Ash Wednesday

Ash Wednesday is celebrated as a reminded of mortality.  Not that this isn't an important spiritual distinctions, but I've had plenty of reminders lately.  I wish I could give up being sad for the next 40 days.

New Title?

Thinking I should rename this blog to reflect anxiety, as it seems to constantly be bubbling beneath my surface.  I'm yawning now, and I think I will put off my reading for class for another night, but I have that nagging feeling that I won't be able to fall asleep.  If that is the case, I will return and hammer out my feelings in this space until I can knock off.

Tagging Along

Had an overwhelming need to accompany Mom to her second chemo appointment.  Back to Massey, not much has changed in seven years.  While Dad waited in the lobby, I was able to sit with her during the first part of her treatment.  This was my first time in the treatment room, and I taken back by the number of chairs and IV stands there were... waiting for patients... waiting for healing...

What was most impressive was the warm, not the temperature as that was quite chilly, but the glow from the patients and staffers alike.  I could not believe how openly positive and practically chipper most folks were acting.  From the man behind me cracking jokes with his nurse to the older gentleman across the room who got at least four hugs from cute staffers- and most beautifully, the quiet calm Mom radiated.  We chatted about apps, organizing screens, the grand kids... everything but the moment at hand, which was perfectly fine.  It wasn't out of avoidance or fear; I think we were enjoying the time together.

The gem of the morning came when Dad let it slip that they would probably be vacuuming Mom's head soon.  What?!?  As in running the attachment over her scalp, you ask.  Yep.  I had wondered if she was going to shave her head, as a preemptive strike.  Nope.  Apparently, Dysons tackle human hair (from the source) as good as pet hair.  I love the fact that Mom and Dad do this wacky activity together.  I love that it makes me laugh, to envision my father vacuuming my mother's head.  That in a moment pregnant with potential tragedy, my family remains united in its weirdness and goofballery.

Mom has been worried that her loss of hair with upset my kids.  I wish she wouldn't devote energy to thoughts like that.  My munchkins will continue to love their Mimi, mane or not.  In fact, she may now look like one of the favorite cartoon characters, a little bald Canadian boy named Calliou.  In their eyes, she ma now have some extra cool points.  Additionally, knowing Crabcake's (son) and Poptart's (daughter) affinity for art, they may try to decorate her head with paints and glitter.  And knowing Mimi's penchant for creative whimsy, she might let them do it.

Up Again, Down Again

Some time has past since I was last here- time in which my mom's situation would improve.  At the risk of sounding glossy or non-committal, I am still not sure of what the situation is.  I know that she doesn't have lung cancer, per se.  She does, however, have a recurrent HER 2+ breast cancer, the same version that appeared 7 years ago.  Unfortunately, this time the cancer has taken root her in lungs and bones.  We are dealing with a significant number of tumors, more than I actually know of.  However, let's be honest, one tumor is too many.

What should be a routine Sunday night for me, one packed with the knowledge that I will need to be getting ready for work in four hours, has turned into another all-nighter, I fear.  Thankfully, what felt like the on-set of a panic attack about an hour ago has subsided.  Now I realize that the bulk of my feelings and the source of energy, once again, rests with my mom.

If you ask her to define cancer, she'd say it is a powerful teacher.  Agreed- it has taught me how much I hate being out of control, hate waiting for treatments to start, hate not know how long I have with her, hate that even typing out that last night make me want to cry.  I am awake because I cannot let go of this moment, an awful moment- one where my stomach is knotted up and my heart races.  I feel like a fool fretting about the future.

I am working on arrangements to go with her and dad to her second chemo treatment this Thursday.  Hoping this will help alleviate some of my fears.  I just registered with a HER 2 support group- hoping to join their chat boards in the near future.  Think it might be time to reach out to others who have been down this path, as I am in need of some guidance.

I think it goes without saying, my heart is breaking.  Literally breaking as I try to cope with my mom's diagnosis.  She is my source of strength, and tonight... she is too far away for me.  I wish, as I sit here at this very late hour, I could simply walk down the hall and check on her.  What I do when I go to check on my own children at night.  But we are not in the same house, not even in the same town.  Tonight, I left up and awake with my tears.  In between my crying, all I hear in my house is the ticking of the clock in my office.  Part of me finds it soothing because it is peaceful and predictable; my other side is saddened by sound since it reminds me that I am losing time.  Even in the still of this night, time I won't have with her.  And it's that type of thinking that is keeping me up tonight.  I am exhausted, but I am not tired.

Looks Like a Duck...

...quacks like a duck, must be a duck.  Mom's tests were inconclusive.  Called it cancer, but the lab wouldn't commit to any type- though they were doubtful of traditional lung cancer, which I guess is a good thing when we are talking cancers.  Still scary, regardless.  New doctors and new hospital are in the works.  Seeing that this project is still under wraps, I will keep the info to a minimum.

Cancer.

I didn't really say it before, but there I go now.  My mom has cancer, again.  Lung.  A few years ago, she had breast cancer, and it broke my heart and scared me to death.  Now, I don't know what to think or feel.  We are waiting to know exactly what type of cancer has moved into her lungs, so I guess my response will have to have wait, too.  Sure, I've been upset- primarily because I have no idea what's going on, have no control over the situation, and I can't stand the idea of my mom being in pain.  Of course, that other really scary thought has surfaced, the one I won't name here, so let's just move on...

Cancer.  Shit.

The Beginning

Over lunch this afternoon, she tells me, "It's quality not quantity."   Logically, this statement scared the shit out of me, but emotionally I agree.

Mom, I promise to make our time count, to make memories out of mere moments.  I love you.  I will be the Louise to your Thelma, if that is what you want.  We can steal a convertible, race out west, and never look back.  Rob convenience stores, evade cops, drive over cliffs, sneak across boarders, star in never-made sequels...  I am game for anything, as long as we can do it together.  Mother and daughter.  Let me be your alibi on this adventure.  With both huge battles ahead.  My enemy will be the fear, the fear of the unknown, the fear that comes from being a bystander, the fear of being helpless in helping you, but I am already trying to fight it.  The number of smiles we shared today outweighs the number of times I've cried since leaving you- a step in the right direction.