Jaci Dawn

Not Ellen Degeneres, but my dear friend, Ellen Eaton.

Ellen died Saturday morning after a very brave and truly heroic battle against ovarian cancer. I found out this morning when I opened my work email and saw an “Update On Ellen” post. I expected some funny description of surgery and recovery. You can imagine my shock.

Throughout this entire ordeal, Ellen was upbeat and hilarious. She wanted to host a contest to name her tumors when she was diagnosed. After months of chemo, she wanted to start a pool of bets to see who could guess how many tumors survived the chemo: the proceeds were to go into Ellen’s Milkshake Fund after surgery.

Initially, I was incredibly shocked. Sad. Disappointed. Grieved. I didn’t have much time for emotions as work buried me, but slowly, I came to realize that Ellen would not have wanted anyone to cry over her. In fact, the man who sent out the email regarding Ellen’s last hours (which he described very poignantly) ended the note with the fact that he & his partner were going “out for a steak dinner, which is what Ellen would have wanted.”

Driving home tonight, finally able to ponder the loss of a dear friend, I started seeing some lessons in Ellen’s life that I think we can all use.

1. When faced with the unthinkable, say something funny. Keep your sense of humor at all costs, laugh, and defuse the situation.

Ellen was gifted at that.

2. When your friends ask “what can I do to help”, think of something and let them help. Ellen didn’t hesitate when all the offers came pouring in. She took the offers seriously and organized a network of friends with whom she could connect via email. She came up with a grand idea to get free meals: offer everyone the opportunity to take her to dinner the night before a scheduled round of chemo.

Friends lined up. I took the last round of chemo and took her out to dinner at Newport Seafood & Grill. She had a huge T-bone steak (took most of it home in a doggie bag – another Ellen trick: order enough food to eat for the next few days).

3. Don’t complain.

She was in pain. As long as I have known Ellen, she has been in pain. She was in a couple severe car accidents that left her back permanently damaged and sore. She walked with a cane on her bad days. Then came the cancer and the pain of the chemo. Nausea for days.

She made jokes about it. You knew she was in terrible pain, but you also knew that she would not tell you because she did not believe in dwelling on it. She probably cried herself to sleep sometimes, but you never saw it in public.

4. Make plans for the unthinkable.

Ellen had a contingency plan. If things went wrong, she had a plan to notify her friends. If we didn’t hear from her within a few days of chemo, we were to get alarmed. And when she went in to the hospital for her surgery, she already had plans for the “what if?”

Those plans were honored by the two men who sat beside her bed as she died, holding her hands. They knew she did not want to be resuscitated and they knew she wanted the plug pulled if she reached the point of no return. Their knowledge (and power of attorney) combined with what Ellen had told the hospital before she went under helped make the decision to let her go easier. There was no question as to what she wanted when she was beyond the point of being able to verbalize her opinion.

5. Wear a hat.

At one point in her battle, some of her friends hosted a hat party for Ellen. We were encouraged to buy (or make) her a hat: silly or serious. There were some outrageously silly hats and some wonderfully practical ones. She tried every single one on and so did everyone else. It was hysterical fun.

6. Ask for help.

Ellen knew when to ask for help. She didn’t try to fight this alone. And she didn’t rely on just one set of friends, but she leaned on friends from many different paths of life.

7. When the judge sentences you to read a book, choose a big one.

She had to go to court during her ordeal. I’m not sympathetic about the charges: she flicked a lit cigarette out her car window and got pulled over.

She went to court. She was careful to not pull the handicapped “I have cancer” card, but when she removed her hat to stand in front of the judge, she was told she could put the hat back on. She refused because you just do not wear a hat in court. She refused a chair because her cane was good enough.

The judge was so impressed, he sentenced her to do a book report for her crime. Any book.

Ellen chose a long book and did a college-level book report. She could have chosen a kid’s book.

8. Eat steak.

That’s my favorite. To heck with being politically correct, Ellen liked red meat. Steak. If you’re going to die anyway, eat steak.

There are more, but I’m too overwhelmed thinking about it. I will miss Ellen profoundly. She was intelligent, witty, downright pee-your-pants funny (sorry if that offended anyone, but at my age it doesn’t take much to make you pee your pants when you start laughing hard), and she was very loving.

Oh – and she loved wirehaired pointing griffons. Before we got Murphy, we almost adopted her griffon, Casey. Ellen was moving into an apartment where she could no longer have a dog and she gave Casey to us. But before we could collect him, he died of sudden kidney/liver failure.

Ellen died pretty much the same way. Before I could go visit her in the hospital, she was gone.

So I guess lesson number 9 is this: love wirehaired pointing griffons. Even Murphy.

Ellen died surrounded by the love and community of diverse friendships, and holding the hands of two men who cared very much for her.