This post has taken me nearly a year to write and perfect. I've started it so many different times, not sure what exactly I'd even write about. I guess my only point to writing this is, is so others understand just how agonizing it is to watch someone you love, die. Maybe for those who haven't yet lost someone close to you, this will give you a glimpse of just how precious life is, and why it isn't worth wasting time on insignificant things, and maybe it will influence a more grateful attitude.
This is loooooooong. So I decided to cut it in half. I know that I've jibber-jabbered a lot about the death of my mother (wah-wah-wah) and unfortunately my blog has gotten the blunt of my emotions. I apologize for how depressing my blog has become- however, I'm hoping most of you have a heart, and can understand or at least try to understand how unfortunate circumstances have been.
Bee-tee-dubs, if you
don't have a heart, then please don't bother reading.
Sidenote: I believe that Jesus Christ died for us. I believe that there is life after death, and that one day, my family will be eternally, together forever. I am beyond grateful for this faith because I know that my mother has finished her earthly, torturous phase of the plan of happiness- and that she truly, is in a better place. I am especially grateful for this faith when other family members do not believe the same. Watching them suffer her loss is sometimes more difficult than the loss I feel myself.
September 2010. Warren and I had just gotten back from a summer vacation. When we were in Boise, my mom showed me a lump she had discovered a few weeks earlier. It was in her neck/shoulder near a lymph node, about the size of a golf ball, maybe slightly smaller. I was too afraid to touch it- but I knew exactly what it was. She also told me she noticed a difference in her lungs when she coughed. I knew it. I knew exactly then that it was cancer. I asked her if she was scared, and she told me she was- she made an appointment with her doctor in the following week. Tests were ran, and ex-rays were ex-rayed. It was
cancer. Just as I thought. I got the devastating news from my older sister Kassie, who immediately burst into tears. Kassie told me they had given a few different suggestions for treatments, as it had already progressed significantly and reached her lymph node, the highway to other body parts. She was to begin chemotherapy the next day, and radiation therapy in 6 weeks. She was admitted to the St. Lukes Cancer Center in downtown Boise with high spirits, and with every intention of getting better.
In October I drove down to Boise alone to help out as my mom was getting ready to start her radiation therapy. When I got there, I was beyond shocked when my mom answered the door completely bald. I immediately started crying. My mom, who has had long blond beautiful hair for so long, was completely
bald.
She was smiling and laughing, but it wasn't enough to cover up the fact that her hair was gone. During my weeks there, I watched my mom suffer with eating. Chemo is terribly destructive to your body. She had to eat with plastic utensils because the metal left a taste in her mouth that encouraged her gag reflex. Most of what she ate had to be soft and bland, or else it never made it down. Milk and water were the only liquids she could tolerate. And her energy was completely diminished. Her once positive attitude wasn't very noticeable. When going out in public, she dressed in nothing but mismatched sweats. And wore a beanie instead of the wig Kassie had gotten for her. On her best days, she'd be seen in jeans and a grungy t-shirt. It was horrible to watch, because there wasn't anything you could say. It only made her feel worse.
When she started radiation, it only made things worse. It left what was essentially a bad sunburn in her throat, since the radiation was targeted at the lymph node in her throat. Swallowing was no longer an option, and eating... forget it. I went with her to one of her chemo rounds. Exhausted from the radiation burns, now she had to do more chemo. The first day was a 4 hour injection. The treatment center is an open area, much like a lobby. With beds and chairs situated all the way around. Some areas had curtains for privacy. The treatment center had an eerie feeling to it. You'd see some patients chatting away, wearing wigs and dressed in some of their best attire, most were accompanied by a friend or family member. Most patients looked happy and calm, and others looked more like my mother. Who was so exhausted all she wanted to do was sleep. She laid down in one the beds. I watched as the nurse put on a mask and rubber gloves (apparently chemotherapy is super bad for you, so even the nurses can't touch it). Normally when the needle makes it appearance outside of the little plastic baggie it comes in, I'm either on the floor passed out or hurled over a trash can, but I wanted to be strong in front of my mom (who knew I was faking it) and I was so curious as to what they were pumping into my mothers blood system. Normally when administering chemo they draw up what is called a PICC Line, which is a fancy catheter type deal. I googled it, saw a picture and then ended up feeling a little faint-like so I closed the browser. Her PICC line from her first round of chemo had given her a blood clot in her upper arm, so now, they just injected it like an IV. (Also gross). My mom laid there, asleep for the 4 full hours. The nurses came by about ever half hour to check on her, and to check on me. Her nurse was wonderful, and didn't mind at all explaining things to me. Once we were done, my mom warned me that the chemo often makes her very nauseous. I warned
her what would happen if she puked in my new car. We had a laugh or two. We made it home with out any casualties and she went straight to bed. She had two more appointments during the week, but they were shorter and much more painful and concentrated. I would wake up in the middle of night, listening to sound of my mother hurled over the toilet. It brought tears to my eyes, and prayers to my heart.
Thanksgiving 2010. Remission. My mom had finished all her treatments, and doctors said they wanted to wait a few weeks to let her body resume some strength and give her some time to emotionally heal from the trauma. They did some small tests, that came back showing that the large cancer cells had been significantly reduced, but further testing would be done after the holidays.
I have more guilt over not traveling down to Boise for Christmas than anything else in the world. I should have been there. And I wasn't. I will never be able to let that guilt go.
January 2011. Re-testing. My mom had lost about 20lbs through her treatments. Her hair had started to grow back, spotty and very grey and curly. Much like a pixie cut, which my mom had always wanted to try but was too afraid to drastically cut her hair that short. It was so cute! Testing day came. And I got that phone call from Kassie again, this time, already hysterical. My mom's cancer was now classified as
terminal. Thanks to the infected lymph node, it had spread to her pelvis and a spot on her vertebrae in her neck, right on the bone. This was the spot they knew would cause a lot of grief. If it went untreated it would continue to grow and pose a risk of paralyzing my mom from the neck down. So more radiation treatment was scheduled for both places starting right away. The doctors said that since the cancer was located on the bone, and on a vertebrae nonetheless, it could essentially travel anywhere and travel there quickly. They gave her 6 months to 2 years left, and the radiation was only given to help relief pain. I remember calling Warren at work and immediately bursting into tears. All I could muster out was, "my mom is dying". Needless to say, they let him go home early.
The radiation this time was much more severe. My mom suffered excruciating neck pain, which made sleeping difficult. It also made the back of her throat burn, much like before. The radiation near her pelvis resulted in uncontrollable bowels. Do I need to say anything more about that? She went back to work because just because you have cancer, doesn't mean you don't also have a mortgage and bills to pay- and of course, the costs that come with a 16 year old daughter.
April 2011. Hospice. My mom's radiation symptoms had gotten so bad, she couldn't leave the bathroom. She was losing weight at a rapid rate, and her strength and energy were decreasing more and more each day. She had decided it wasn't worth the battle anymore- so she decided to
quit her radiation therapy. I remember when she told me this. I was so mad at her for giving up, but knew she would only make that choice if she knew it was the right choice to make. It was a bittersweet moment, and very much a love/hate relationship. Once she quit, the doctors told her that there would be only one outcome. Death. The cancer would eventually take over and her body wouldn't stop it, and thus, everything would shut down, and inevitably she would pass away.
June 2011. Kassie calls. I'm at work on June 16th, a Thursday. I had been emailing Kassie back and forth for a couple of weeks talking about our dearest mother, my kid sister Kristine and her lack of acknowledging reality. Aflac insurance, our worthless step dad Steve who flew the coop back in September, bickering aunts and uncles, life insurance policies, who's paying the mortgage this month, what the hospice nurse said... etc. Then in the afternoon, I get a call from Kassie (unusual) saying that my a fore mentioned trip at the end of June needed to happen sooner. I told her I was just leaving work and that I would talk to Warren and call her back. I picked Warren up from work and I called Kassie when we got home while Warren booked me flight that following Monday. My adrenaline was pumping. No emotions were felt as I made preparations for someone to take over the activity on Wednesday that I was in charge of for the YW. I didn't want to give details, so I told the only person that knew the situation and had them call my president (I didn't like the president, and nor she me, FYI). My sister had been on her way to my mom's because she had called her to come over because she wasn't feeling well, worse than before. I wasn't sure what I was going to tell my boss.
'Uh, sorry... but my mom is dying so I'm going to the States and I'm not sure when I'm going to be back'? I decided it would be best to call him at home instead of waiting until the next day at work to break the news to him. He didn't answer, so I left a message asking him to please call me when he got a chance. In that time, Kassie called again and told me Monday wasn't going to be soon enough. Warren jumped on the phone as I dashed for the bedroom to begin frantically packing my bags. I didn't even know what was going to happen- if Warren wasn't able to arrange something with the airlines, then I was driving down that night. Regardless of how tired I was, I had enough adrenaline to keep me awake the full 15 hours. A few minutes later my boss called, and I explained to him that my sister had called... He didn't even let me finish before he said it was fine. Apparently he's lost close family members and cares more about family than he does anything else. I could not have been more grateful. After I hung up with him, the airline person called for Warren and was able to arrange a flight for Saturday morning at 6am. Which meant I'd have to be in line for customs at 5am... which meant, I had to be at the airport by 4:30am... which meant, I had to leave our house by 4am. Which meant, I wasn't going to sleep. And I didn't. My aunt picked me up from the airport, and said my mom perked up a bit when they told her I was coming.
When I walked in, my mom was sitting up on her hospital bed in the living room, with her feet dangling as she was lightly kicking them back and forth. It was so child-like, and so innocent. I came right over to her and gave her a hug. She asked how long I was going to be staying... I told her as long as I needed to be here. I didn't want to tell her "until after your funeral" because I thought that was a little harsh. I asked how she was doing- she said she felt okay. She was experiencing A LOT of pain in her legs and lower back from where the cancer was pressing against her nerves. She started to tell me about all her medications and what they do for her. She had a TV tray full of water bottles, tissues and about a billion viles of pills. On the floor she had what I thought looked like a barf bucket, and couple of towels. She looked
so terrible. Her eyes were budging out of her head and they were glossy. Sometimes when she'd look at you it seemed like she was just looking
through you. After a few minutes of us chatting, she said "hold on" and leaned over and picked up a blue air sick bag thing and held it up to her mouth and started coughing. I immediately jumped up and ran into the kitchen and plugged my ears. I don't handle throw up well. She later apologized because she knew I have never been able to handle throw up well. I now understood why there were so many buckets and towels nearby. Her skin was dark. Almost like she had been tanning, but it was missing the sun kissed glow- instead it was more of a grey darkening, life-less almost. Her once beautiful tanned skin was saggy, brown/grey and wrinkly with no pink hues of life left. Her feet and hands were pale, and her hair was grey and curly. She looked as though she had aged 20 years. She did not look like my mom anymore, she had transformed into someone else entirely. She was skin and bones. You've seen those people who are tiny, but this was a whole new meaning of the phrase. She would still get up and walk, very slowly. She could walk to the bathroom, it look her literally 5 minutes to get there. She was incredibly unstable. She had stopped eating a couple days before I got there. Her appetite was small, if any, but I guess Thursday (when Kassie called) was the last time she had eaten anything significant. She still was thirsty and drank quite a bit of water throughout the day (so when she threw up, it was only bile and water). Later that day, the hospice nurse came by to do her daily check ups. She took all three of us girls, and my aunt Judi aside in a separate bedroom and gave us a couple of small books. They explained what will happen weeks, days, to minutes before a person dies. She told us she was seeing some of the month to weeks signs, and wanted us to be prepared and be aware of what was to come next. The other book was a sympathy book. Both were very helpful.
Over the course of the next couple of days, my mom had sort of plateaued. Kassie said she looked a thousand times better than she had a few days ago. I honestly didn't believe her because of how wretched she looked to me already. Kassie took me to the funeral home to help her pick out all the specifics. It was extremely emotional. We picked a coffin. It was beautiful. The exact oak shade of her hall tree in her house that she loved. The inside was white, and we chose to have an embroidery with a red rose, with the words "mother" written above where her head would go. We picked the tomb, just a normal cement-like one. And the programs... which is where I lost it. None of them seemed fitting. I told her I wanted to make my own- but deep down I knew I wouldn't be able to get it done fast enough for them to print, especially since Kassie designated me to writing the obituary. So we finally picked one. All that was left was just to fill in the blanks. In lieu of flowers, we asked for assistance with the funeral costs. My mom did have some life insurance, but it wouldn't come until after everything was... finalized, and the death certificate was signed. So all the expenses were being paid out of our pockets (our, as in Kassie, Kristine and I.)
In next coming days, my mom's health did start to go down hill, but in very minimal margins. Sometimes unnoticeable. It often crossed our minds that maybe, perhaps she was getting better? By some miracle and grace of God, maybe she would pull through?
If you don't know much about my family, here is a tidbit. My mom has been together with my step dad for nearly 20 years. Everyone on the face of the planet hates this man (including my mother). He was abusive (mentally, emotionally and PHYSICALLY to everyone [including myself]), manipulative, demanding, lazy, a cheater and a liar. Everyone wanted my mom to sign divorce papers so he'd be left high and dry and have no attachment to any of us, but it was too stressful for her. We had to work with a social worker and two lawyers to square away any and all details pertaining to where my kid sister Kristine will live as she has not been living with her dad for several months. It was a big ca-fuffle. We didn't want him to get a cent.
On top of all the funeral arrangements and legal issues that were being settled, Kassie was in the process of moving to another salon and booking appointments to keep the cash flow coming in. Her husband was working long hours, and half the time was out of town, her kids were bouncing back and forth between family friends and I, when permitted. Kristine had basketball camps left and right, and dealing with the stress of losing her mother at 16 was spending a lot of time with her friends as a source of reprieve. My aunt was a big help. It was very stressful though, having all 5 of us in a little 2 bedroom apartment, with one bathroom, and one person dying. I slept on the floor in the spare bedroom with my aunt. Kassie often slept in my grandma's bedroom, but we called it the creepy room because there was an eerie feeling in there, but other times she slept in the recliner next to my mom. Kristine slept on the hide-a-bed next to my mom's hospital bed. Amidst the stresses from my step dad, my mom dying, being away from home and Warren... you can only imagine the drama that followed with 5 emotional women all in one house. It was hard. It was never quiet, there was always someone arguing with someone else. Laundry or dishes were always being done, and the TV was always on to drown out the noise. Scary things happened a couple weeks before my mom's passing. One night I woke up feeling that something was terribly wrong. I couldn't get up though. There was something... or
someone other than my aunt in the room with me. I can honestly testify that whoever was in the room with me, was not a good person. I was struck with fear and had to pull the blanket over my head and turn my little DVD player on in order to get the bad spirit to go away. I was trembling; I was so scared. I said prayers in my head and eventually the spirit left and I fell back asleep. The next day, I told my sister and she said it was just my mind playing tricks on me. A couple nights later, she saw shadows walking down the hallway when no one was home. And a couple nights after that, my aunt had the same feelings I had previously. Only this time, the spirit was literally sitting on the bed. She demanded, in the name of Jesus Christ, that this spirit leave. And it did. Aunt Judi told me this in the morning and we decided we'd be saying some hefty prayers to help us at nights. I have never before in my life, experienced anything to this magnitude before. I was scared to tears. I had no idea what was happening. It was then that I realized just how real death is. I always knew it was, but this was SCARY. Horror movie scary. There were evil spirits in our house- what did this mean? As if watching my mother decay and not being able to do anything wasn't enough, now we were literally being tortured by evil spirits.
Part two will be posted tomorrow. Thanks for reading, sorry it's so depressing.
