My mom started getting really sick when I turned about fourteen years old. It started out with simple things like stomach aches, loss of appetite, fatigue, etc. It seemed like no matter how many tests they did or doctors she went to they couldn't figure out what was going on. We eventually found out that she had type 2 diabetes and although it would take a little effort to make some diet changes and she would need to take insulin medication, we were relieved that it was something manageable. She felt better for about a year and then things really went down hill. She started getting sick all the time and we soon found out she had breast cancer. She was to go through a series of radiation treatments first, and if those didn't work then we would go to chemotherapy.
Turns out the radiation wasn't strong enough and the cancer spread to her lymph nodes under her left arm. She began chemo treatments and also had the first of two biopsies and mastectomy of her chest. She started losing her hair and decided that she would rather just shave it off. We actually had a shaving party and she let all of the grandkids come over and each take a turn with the buzzer. It was an extremely long and difficult journey ahead, but she was optimistic and we were soon shopping for colorful scarves and hats and all kinds of breast cancer paraphernalia. As the weeks turned into months she became very ill. Eventually she couldn't work, and could hardly leave the house. She spent the vast majority of her time in her room trying to read or watch movies or sleep to escape the endless nausea from the chemo treatments. Her immune system had completely shut down and she couldn't find the energy to be optimistic anymore.
I began spending as much time as I could away from the house. I couldn't stand to see her suffering. She cried all the time now and I felt so helpless. There was nothing I could do to take away the pain, or so I thought. She begged me to stay home sometimes, but all I wanted was to be anywhere where I didn't have to hear her or see my mother deteriorating before my eyes. I now know that she thought I didn't care....she thought I had no sympathy for her, but the truth is is that I just couldn't handle it. I was confused and lost and angry and sometimes mistakenly let her see it...
I knew she was sick. How could I not? But never once in the entire time that she was going through this did the thought of losing her ever cross my mind. I knew she would get better, she had to. It just seemed logical. I knew she was suffering, and I knew that she was sad and felt like she had no chance to heal, but I told myself it was in her head...that if she wanted to get better she could make it happen. She also wasn't taking care of her diabetes. She hardly ate and when we could convince her to, all she wanted were things that make her blood sugar sky rocket, which made her all the more ill.
Turns out....things did eventually get better. We were nearing the end of two years of chemotherapy. She had lost the entire left side of her chest. She came home from the doctors one day and seemed happier than I had seen her since before the diagnosis. She sat me down and told me that her last treatment was scheduled and they had done a scan and found no more cancer. She would be done. She would start healing. We- could start healing. I was so excited to have her back. She was still sick, but she smiled now. She talked about what we could do when she got better, trips we would take, places we would go. She told me she would never miss another performance. About a month went by and she was scheduled to go in for re-constructional surgery so she would look normal again...it wasn't a big deal, basically just plastic surgery.
She went in on a Friday....came home Saturday and other than being pretty sedated from the anesthetics, incredibly happy....then I found her Sunday morning...gone.
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