in shock. The marathon race had begun and we were late off the blocks. The grandchildren were devastated.


Star #2 - July 13 - now that we know our parents' family physician had misdiagnosed my father's ailments for some time (despite knowing my father had asbestosis), I finally convinced them to go to a new doctor. I took my parents to visit the new doctor. My mom went back first. She'd been having some back pain and her former doctor had told her it was arthritis. While my mom was still in the examining room, they had my father and I go back. I came along as my father was very hard of hearing. I acted as the interpreter because he could hear my soprano pitched voice.

As I walked down the hall, I passed Dr. W. – and asked how Mom was. He said he was more concerned about her then he was my dad. Yikes! A few days later, after re-running some tests, we learned that our mom had terminal cancer too. Multiple myeloma - they gave her less than two years to live.


The following weeks (and the rest of the summer) were multiple trips to multiple doctors and the hospital for Mom and Dad while still working a more than full time job. Katie, my sister, was in town and helped as much as possible. But, I wanted to be at every doctor appointment to ask my questions.


My father was having problems with his right foot which involved seeing a specialist for that, too.


Star #3 - August 13 - because of complications from the lung cancer, my father had to have his right foot - up to mid-calf - amputated. He did amazingly well. All his walking, swimming, and eating healthy paid off. He was strong as an ox. The nurses were shocked by how strong he was. They had to strap him down immediately following the surgery recovery period to keep him from getting up. He responded well to all the therapy. I had never realized how disciplined my father was. How did I miss that growing up? He was determined to do all that was required of him to make the best recovery he could.


Star #4 - August 20 - Dad was transferred to the nursing care facility because he needed additional OT and PT. I tried to come by every day from work to see him. I even helped him with the therapy. When I asked to meet with the team people working with my dad to see how much longer he would need to be there - they told me they needed to keep him for an additional two weeks "because he was not increasing his lung capacity enough". I almost fell out of the chair when they said that. I think I told them - in a relatively calm voice - that my father was never going to increase his "lung capacity" no matter how long they did therapy. He was in the final stages of lung cancer. They just stared back. This freaked me out a little and I became more aggressive and assertive in my interactions with the nurses and therapist working with my dad. I noticed in one of my visits that my dad was having some problems with his other leg. I learned later that the nurse had made my dad sit in the chair for four hours and would not let him get back in bed, because it was good for him to get used to sitting up. I reamed them pretty good for this, but the damage had been done.


After seeing how swollen my dad's good left leg was, I knew we had lost the race. That it was highly likely they would ultimately want to amputate his other leg. I visited the local hospice facility. Took the tour. Learned what was required to transfer my father there and picked up some literature about hospice. I went home and told my husband that I thought it was over. We walked and talked and I cried as I faced the reality that the nursing facility had expedited my father's death and cheated us of a fwe more months with our dad.


When I visited my dad on August 27, I told him that I thought he was going to be faced with the decision to have his other leg amputated. I hoped I was wrong, but I thought the cancer was winning. He needed to decide how much pain and suffering he was willing to go through to prolong his life. Katie and I were up to the task and would do whatever he wanted. My hope had been to get the full six months to be with him but I also did not want him to suffer needlessly.


Star #5 -August 28 - at 7:30am, I received a call from my sister saying that they were rushing dad to the hospital. The doctor advised my father they needed to amputate the other leg right away. My father declined and asked to be moved to hospice. How does one find the courage to choose the path that they know will lead to death?


Star #6 - August 30 – My father is transferred to hospice. Three hours after arriving, my father died with my mother, sister, aunts, and a friend by his side. We delayed having the funeral to allow all the grandchildren to fly in. And, ultimately, it gave my sister and I time to make decisions and do some processing.


Star #7 - September 5 –We had the funeral and burial. My mother was ill and I could not stay for the burial. I took my mother to the hospital for emergency care. I missed my father's burial and the twenty-one gun salute. My mother was admitted to the hospital and spent the night. I picked her up the next morning and she came home to live with us, never to live in her home again. She was too ill to care for herself and lived too far away for me to care for two homes.


Our lives were changed forever in those eight weeks. But that was only those seven stars. Tomorrow I will share the story of the other stars surrounding the Big Dipper.


Chene' Swart of South Africa visited Cincinnati this spring. She came to join us at A Small Group with Peter Block. Chene' shared with us her work with "Narrative Therapy".

Here is my understanding of Narrative Therapy (NT) and how I have applied it to my life stories. NT shows us that we all have a story we tell ourselves about everything that has happened in our lives. This story is created and somewhat determined by our age and level of maturity at the time of the event and our perceptions. It does not mean it is not true, but it may not be the whole story.

 For instance, when we look at the stars, many of us have learned to identify the constellations. It doesn't mean there aren't other stars surrounding those constellations, but that the other stars are just not part of the constellation.