Written: 4-19-07

Cancer

Unwelcome Diagnosis

July 2003

“We’ll talk when you get home,” he replied.  Yet, there wasn’t much to be said.  I had only ever seen my dad cry a handful of times but from his tone I knew that from his eyes flowed a stream of pure, unhindered pain.  His reply left me speechless; instead, my eyes returned the call for sorrow as they longed for some consolation or explanation.  Every imaginable scenario ran through my head as it tried to grab onto something, cling to an answer or solution.  She didn’t deserve this- not her, not now.  The drive ahead seemed never-ending.  I wanted to be at home to wrap my arms around her and cry alongside them; yet, I was hoping it was just a dream.  Perhaps my imagination had gotten carried away and the truth was much less severe than what I had been anticipating.  With every mile, a new idea of what could happen.  I longed to be home, just to see her.  I needed a tangible visual to know that she was still here and no matter what, she was still the same mother and woman I loved.

Opening the front door, I realized that the truth need not be vocalized.  Their eyes were a piercing red from crying, and the air around us loomed with uncertainty.  As I looked upon their faces, I saw brokenness.  Nothing could have prepared me for that moment.  Two of the strongest people I knew had been thrown into many people’s worst nightmare.  We held onto each other for dear life- clinging to the strength and bond between us.  My dad’s crimson eyes met mine, and he could barely let the words escape his mouth, “It’s cancerous”.   My mind did not want to catch the idea.  Maybe if I let the words float off into an abyss, they would be caught by someone or something else.  There was no room in this house for resignation.

Cancer?  No, I couldn’t have heard him right.  Cancer only happened to the elderly.  It was what people died from.  My mom was far too young for such a diagnosis.  She had so much life left in her.  She had a family, friends, her husband, her faith, church, vacations to take, people to meet, and a life to live.  I couldn’t imagine that this word was being used for my own mother.  I had heard stories of people her age getting similar diagnoses but nothing had ever hit so close to home.  This was here, now, it was her.  This wasn’t a story or a movie, there was no off button or pause to stop the film.  It was no longer the family down the street or the people from church, cancer had struck my family.

The phone rang and our family doctor sent his condolences.  He offered a listening ear and a medical perspective when needed.  The phone rang and the pastor asked if he could stop over.  He offered up a prayer of peace and faith.  The phone rang and the family members knew not what to say.  They offered their sorrow and to bring meals when needed.  The phone rang, and finally we allowed it to ring.  Why pick up to be asked the same questions that had no answers?  It was in the silence and communion of each other that we clung to, and still cling.

It would be a while before surgery.  Apparently the tumor was not just a mistake that could be erased; it must be thoroughly researched and strategically handled.  Our emotions, on the other hand, had no clear cut agenda or plan of action.  Life went on, but it wasn’t the same as it used to be.  At first, it was a question of how to handle such a situation.  There is no “how to” when it comes to cancer and coping.  It was an adventure that each of us embarked on in our ways.  Sometimes it meant an extra prayer, a journal entry, a long walk, retreating to a friend’s house, a large scoop of ice cream, but most of all it meant a binding faith.  Words could not do justice to the feelings, emotions, questions, and confusions of the months that followed, but somehow we all knew that there was a higher power who had the control each one of us lacked.

My oldest sister, the nurse, did all the research possible.  She was determined to fight the disease and cure it.  She brought my mom books and magazines that contained a wealth of information concerning breast cancer, the risks, the procedures, healthy living, and how to deal with the emotional stress.  Although my mom had a plethora of doctors, it was nice to have a family member understand what was going on.  She knew the questions to ask, understood the terminology, and provided a medical point of view to a family that had no clue.

My other sister was in her second year at college and seemed a little more distant in the whole ordeal.  She began running as a way to deal with the stress.  Her physical body became more and more in shape as the chaos escaladed.  Although she lived on campus and would often wish she could be at home, she had work to do.  She would visit when she had time and provided a nice outlet to vent and talk to amidst the constant reminders and chaos of our house.

My little brother was still in middle school and often had a hard time expressing what he thought.  He has always been a momma’s boy and clung to her more than ever.  He kept himself together as the star of both the basketball and football teams but wished that his mom could be there to watch him.  Instead of bringing home his emotion, he would talk with his teachers and express himself to outside individuals- not wanting to be a burden.

My dad remained the rock of the family.  He had a hard time going to work everyday and leaving my mom home, but he took off work when needed and helped hold the family together.  Even though no one could really understand or vocalize the situation, he was always willing to listen and help sort through the emotions.  His faith and strength provided an example for all of us.

Meanwhile, my mom tried to remain calm.  Cancer was not as foreign of a word to her as it was to the rest of us.  Her mother had died from cancer, and her sister has had recurring breast cancer.  As the caretaker of the family, my mom gave of herself at every opportunity whether it be family, church, school, or the community.  After giving birth to my oldest sister, she stopped working and has devoted her life to her family, friends, and faith.  Now, however, she was on the recipient end of the flowers, cards, and encouragement which was somewhat of an adjustment.  One thing was for sure, she never let go of her faith or her Bible.  During a time when uncertainty was plastered across every door, she held true to the only absolute truth.  She knew that no matter what, she had a bright future with her maker.

Beginnings

August 2003

School was starting, and it was time for all of us to return to some sort of routine.  It was nice to have something to take our minds off of “it”, but I hated to leave her at home.  This was the beginning of my senior year, and many say it’s supposed to be the best year of all but mine continued to be a whirlwind of confusion, anxiety, and blind faith.  How was I supposed to tell my friends about my summer?  It was like the elephant in the room that only those close to me knew about, but in small towns news travels fast.  Soon it became a question of who knew and who I could talk to.  People who I had been friends with all of high school became distant strangers that would offer a smile or “How are you?” but scattered quickly whenever anything got too personal.  It became much easier to wear a mask of contentment and answer questions only when asked.  To tell people, “I’m fine” was easier than to reveal the true depth of emotion.

Soon, it was time to do the surgery.  This foreign object had to be removed.  However, the thought of hospitals and my mom being put under the knife was not a comforting one.  It wasn’t too invasive, but I would rather she not have to go through this at all.  Anyone in our family would have told you that they would rather have taken her spot for her than to watch her have to go through this.  Although it was just a lump, there was always the possibility of it spreading and time was of the essence.  She would wear the robe and temporarily put her life in the hands of another.

Visiting the hospital was never a favorite activity of mine.  In fact, hospitals scared me immensely.  They represented too much evil- death, disease, pain.  My mom would have eight surgeries in the following nine months.  Each was a protective measure but equally difficult to handle.  I can remember visiting in the hospital one time in particular.  The fact that I had to go to this dreary place was bad enough but upon arriving, my sister and I watched a group of nurses smoking just outside the oncology unit.  It was as if they were mocking the fact that inside those brick walls lay sick individuals who suffered due to uncontrollable cells and diseases; and yet, the medical staff that took care of them boasted of their ability to puff a deadly smoke into their lungs that may someday force them into the same beds where my mom now laid.

Every time I saw my mom laying there, attached to IVs, wearing the robe, unable to move from her bed, it struck me.  The woman who had held me in her arms, given me life, and walked alongside of me was reduced to a hospital bed where she relied on the advice and discretion of strangers.  It didn’t seem right.  She would raise her arms to embrace me, and yet I knew how very careful I had to be with each move, trying not to bump the wrong area of her or the equipment.   Deep down we recognized that this was still our loving, beautiful mother but often found ourselves going to the cafeteria or gift shop to retreat-  as if going back to the same wish for this dream to disappear.

A Long Road

September 2003

Recovery was always a long process.  My mother’s bed became her home but at the same time her jail cell- a temporary confinement from the life she had previously known.  She was continuously showered with cards, flowers, presents, and our favorite- meals.  Friends and family surrounded us with support and never let us go without thought or food.  This was a fight that we were all in together, and it was always nice to have others join our team.

The first surgery went well the doctors said, but the news hit home that month.  The cancer had spread.  It was no longer a small lumpectomy procedure that would be needed; something else had to be done.  My parents racked their brains for help or understanding, but each knew what had to be done.

She would lose both of her breasts that month.  This time the surgery was a lot more than a procedure, it take away a portion of my mom’s womanhood.  She would wear the implications of this disease and have a constant reminder of its grueling effects for the rest of her life.

This time the surgery was much more invasive and terribly scary.  I never believed that things like this actually happened- not this close to home.  She once again would wear a robe but her hospital stay was longer and the repercussions heavier.

Chemo- what?

October 2003-Feburary 2004

After surgery, the doctors gave her various options.  She did not have to have such invasive surgery but her and my dad had decided that she would rather be safe than have to go through another diagnosis years down the road.  Once she had “recovered” from her mastectomy, she had a port inserted into her chest.  Before that time, I had no idea what the implications of chemotherapy were but even the preparation for treatment was grueling.  The doctors inserted a small box-type machine into her chest that would aid in the process.

On October, 13th, my sister’s twenty third birthday, my mom began chemotherapy.  Once a week she would be driven to Spectrum Health Hospital by friends or family and have toxic drugs sent through her body in order to kill all the fast growing cells within her.  This, in turn, meant that not only would the cancer be killed but she would lose much of ability to function.  The slowing down occurred on many levels.

One of the most pertinent of effects of this treatment is the loss of hair.  I would have never expected how emotional I would become from her losing her long locks.  Growing up, my mom’s hair flowed well below her shoulders onto her back.   Every picture I have seen of her from high school and college, she sported pin straight locks that seemed never-ending.  Although, with age, she grew to complain about the thinness, gray, and fact that it never styled the way she wanted, her hair was beautiful to me and represented yet another part of her womanhood.

When my mom found out she had to have chemotherapy, she had her friend cut her hair short.  It fell just below her ears and was a fun change, at the time.  However, after she started treatment, she found a few hairs on her pillow and decided it was time.  One evening, while I was away, my dad took out the razor that my mom used to cut my brother’s hair and shaved her head almost bald.  I cannot imagine the emotion or pain of that moment but still wish neither one of them had to experience it.

My mom would wear a wig for the majority of her treatment and although it was a cute wig, I hated the thing.  I still can’t put a finger on the reason why; perhaps it was too much of a reminder for me or it just didn’t seem like her.  Maybe it was because I knew she was uncomfortable wearing it and would often get too hot underneath it.  The wig did provide a few laughs for us, however.  There was the time my brother-in-law came down the stairs with her wig on and made us all laugh uncontrollably.  Or the numerous times the wig would be tousled in the wind and a large chunk would be out of place.  Because my mom couldn’t feel the difference, we would have to pull her aside and help her rearrange the strands.

Although her hair was a significant road block, the effects the treatments had on her body were even more grueling.  For days after she went for chemo, my mom would be confined to her bed.  She would go in and out of consciousness, and it was often hard to tell if she was sleeping or awake.  I would come home from school and hop onto bed with her.  I would try to fill her in on the day’s occurrences and remain connected despite her painful circumstances but almost felt guilty having to hash out my stress over exams or situations.  Looking at her, I knew that she was struggling and had no need for excess stress but still wanted her to be involved.

During this time, our family had to bind together to keep the household running smoothly and cope.  Most of our meals were made courtesy of church friends, and when the doorbell didn’t ring with deliveries, we would usually order take-out.  McDonalds and Little Caesars could have been on speed dial.  Over the next months, we would discover just how much our mother did.  Although she didn’t have a paid office job, she kept busy taking care of her family.  We would have to combine our efforts to clean, do the laundry, wash dishes, set the table, and take my brother to and from practices and friend’s houses.

It was lonely without my mom around.  For five months, she was pretty absent from our lives.  The everyday events of church, sporting events, and family functions lacked her presence.  Although everything in her wanted to engage and be a part our lives, she just didn’t have the energy.  Even walking up and down the stairs required an excess of effort and was just too much.  Just the other day, she recalled having to get down on her hands and knees to carry herself up the stairs after a chemo treatment because her legs hurt so badly from the effects of treatment.

Her mental capacity wasn’t even all there.  She had trouble remembering certain things and referred to herself as having “chemo brain”.  Whether it was repeating the same story four times or forgetting one that we had just told her, she often joked that it wasn’t her fault.  We gave her the benefit of the doubt and loved her all same.  No one can relate unless they’ve been in the situation, and we tried as best as we could to understand the feelings and pain she was accumulating.

The months dragged on, and we began a countdown to the last treatment.  None of us wanted to have to watch her in this condition any longer, and she was more than ready to get back to her life.

The Beginning of the End

March 2004

As the sun came back to Michigan and the flowers began to bloom, our spirits began to return as well.  March marked yet another set of treatments but would be the last set.  Drastic measures had already been taken but my parents, along with the doctors, decided that radiation would be the best option to pursue.  After having her port removed from her chest, my mom had small circular tattoos strategically placed around the affected areas.  These tattoos would serve as the entrance sites for the beams that would strike her skin and hopefully zap out what was left of the disease.

Radiation didn’t seem as damaging as chemotherapy had.  It was more or less another annoying, and sometimes painful, procedure that had to be done each week.  The sessions only took a few minutes but the preparation made the process last.  She would be strapped down and have to listen to a series of beeping noises as the technician fired a series of beams into those dots.  All this had to be done extremely carefully, as the harmful beams were only meant to hit those certain spots.

Finally, after months of surgeries, recoveries, and treatments, it felt as thought we were beginning to get our mom back.  Her hair grew back slowly, and her spirit and smile grew right alongside them.  She didn’t enjoy the treatments but was becoming optimistic about the end of her battle with cancer.

As her mental and physical capacities returned, I saw my mom’s inner battle turn outward.  She began to pursue others who shared similar experiences and longed to make a difference.  I remember one day when I went to radiation with her and was stunned at the impact she was having, even on the hospital staff.  Each of the technicians, secretaries, and people in the waiting room knew her name and had big smiles when they saw her come in.

Throughout her chemotherapy and radiation, she would share stories of the individuals she had met in the waiting room.  It is not uncommon for her to make friends with all sorts of random people- the grocery store clerk, the office secretaries, etc.  So it came as no surprise that she made friends with others who were in similar situations.  After her hair began to grow back, she even gave many of her hats and inspirational books to a woman who was beginning treatment at the same hospital.  Here my mom had taken a dreary circumstance and used it to share her faith and help those who were hurting.

A Fresh Start

April 2004

As I prepared for graduation, my mom prepared for the next chapter in her life.  After facing a deadly disease head on, she was ready to embark on life after cancer.  It had been a long and draining year, but she had kept her faith strong and never lost hope.

I can’t say that I ever imagined my mom would lose this battle.  Sure, the idea had occurred to be early on, but I never let myself embrace the fact that I could lose her.  She was a fighter, and I couldn’t be prouder of her and the way she handled herself that year.  Even though she had every right in the world to complain or give up, she never did.

Three years ago, this month, she finished her treatment.  Her hair is still just below her ears, but I have my mom back.  She isn’t the same as she was then, and I don’t believe I am either.  With every experience, she had taught me to learn from it and grow stronger.  Through faith, family, and friends- every battle can be won.