We have started to look for alternatives, but my mother’s pain has intensified. I ordered some books online about diet and juicing to see if this will help during this journey while trying to buy time. She’ll be 71 in a couple of days, and I wanted her to have a great birthday with hopes to take her mind off the pain. The weather wasn’t that great, so we decided to stay home and spend time together. I’m learning that time is precious during moments like these, and I had decided to stay with her no matter how much time she has. I told her that I’d either resign or take FMLA if necessary. The doctors said that family members don’t unite to help an aging or sick parent, and they told them that they’d have to figure it out. I found that shocking because I thought that’s what you did when the family needed you. So even though my mom was in and out of my life, this was a no-brainer.
Initially, my mother decided she didn’t want chemo but changed her mind in a matter of hours. The doctors say that it’s not going to give my mother much time. Still, with or without the chemo, all she could think of is her pain with hopes that it would stop. I’ve heard horrible things about chemo, but to listen to someone moan in pain all night is heartbreaking. Now add your mother to the equation, and it’s multiplied. To me, it seems that she’d have more quality of life without it, but she’s hoping that the chemo will work a miracle and kill all of cancer. Over the next few hours, we find out that she also has nodules in her lungs which are also cancerous cells. I told her she has my support either way. Ideally, quality of life is more important than quantity if that quantity doesn’t provide mobility, but then again, I’m not the one going through this pain as she has been.
My mother has an appointment to start her pre-chemo briefing to let her know what to expect. According to the doctors, the odds are dismal. She has a good team of doctors, and I appreciate everything they do, but I would not want their job. Dealing with death has to be challenging. I’d imagine that you can become somewhat desensitized, and if you don’t, there has to be some form of therapy to decompress. That has to be painful. I’m dealing with one person (my mother). How do you do this daily? Her odds are dismal, and as a believer, I’m aware that the doctors don’t know 100%, and they’re offering their guesstimates at best. The challenge with that is that it’s a person’s life, and while they may go home and reflect, the patient has to sit with the decisions they offer.
Fast forward to some days later, and we had a follow-up visit with the doctors to get an update on my mother’s status. In the process, she has to get a paracentesis which means that she has fluid on her stomach, and the doctors had to drain it periodically. The goal is to drain when necessary, but this would stop once the chemo shrinks the massive tumor that’s sitting on her pelvis. They emptied her stomach, and it was excruciating for her, but the fluid keeps coming back in due to the cancerous cells. According to the doctors, the chemo will add a few more months to their projected period of her life on earth. As they’re sharing their prognosis, I think that a few months doesn’t seem worth it, but it’s her choice. I told her that we could move out of New York, where she can see something different. She’s lived here all her life and had no desire to go anywhere else. She did get to experience my travels abroad and made a few visits to where I was over the years. As a believer, I know that God is bigger than this, and I know that illness is nothing to him. I am hoping/praying for a miracle, but I struggle with the reality of her condition. Psalm 90:10 says, “Seventy years are given to us! Some even live to eighty. But even the best years are filled with pain and trouble; soon they disappear, and we fly away.” My mother has had her fair share of pain and trouble, and as her child, so have I.
I don’t want to be selfish, but I don’t want her to leave me. I find myself praying, “dear lord, please don’t take my mother, not now, please.” I don’t want her to be in pain, and I don’t want to be selfish by asking you to keep her here. I love my mother, and I want her to live out her life in fullness. Ideally, I would have the finances to take care of her, and she’d be able to live out her time in peace and pain-free because I realize that those without money don’t have many choices. The thought of my mother not being here is unthinkable to me, and I keep thinking about when that day will come, whether that means soon or years from now. I don’t want to imagine being without her.
These are the things that women of a certain age (Gen X) experience. Now don’t get me wrong, many have lost parents at earlier periods. My grandmother died when my mother was 31, so the way I see it, I had the privilege of having an extra 20 years. My father died when I was 20, which was a significant blow because he was my everything. Neither of my parents was present when I was a child. They were dealing with their addictions and chose not to raise me. I watched my father’s addiction take over his life, and as strong as he was, he couldn’t kick the habit. At one point, he had gotten his life together, but I believe that once he was diagnosed with a terminal illness, he fell back into the pit that he had successfully escaped years prior. He was the first in our family to receive his master’s degree. I wish I knew what was going through his mind during that time, and he was my hero.
Growing up, I lived with my maternal grandmother, Madear. Once she passed, I lived with my mother’s sister, who had taken me in when I was twelve. My maternal grandmother suffered from her demons and took a lot of her pain out on me. After years of counseling, I’m aware that she was sick, but it doesn’t make it right. I’ve been able to walk out forgiveness and continue as I unpack my issues of life. My mother and I reconnected when I was in college. She has been back in my life for over 26 years. Before that, she was in and out, but present ever since. The first couple of years of her return was rocky because she was still using. Our experiences have brought us here, and I’m glad that I’ve been able to process all of these past pains because I’m not sure I would’ve been able to be here, mentally, physically, and emotionally.
We have been able to re-establish a relationship over the years and have had a pretty good ride. A few times, the doctor said r, “look, you took care of your daughter when she was a kid, now it’s her time to take care of you,” I’d often caught a glimpse of my mother’s face when they said that, and I’d instinctively say, “whether you did or did not, I’m here for you.” I feel like the grieving has already started, and she’s still alive. I’m not sure how to shift, but I reached out to a friend of a friend who had a similar experience with her mother, who lived nine years after her diagnosis. I have hope, but there is a lingering “but” as we make pending appointments for her to start her chemo process. I don’t know what to expect because this is new terrain, neither one of us has been here before. My mother had some experience when my aunt was diagnosed with cancer, but this is my first time experiencing this up close and personal. I plan to seek more options and pray for an answer while I’m doing my research. Her first cycle is happening within a week. So until next time, here’s hoping for a positive change.
womenofacertainage 