Tears

November came in like a lion and left like a T. Rex, smashing and screaming at everything in its path. As I mentioned in my last post, I started the month with the news that I had a new spot on my lung. this was followed with news that I had a new spot on my brain. I then had to switch my chemo drug and go back in the halo. Once that was done, I thought things were going on the upswing. I got an elk, my first Idaho elk, I celebrated my birthday watching the griz/cat game at a satellite party and made new friends, and I had a very relaxing Thanksgiving meal with my neighbors and friends.

I opted to leave my phone at home so I could be fully engaged. Thanksgiving has always been one of my favorite holidays, little pressure, come as you are, enjoy good food and good company. So, I didn’t want to detract from the moment. When I got home later that afternoon, I picked up my phone to see if there were any missed messages, and I had one from dad. The old adage of bad things happen in threes should have stayed in my mind that month, but here I was 2 days from the end of the month, thinking things had turned a corner. Dad informed us that my mom fell while walking down the hallway to our bathroom. She twisted her leg and broke her femur. Not a good bone for anyone to break, let alone an 82-year-old woman. The hospital wanted to do surgery on her the following day, and obviously we can’t have mom suffering in pain, so the decision was made to go ahead with surgery. The doctor laid out the risks and I was later told that mom told the surgeon, I don’t want life saving measures taken. Maybe she knew something that the rest of us didn’t? Her surgery went well but she struggled to truly come out of anesthesia.  By the following day it was determined she had a stroke, by the start of the following week it was determined she had a couple strokes, on both sides of her frontal lobe. She was unresponsive and uncommunicative. We met with the palliative care lead, dad met with social workers, and we agreed that if she can’t get some form of cognitive function back, her wishes as well as ours was to let her go in peace.  After the call with palliative, my dad called me to say mom was sitting upright and maybe I could just talk to her. He held the phone up to her ear and I was able to get a hello out of her. I think everyone was shocked, especially dad, who had diligently been by her bedside for 4 days. She tried to say more but just couldn’t form the words and we ended the call. She still struggles to engage when others are in the room but has been able to feed herself some soft foods. She was moved to a transitional care unit this week to see if she can respond to therapy. The doctors have stated that the damage to her brain is severe, and short of a miracle, they don’t want us getting our hopes up.

The news was absolutely devastating to me, and it remains so. I cried, I cried some more, and as I write this, I’m still shedding tears.  I wished for the month, the year, the tragedy, to just end. I was tired, I was sad, I was angry – I just wanted to run away, curl into the fetal position and let everything go. But as I laid in bed, with tears streaming down my cheeks, my thoughts turned to everything that has happened in my life, my mom’s life, the people around me and scolded myself for wishing away even one day. These days are way too precious to just want them to not exist. And then I thought more deeply, the reason my sorrow, my pain, my sadness was so deep was because I have been loved, and I have loved, I have experienced joy and happiness, and I have shared joy and happiness. Because of this, I truly feel that we can only experience true sorrow if we allow ourselves to be loved, to be happy, to explore and experience all that is out there. And there is no date that we should stop seeking out these positive feelings and experiences. Carpe diem as they say. Mom has lived an exceptional life, the daughter of immigrants growing up in Brooklyn, NY, enlisting in the Navy, going to college in Boulder, CO, returning to NYC and meeting the love of her life, having 2 pretty awesome children if I do say so myself, having a career she loved and excelled at, travelling, friendships, and so much more. She imbued into her kids that sense of adventure, for going after what you want, for finding laughter and joy at every turn. Here’s to you mom, thanks for being such a great role model, for providing everything you had for all of those around you, and for your strength. Holding out for a miracle but also recognizing that mom has had an exceptional life.

I will end this blog with a quote from Winnie The Pooh

How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard