On Life, Aging, Cancer and Family

I startled awake this morning filled with dread.  It was too light out.  The sound of my alarm, ... missing.  I knew it had gone off unheard.  I knew I was late, and still I had not attached any event to that feeling of dread.  Then I remembered. Today was the day of his big surgery.  

My mom's husband, Lynn was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer three months ago. He has already had been through a round of chemo, and today they would try to remove the tumor, and see if there were any other visible signs of cancer spreading in his body.  The tumor was in a difficult position and they weren't entirely sure what parts of it were attached to what.   

 

After I checked the clock, I dressed quickly and got in my car.  My mom is in her 70s and I did not want her to sit through the surgery alone.. waiting to find out what pieces of her husband are left.  It was about an hour drive to the hospital and I was running a little late.  My head buzzed with the anxiety of picturing the strain of sitting through a long day and uncomfortable news with my mother.  

I would love to say my mother is my best friend, but the fact is we have an awkward sometimes painful relationship. She has led a difficult life and she loves me. So, I do my best to support her when times are tough, and they are very tough for her right now.  I wish I had a better relationship with her.  She is aging and she has never intentionally harmed anyone.  I plotted my plan for being tolerant and supportive.

"In 1000 feet, use the left lane to exit on Hospital Street.",  my TomTom interrupted my thoughts. 

I put myself on task to show up, and provide the best support I could, as I navigated the last turns on my route to the hospital.  When I pulled into the parking lot I saw a tiny older women digging in her trunk.  I realized, it was my mom. Has she always been so tiny and frail, I wondered?  However, as she straightened up I saw that strong stubborn face I love, but sometimes don't appreciate.  Yes, the years have marked it with wrinkles and a few age spots, but her sharp blue eyes still are the first feature you see. 

 As I parked, I prepared myself for the irritable, grumpy mom, I know when she is under stress.  As we walked towards each other I saw such a combination of an old frail woman, and the power house I know as my mom.  Instead of PLAYING the role of the "Good Daughter", I felt my heart melt a bit. I truly wanted to help her.  Ah, Mom isn't going to be here forever, and her age is starting to show.

She was dressed immaculately in a striking grey pinstriped suit and heels, and she has always been short and thin, but usually the size of her personality makes her look larger.  Today, she looked proud, but old.  I felt bones when I hugged her.  As we walked towards the hospital together she gave me the newest updates on the surgery, what time it would be, and the unknowns.  Her voice was solid and strong.  She told me where she wanted to have lunch and asked if I would take her.

In the waiting room they informed her she could go back and wish Lynn well in surgery; they were taking him back soon.  She asked if I wanted to come, but I decided to give them their privacy.  I sat in the waiting room with my thoughts vacillating between "when did my Mom get old?", and "how long this day is going to be".  (can you believe how selfish I was feeling?)  When she returned she had an upright posture and a mask like face, she asked if I was hungry and suggested we head to lunch.

For some reason we took her car, and I noticed her hands were shaking a little as she put the keys in the car. Surprisingly we had a very pleasant lunch filled with easy conversation and great Italian food.  There was very little tension.  She talked about how she felt she might want to give up driving, she talked about what their life might be like after the surgery with another round of Chemo and possibly radiation to come.  She talked about how strong her husband has been, and she thanked me for keeping her company on such a tough day.  She quietly asked if I would help her check into her hotel and help her find the way, as she would be commuting from the hospital and the hotel for a while.  I felt sad it seemed hard for her to ask, and yet thankful she did.   

We finished lunch, and fought over the check in a friendly way.  (She won)  I drove her to her hotel and carried her bags in to the valet as she checked in.  I went to her room and put her bags away, and I heard her sit down hard and sigh.  She began to fret about what she should keep in her car and what she should keep at the hotel.  I used a calm voice as I helped her figure out what to bring.  I quietly asked if she was ready to head back to the hospital.  

This afternoon and evening we sat in the waiting room through slow hours and when the doctor came out with a red face and sad eyes, I felt my mom and I take on the same defensive body language, and hold our breath.    The news wasn't good but it wasn't out of the scope of what we had been told might happen, with the loss of the tumor came the loss of his rectum, the addition of a colostomy bag.  The doctor was obviously fond of the two of them and upset at sharing the news.  I saw my mom reach out as if to comfort him.  He did smile and say, there was no other signs of cancer, he was able to get the entire tumor, and if anyone could make it through this battle it would be Lynn.

 After he was out of surgery, my mom asked me to go back with her as her and the doctor shared the news with her husband.  The doctor explained the surgery, the bag, and even the potential loss of his sexuality.   I watched the expressions on Lynn's face change many times as the doctor went on.  In the end, Lynn paused for a moment and he said, if that is what it takes to keep me alive, I am grateful for it!  He smiled and made a shitty joke.  We sat for a while after the doctor left, and my mom and Lynn seemed to want some time alone.  I hugged them both and said good bye.

As I walked to my car, I thought of how many lessons I have had lately on life and death, aging, loving, and sometimes not being loving.  I felt very proud of my parents.  I drove home in a thoughtful mood.  Regarding Life, Death, Love, Cancer and Family.  How they can bring you together and tear you apart. 

*all photos from pixabay

Update:  This story was about 4.5 month old.  Today Lynn has finished another round of chemotherapy and is in a study group for a new less invasive therapy.  He is a strong man with a funny sense of humor.  (not my style of humor, but humor)  He is tested regularly, but able to go back to work and live his life normally.  Every one knows each check up is a ticking time-bomb.  Yet, there is nothing to do at this point, but carry on.  I am now thankful for his over the top personality.   

*Full disclosure:  This is an article from about 5 months ago, I cleaned it up a bit and added a short update at the end.  I thought during the experiment might be a good time to see how people feel about a re-run.

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