A Year Later, I think I am Ready
-Mom and Poppy, Christmas circa 2000
The Rapid Change entry from over a year ago is long over due for the second chapter. The delay represents life, living in the moment, processing the experience and allowing myself to be with all that transpired as our families' story continued.
The diagnosis, pulmonary hypertension, right. Right. Mom's courage in accepting that, doing her best to understand all of her options, okay, her only option to prolong her life was a model for all of us as we watched her go through several procedures to live with the aid of a pump that had to pump medication directly into her carotid artery 24/7. She was attached to a pump that helped her heart pump blood into her lungs, that were now accepting the blood easier with the aid of medication that opened the vessels in her lungs.
For a woman that didn't want to see a doctor, or take pills on the daily, the adjustment was significant. Even though there were many days when she said, "I don't want to do this anymore." She would just as quickly turn around and say, "I can do this." But not without help. My sister, Mary, amazing. With this new device, mom's pump needed to be changed everyday at the same time. It was certainly a team effort. We had to learn every step to ensure the medication didn't get contaminated at all during the process, to make sure the right mixture of liquid to powder, and to make sure the pump was set on the right dosage. Mom learned it all and Mary and I did along with her. Dad was there too, although it was harder for him, but we needed a pinch hitter, just in case. So, as mom was getting her medical team assembled, we had one more thing to do. We needed a biopsy of a lymph node that the original ER doctor in Watertown noticed in her very first examination.
The Results: "Mrs. Potter, I have news I was not hoping for. The lymph node that we biopsied showed cancer. We know it is carcinoma, but that is about all." Dr. Runo was so hurt to deliver the news, because all and all, mom was getting better with her new medication. He held her hand and she accepted the news like a champ. "That's not good," she said. The doctor went on to explain that he had talked to the oncologist and that they were on their way to talk to us. Dr. Runo left and Mary, Mom and I all looked at each other and Mom's words, "But I want to see Molly graduate" told me she knew it was bad. She knew it was the source of her weight loss, lack of appetite, and the disease that would take her life. "Damn It," I thought. "Fuck," followed quickly behind. But what came out of my mouth was, "let's not think the worst and take this one step at at time." And the whole time I was thinking the worst. I wasn't ready for this part of my life. I didn't want mom to suffer. We have to call Jon and Andy. How are we going to tell Dad? My mind was racing.
And in walks the Oncologist and her Intern. They explained that usually when the lymph node under the arm pit is swollen, it is breast cancer, but there was no way to know without more tests. Just what mom wanted to hear. In the morning she would be having a CAT scan, PET scan, and a whatever else scan. We said okay, the doctors left and Abigail immediately informed us that she was not doing treatment, that she "had enough with THIS thing," referring to the pump that was now attached to her 24/7. "I know mom. But let's just find out what we are dealing with."
Shit, Cancer. Why? We were all hoping the pulmonary hypertension was the worst of it. I had to call Jon, who was supporting Dad with stuff all day. I never thought I would be in a position to be the person delivering this news to my brothers. I don't know why, but when I heard other people's stories, I just made the assumption that the spouse or the oldest are the ones managing all of this. But in reality, it is taken care of by the people who happen to be the first recipients of the information, no science to it what so ever. Jon's response, "I can't tell dad, he had a hard day." "It's okay Jon, I will tell him. What is he doing now?" "Actually he is taking a nap." Jon shared. "Okay, I will be home in an hour. I just need you to be with me when I tell him."
Mary stayed with Mom and I had the car ride home to contemplate the day's diagnosis and figure out the right words to tell my father that his wife has cancer. I have no idea where I summoned the strength to be the person to communicate all of this, really I don't. All I can figure is that the Creator prepared me do to so, as did mom and dad. They taught me so much as a child and continue to teach me as an adult. Being honest, compassionate and understanding are qualities that I have been given from Bill and Abby, and that day, those qualities made all the difference as I said "Dad, we got some bummer news today. The biopsy results came back and the report is that Mom has Cancer." "Well, that doesn't sound good," Dad said. "I know dad." They don't know what kind, but have scheduled all sorts of tests for tonight and in the morning to figure it out. "How's your mother?" "She took the news as well as she could and I think she is scared, but she was very brave when Dr. Runo was talking to us about it." Dad proceeded to call Mom and share time in conversation with her before they took her for the CAT scan. I felt so sad for him. He was processing the news and couldn't be there with his wife of 49 years. I could see the pain and disappointment this news brought in his expressions and stares into space. Jon left to process it too - and of course I asked what we needed for dinner.
Cancer of unknown origin, Stage IV. Evidence of the cancer all over her body but no primary tumor. Meaning, can't treat. Rapid Change continues.
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