The heart breaks

On Wednesday, May 22, 2013, I lost my mother to cancer - she was my eldest son's biggest fan...

On Thursday, October 24, 2013, my husband lost his mother  to cancer - she was my stepsons' biggest fan...

What death do we deserve?

Yesterday, sobbing over his grandmother's cancer struggle, Jr cried, "she doesn't deserve this..."

"No, she doesn't" I confirmed.

And today, sitting here at work, I think about his words and how they relate to me and my mother as well.

I have a photo of my mother as a little girl that hangs above my computer at work and I gaze at it on a daily basis.  The little girl in the photo looks like my mother but she is so young, happy, and carefree.  At the time it was taken, she had no clue how she would pass away. 

Sometimes, I wonder, "What in the world could she have done in her life to deserve such a tragic and horrible struggle to death?"

Not a thing.

We all die, and we all die differently.  In my heart, I believe that our death is somewhat planned or even chosen by ourselves.  I suppose this belief serves to validate our passing, no matter how tragic; it gives it some degree of purpose, at least for me. 

However, I don't think my MIL would have said that she was ready to leave this world now; and I don't think my mom was ready to leave this world when she did. And I know that my mom did not want the cancer battle that she was dealt - she'd always said that she wanted to go peacefully, in her sleep, without suffering.  In the end, she did go peacefully, but for the battle leading up to it...

I tend to search out the silver linings, and for my MIL, maybe it was good that she was able to continue her day-to-day life without the cloud of cancer or death looming over her until she was so close to the end.

My confession:  I don't want to witness my MIL like this because I don't want the vision of her passing to replace any vision that I have of my mother's passing.  In this way, I'm sort of protecting my memories of that time with my mom no matter how macabre those memories might be.  I'm aware of how silly this sounds, and I can't explain it any better than this.  It just is what it is.

Cancer strikes again

My mother-in-law (MIL) has been sick for some time.  Her appetite has been nonexistent, although she forced herself to eat, she couldn’t keep it down.  I really don't know all of the specifics about it but last weekend after she collapsed in the shower, she was taken to the hospital.  

Doctors diagnosed her with cirrhosis of the liver (although she never drank a day in her life).

This morning doctors planned to biopsy the liver in an attempt to discover more detail about how and why she was sick.  They opened her and found her abdomen and chest covered with malignant tumors.  The doctor likened it to throwing a handful of seeds and where ever they landed, that's where there was a growth.  They biopsied a tumor and closed her up.  Devastating news for all who loved her.

It will be a few days before the results are in on exactly what kind of cancer this is and whether or not it’s treatable.

She spent the remainder of the day in and out of consciousness.  

I picked up Roy for his doctor appointment - getting a second opinion on his knee.  We got there early, at about 1:00, to fill out papers, then literally waited in the waiting room until 4:00!  Another 30 minutes of waiting in the exam room, only to hear the doc say, “I see that your knee is swollen, and I see that you are in pain, but I don’t know why because the MRI is about as normal as can be expected after this surgery.”  He states that Roy likely as arthritis and will probably require injections later, but for now we need to give him at least a year from surgery to heal.  A disappointing diagnosis as we were certain something was wrong, so for now, we wait.

In the afternoon, Roy and his two oldest sons, Jr and Corey, along with many, many, other family members went to the hospital to visit her.  The waiting room was packed, everyone joined hands, and a lovely prayer was said.  Jr and Corey left after the prayer, breaking down outside the hospital.  Roy followed and it took all of his strength to hold back his own tears while trying to comfort his sons.  He has been so strong, holding it all in – until now.

Roy called me on the ride home to let me know that the boys may be on the way over as well.  His sobs were uncontrollable.  I ushered our two youngest into the back of the house so they wouldn’t be exposed to the drama.  Roy arrives and paces around the living room crying and quickly telling me what had previously transpired.

Jr enters shortly after, crying as well; Roy regains composure and we sit and talk.

I'm torn.

I've seen her and I hear how badly the cancer has spread. It's only obvious that she won't survive; however, the family maintains hope.  Hope that she'll be transferred to MD Anderson.  Hope that God will intervene and perform one of His miracles.  Hope that she'll beat the cancer against all odds.  And I listen to them all and think about how they are just setting themselves up for a great disappointment.  Why not be realistic?  Why not begin preparing yourself and your children?  Why pull the wool over your eyes.

In one attempt to prepare Roy, I informed him that his mother would not be going to MD Anderson.  He snapped, "I don't know that!"  

"What?"  

I think to myself, "Did he really say that?  Can he really be holding onto some false hope?  This is ridiculous.  I sympathize but I also want him to be prepared."  I wanted to tell him that they don't admit patients there to die - they release them to another facility to die.  They take patients that they can save.  His mother is too old and too far along in the cancer stages.  But sometimes, silence is the best response.