The day started with a cup of
coffee. Not much was said about the day
ahead just the fact that it would be a long day. Robb and I made the drive to pick up Mom and
Dad. Mom looked great and she wore her
teal hat to hide the scar on the back of her head. She thought it might startle people so she
wanted to cover it up, taking a little extra time to weave a few of the front
pieces out the front so people would see that she does, indeed, have hair. It’s cute.
She was so proud this morning to show everyone that she could walk
around the apartment without the walker but she knew I wouldn’t be especially
happy. She was right. I told her it was great and if she insisted
than at least use a cane just in case.
She agreed that she is probably to “wobbly” to be flying solo right
now. We made some joke about the word “wobbly”…something
about Thanksgiving, wobbly gobbly…sometimes I’m not sure of the jokes in her
head but they make her smile that big, beautiful smile of hers and that’s all
that matters. We laughed. She put on her black coat and started down
the hallway.
Dad was his usual positive self,
repeating, “Everything will be fine…You’re still with us”. Sometimes it gets me frustrated to hear him
repeat that every single day but then I feel bad when I do. It’s beautiful and he is scared to lose the
one constant that has been by his side for fifty years. I watch him, sometimes, watching mom. So in love, the two of them.
Mom is claustrophobic so medication
to get a 45 minutes MRI is necessary.
Mom was half baked by the time they came to get her. I kissed her on the forehead like I usually
do and assured her I would look after Dad during the procedure. She is always thinking of others and
especially her honey.
Dad, Robb and I sat in the waiting
room for about an hour. Dad worked his
puzzle book, a fantastic refuge for him whenever he needs to feel active or
when life gets a little too confusing.
He was content. Robb played with
his electronic equipment and I found myself watching an old episode of
Smallville, the contemporary Superman series.
An hour later they came to get us.
When I turned down the hallway I
noticed mom in the wheelchair, her head down, shoulders wrapped in a toasty
warm blanket. She was still pretty baked
from the medication but we greeted her and she immediately asked about ‘father’. He took her hand while the nurse wheeled us
to our next destination – radiation oncology.
The ladies in radiation oncology are
amazing people. The stories they hear and see every single day must be, at
times, too much to bare. We have talked
on occasion about how important it is to recharge the personal batteries and
how sometimes you just can’t take it personally. They did not want to see Mom back after a
year being free of cancer. They held her
hand, they hugged Dad.
Mom had a quick scan and was fitted
for the head mask they will use to keep her head very still during the
radiation procedure. She will have CyberKnife procedure done in about a
month. She is in very good hands.
We left the hospital and stopped by
the volunteer desk to see Sandy, our new friend. Every single day during the first round of
chemo and radiation Sandy was right there inside the main doors – with a smile
for Mom. When it’s not busy she comes
out from the desk and gives Mom a hug.
She sent her a wonderful card on the day of surgery three weeks
ago. A warm soul and loving heart. All a part of the healing process and a gift
from God.
We all had a quick lunch and then
made our way to the neuro-surgeon’s office.
This was a follow-up from Mom’s brain surgery and to get her assessment
of the mornings’ MRI and CT. She was
twenty minutes late…just makes for our creative minds to carry us away in to
worlds we shouldn’t be visiting, especially when cancer is bearing down on
you. She walked in, all five feet and
some odd inches of her. She pulled up
the images on the computer and showed us the results. Plain, simple, matter-of-fact…I guess it
doesn’t pay to warm up to it, right? Nothing
you can say beforehand will soften the blow so get to it and get it done. The surgery was successful but there is a
chance, as evidenced in the scans, that there may be some residual cancer in
the brain. You could almost hear the
corporate sigh as we all took a breath and tried to remain composed. The doctor picked up on it very quickly and immediately
went in to a barrage of questions for mom…some necessary I’m sure…others
perhaps to get us all re-focused on the task at hand: beating cancer.
The doctor is pretty amazing. She
has an incredible reputation and her father is a leading neuro-surgeon as
well. She has 2 kids and enjoys skiing,
watching movies and traveling, in her spare time. She addressed our concerns head-on and told
us that, as she had suspected and stated before the surgery, Mom’s eyesight in
her right eye, which is gone about 35%, will not return. It shouldn’t get rapidly worse but with all
eye issues you have to, well, keep an eye on them. Mom’s immediate reaction was to look over at
me and recite the name of the regular eye doctor we go to and hinted to set up
an appointment. I told her we’ll get
that set up in the near future.
The hardest part was to listen to
the other damage that Mom sustained as a result of the tumor and the brain
surgery. There is some cognitive damage done that is not reversible. Her recall
and association has been compromised. She knows when it doesn't make sense
which is good, I guess. It's just scary to talk with her and realize that we
have to repeat ourselves often and that she gets facts screwed up a lot. That
gets her upset and I'm sure it won't be long before she thinks that we are just
toying with her. As an example, Mom has
two major appointments on the calendar this month; todays and one in two
weeks. It’s on the calendar by the
door: scans/surgeon and then on the 21st
blood work, scans and Dr. Hake. She
continually gets them mixed up. One day
she’s confident that today was blood work and a scan and that the 21st
was a doctor follow-up. When corrected
she gets visibly upset with herself and you can see her trying to fix that part
of her mind that keeps betraying her. She
has always been in 100% control of her mind and all the inner workings of the
household, finances, health, etc. Now she isn't and that may take some time for
her to adjust to.
The surgeon agreed to back off of
the pain medication. What mom is reporting for her pain levels
should be controllable with some simple Tylenol and maybe a heat pack or
two. When we got home the medication
issues got Mom pretty confused but she kept trying to take control and show us
that she really did know what was going on.
I took her hand and told her to forget about it – it wasn’t important
because “she had people for that”. She
smiled but I know it hurts her to have to rely on anyone. Thankfully the medication was still kicking
in and I’m sure she slept it off for the rest of the afternoon.
The radiologist called me and
confirmed that after our meeting with the surgeon, the two of them talked and
agreed to wait one month to do CyberKnife.
I will make the appointment in the morning for her. The next step: we will find out on the 21st of
this month if the cancer has spread anywhere else besides the brain. We’re all nervous. Who wouldn’t be? It’s natural, right? We talk about it. We talk about all
scenarios: no cancer we celebrate. Cancer and we attack and fight with chemo.
Widespread cancer and we cry a lot and talk about other options.
Mom continues to fight. She continues to be strong. Mom and Dad together are an incredible force
to be reckoned with, proving once again that love does, indeed, prevail in all
situations. Their love is a love that is
patient and kind – a love that has never envied or been over proud. Their love
is one that honors one another deeply and profoundly. Their love is never quick to anger and by the
close of every day any wrongs are forgiven.
Their love is a love that protects them both…it always hopes…and it always perseveres.
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