For a good bit of my life, I've been a guy who likes the boundaries drawn pretty clearly. My father used to tell me that it's important in life to "roll with the punches." I'm better at that than I used to be, I suppose. Life has a way of teaching you many lessons, and you do learn to roll and pivot with it all.
For the past year, my capacity to roll with the punches has been tested. I haven't ever discussed this online, certainly not on social media. Outside the family, close friends know, people whom I can trust and with whom I can really talk honestly.
Last November (2018), my mom was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. She'd been sick for about a month, but the doctors who were seeing her just couldn't determine what was going on. Then the news of the diagnosis came. I was in my office when I got the text from my dad. I didn't over-react, like I might have once upon a time in my life, and I had been beginning to suspect there was a cancer diagnosis somewhere in the offing.
But as I was processing all this that day, another text from Dad said it all and set the tone. It went something like, "I'm sorry to be the one to tell you all this, but this is a fight and we're in it for the long haul." That is so characteristic of him. Things may get to him, but he doesn't like to stew on what he cannot fix. His message is, ok, what do we do about it?
(I should pause here and explain about the texting. On one level, it's not a good way to communicate. It lacks tone and emotion. And Dad, who is a traditionalist, used to hate it. Just pick up the phone, he would say. But in a crisis situation, he's learned, as have I, that it is a good and consistent way to get the same message out to people who need to know, with no distortion.)
It's a year later and we're in round two of the cancer fight, now with some troubling (but not uncommon) complications. By May of this year, after rounds of chemo and a surgery, and thanks to the support of some great doctors and others and her family, she was declared cancer free. I don't think any of us thought this was over, because we new going in it wasn't curable, but it was highly treatable.
Mom called me one day in mid-August to tell me the cancer returned. 3 small spots: one lung, one on the liver, and one in an area of the abdomen. I hoped my voice didn't betray me on the phone. My mind was racing, but she'd said the doctor was ready with a new round of monthly chemo, and we all agreed, without necessarily saying as much, ok, this is just the next part of all of it... we will get through it.
Then those complications came... and a lot of pain and anxiety / agitation for her at times. An oncology resident at the hospital where she is took some time to explain things to me more. I am so grateful for her time and the talk. Dad, my sister, and one of my aunts have been keeping me up to speed quite well (I live about three hours away from the hospital, and get there whenever I can). But it was important for me to hear it and try to digest it first-hand.
For a lot of my life, I have liked the role of "the fixer." I like making things better for people. When my sister was a baby, Mom said it used to really bother me when she would cry and fuss, and I would rush over to try to make it better for her. And here I am trying now to make it better for Mom, and it's something I can't fix, except to be there. And it doesn't seem like enough.
I had a really hard time at the hospital for the first couple hours Saturday. (Dad and my sister had gone home for a break...they live two hours away...and Dad was coming back today, along with a visit from my aunt and uncle.) Mom was in a good bit of pain from a procedure the day before, though her nursing staff is quite on top of things with pain management. The meds do cause confusion, and she was mumbling some, much of it unintelligible.
She dozed off for a while and I stopped down to the hospital cafeteria for coffee. I should have eaten lunch but nothing sounded good. I was able to talk to my aunt on the phone for a bit and that helped, and of course I was keeping Dad and my sister posted on anything new.
Late in the day, I needed to get back on the road for home. But there were some lighter moments I had, thankfully. Somehow it came to me to play a little game with what Mom was trying to tell me, not making fun of it, but simply just to go along with it. I said, "Mom, I'll run out and get the nurse for you." She replied, "Ok, take the dog with you." (She'd been mumbling, get the dog, get the dog. I couldn't figure out where that was coming from. She has never liked dogs and we never had one at home.)
So I told her, Ok, Mom, don't worry...I've got the dog and I'll take him out. Then she said, but I still hear it. I said, "No, he's outside. You can just hear him through the window." This actually seemed to reassure her and she calmed down some. She said, "ok, bye, love you." It put a smile on my face and I was able to head home.
Her medical team is doing their best, and so is her family, and so are all of our friends, with their prayers and good vibes. I don't know what's next, and there's a lot I am dreading, but I do know this: we just have to take it one day at a time. Tomorrow is another day.
