Storm Clouds

My mom is dying. There it is…point blank. No easy way to say it. She is 51 and cancer has taken over her body. Her body is killing itself. Grotesque. Not an easy way to go. No quick blink of an eye, no accident that steals her life in a second or two, no going gently into the night. Instead nothing but suffering and pain. Yet she is strong. Cancer may be destroying her body, but it is not destroying her courage, strength or soul.

I watch her. Suffering. Gasping for breath. Unable to help. I hate it. I hate it with all my being.

The nightmare began on Friday, Feb. 6, 2004. I got a call at work. "Good morning, RiverCity Mortgage, how may I help you?" It was my mom. She was crying. She had just come back from the doctor’s office. She was scared. Thought she was having a heart attack. Turned out to be a tumor. 3 inches of genes gone berserk in her lung. I left work immediately. Crying. Hysterical. Scared. Yet holding it together because my mom said she needed me to be strong for her. From that moment on, it was about her, not me. Simply do anything and everything that needed to be done to help her…no complaints, no questions, no doubts. My life put on the back burner to try to save her’s.

Tuesday, March 2, 2004. Operation to remove the tumor. Original plan…remove the lower lobe of the left lung and then chemo and radiation and should be fine. Cure. The doctors used the word "cure" quite often. During the operation, complications…bleeding and tearing tissue…surgeon said it was like "wet toilet paper". They ended up having to remove the whole lung. My mom did not know…she was not conscious. More bad news ahead. The cancer had started to spread to the chest lining. Hours later we finally get to see her in the Intensive Care Unit. A "Code Blue" goes off. My heart sinks. It is someone else’s parent, not mine. I am relived but sad…it could have been mine. She takes the news in stride. Focus. Look forward not backwards. A little bump in the road.

14 months consisting of 4 different chemotherapy treatments, 35 sessions of radiation, 4 hospitalizations for complications, total hair loss, a brief "all clear – cancer free" only to have it come back 3 times worse in six weeks. Second opinions, third opinions. Trips to the Mayo Clinic. 14 months of praying and begging for a miracle from God. Still praying now at journey’s end. Praying for the pain to simply…end.

After all her treatments failed the doctors suggested she try Tarceva. Tarceva is some sort of antibody that blocks the blood to the tumor and starves it to death. A rash is a positive sign that your body is responding favorably to the drug. My mom got a rash. A terrible rash all over her face. The doctors were optimistic. Finally…a miracle in the form of a rash. Small price to pay for a cure. Small price to pay for time with her family. Small price to pay for a second chance at life. They were wrong. The drug was not working. She was having difficulty breathing and went into the emergency room. First they thought it was an infection. Scans, tests, blood work and more scans showed that the cancer has spread. The tumor has invaded the heart. The tumor has wrapped around the aorta. Massive…massive…MASSIVE blood clotting. Doctors and nurses are shocked that she is not having pain in her legs yet. She walks, they are amazed. It will change in time. Everything changes in time.

Wednesday, March 30, 2005. The doctor comes into her room and drops the bomb. There are no options left. The cancer is out of control. The blood clots will be her downfall. They cannot give her blood thinners because her heart will simply bleed out. It is only a matter of time…anywhere from a couple of hours to a few days. Just a matter of time. After 14 months of fighting cancer…no one expected blood clots to be the monster to seal her fate. Where in the hell did that come from? Thin air…

Thursday, March 31, 2005. My sister’s 28th birthday. I pray to God to please not let my mom die on my sister’s birthday. Life cannot be that cruel.

Friday, April 1, 2005. April Fools Day. A day of jokes and laughter. Her feet start to go numb and turn bluish. It’s not a joke. I rub them. I rub them not because it really makes a difference, but because it makes my mom feel better. Confusion, denial and more confusion sets in. I have to explain to my mom just how serious the situation is. She heard it the first time but did not want to hear. Now she has heard and she devastated. I am devastated. I resent that I am forced to bring the bad news to her door. I resent that I am her dose of reality. But, it is fitting that I be the one to do it. After all we have been through in my 30 years of life. This is just another bump in the road. I tell her through my tears…trying to catch my breath. I tell her there is nothing the doctors can do. We pray. Nothing left to do but pray. And hope.

Tuesday, April 5, 2005. We come home. We are now members of the hospice program. She gets to pass from this world to the next from home. Much better than the cold, sterile, impersonal hospital rooms. But, it comes with a price. I am her caregiver. I am afraid. 24 hours a day I am afraid. I get her to the bathroom. I help her brush her teeth. I give her the medications she needs to keep the pain at bay. I sleep on the floor on an airbed next to her bed. Just like when she was in the hospital. I slept on the floor next to her bed. She was frightened and it was the least I could do. I am there if she needs anything. I am there if she needs help. I am there if she is scared. I am there to hold her hand. The roles have reversed. I am the parent and she is now the child. I do it all. I do not mind. If I had to, I would do it for a hundred years. It gives me time with her. Precious time that I will never have again. I cry. I try to be strong, but it is hard. People call. People email. People send cards. Everyone wants to know what they can do to help. "What can I do?" I want to ask them…"Can you make her well again? Can you heal her? Can you make her whole?" They would say…"No." Then I am sorry…there is nothing you can do to help. I know they just want to help. But, there is nothing anyone can do. There is nothing more even I can do but love her. If I could I would trade places with her. But, I know she would trade places with me if it was I who was sick. We would spend eternity trading places.

Wednesday, April 13, 2005. Her feet are black and dead. The nurse tells me that her toes might fall off. She tells me that if they do I am to just grab a tissue and discretely pick them up and throw them away in the garbage. I just look at the nurse and go numb. And I thought it could not get worse. We are trapped in a twisted movie created by a sick mind. We are trapped in a grotesque nightmare. We are trapped in reality.

Friday, April 15, 2005. My mom is ready to go. When she is awake and lucid she talks about her dreams of heaven and how she wants her mom to come and get her. My mom’s mom passed away in 1985 from cancer. My mom’s dad passed away in 1991 from cancer. My mom’s sister is fighting colon cancer. My mom’s brother is surviving 3 different cancers…so far. Out of my mom’s family of two parents and five children…five have had cancer. The other two should be sweating bullets. Just a matter of time. Cancer seems to be a family curse. So far she has been home for 11 days. I have been with her 24/7 minus 15 minutes when I went to get her medicine at Wal-Mart. The nurse stayed with her. I felt guilty for leaving. I still do.

She is ready to go. She is still strong. She is still funny. Laying on her deathbed and cracking jokes. But, she is ready to go. Ready to join the others who went before her. She asks me why God won't just take her already. I tell her that God will take her when it is her time to go. I cry and she strokes my hair and tells me that she will always be with me. She tells me that when I need her to just open my arms and feel her hugging me and loving me. I tell her that when she needs to go she should go. I tell her that it will be tough but I will carry on. My sister, brother and I will carry on. I tell her. But, I have my doubts. I don’t know how anyone recovers from something like this. I don’t think it is possible. As I write this entry, I look over at her laying in the bed from Hospice that we have in the living room. She is laying there…holding a rosary…still, motionless due to the medications. It is just a matter of time before she is laying there…holding a rosary…still, because she is gone.

I am losing my mom. I am losing my best friend. I am losing my sense of family. My heart is breaking into a million pieces. The tears just won’t stop falling.

SLIPPING AWAY
by Moby
Open to everything happy and sad
Seeing the good when it's all going bad
Seeing the sun when I can't really see
Hoping the sun will at least look at me
Focus on everything better today
All that I needed I never could say
Hold on people they’re slipping away
Hold on to this while it's slipping away