An overdue update

Oh, this is a hard one to write. I probably wouldn’t even do it if I didn’t feel like I need to correct an erroneous earlier entry. It wasn’t my error---or, I suppose, anyone’s really--- but we’ll get to that. The point is that I have bad news and last time an unfavorable turn occurred ---when we learned that the cancer had spread to my mom’s right adrenal gland (that’s lung metastases to both adrenal glands for those keeping count; when she was diagnosed it was just in the left lung and left adrenal)---I didn’t write about it here. I skipped over the details of the day one of the early CAT Scans showed that not only were the chemo treatments not working but things were getting worse and surgery---the “cure” for lung cancer if there is such a thing---was no longer an option.

It’s much easier to write that GiG is persevering (which she is as best she can) without having to describe the changing reality. I mean, we’re all persevering to some extent aren’t we? Isn’t that what we do? So I could write that she is trying to keep a positive attitude and we’re all hoping for the best or some other from the list of bullshit platitudes (that, from what I can tell, are for the benefit of the recipient versus the person struggling with illness) and leave it at that. It’s the truth. It’s a version of the truth. (It’s probably the version my mom would give you were you to get her on the phone.) But while it might feel good to tell myself that version here, I don’t think I’d be doing myself---or anyone reading this who’s hoping to learn a thing about one person's genuine experience of cancer---any favors. My sense is that versions of truth---that is, half-truths that promote untruths---in such scenarios, only cause further confusion and potential pain.

Enough with the preamble: Despite what I reported about the PET Scan showing no trace of a spread, a CAT Scan done afterwards, contradicts this completely. More masses have been seen at the base of my mom’s lungs, the tumor on her right adrenal which was thought to have disappeared is still there, the left adrenal tumor which was said to have shrunk actually grew larger and there appears to be a spread to her renal artery and nearby paraaortic lymph nodes. (For those who, like me, forgot some of eighth grade biology, the aorta extends from the heart through the torso, so it is the lymph nodes near the aorta but close to the kidneys---renal (equals kidney) arteries extend from the aorta---that are affected; I had to study some anatomy charts to get it.)

Worse still, when this news was delivered Saturday morning it was accompanied by a warning that if she did not start chemotherapy immediately, she would have only three to four months to live. (I was not there when the doctor said this though my dad reported it that morning. I texted my mom after I heard to tell her I would be leaving shortly for the hospital and she, not yet knowing that this news had reached me, told me not to rush in and to instead enjoy the sunny day...)

I should also note that in response to this last piece of info, my mom’s expressed sentiment was that nobody can know how long she has as God is not amongst the professionals discussing her prognosis. She actually laughed that anyone would try; a display of my mom’s signature (and remarkably astute) perspective on life even at its darkest. Her laughter in this moment was a great comfort to me as I sat at the foot of her hospital bed (expecting to be the one to comfort her though not having the faintest idea of how to do it).

She took the chemo Saturday night in her hospital room and slept through most of it while Dan and I watched a movie on my computer in the corner under some extra blankets that the nurses (the wonderful, wonderful nurses) brought in for my oft-freezing sisters and father who have been in and out all week. The pain that brought her into the hospital is getting worse and they have not yet been able to figure out where it’s coming from. She’s also been throwing up daily.

Yes, my mom is persevering, but I can’t pretend things aren’t at their hardest right now.

As you can imagine, were there not loving that needed doing, there would be paralysis.

But I’m not talking emotion now. I just felt like I needed to deliver the facts since the state of things has shifted so much since I last wrote.

Oh, there is one emotion I’ll give voice to: Anger. One might think that double-checking---that is performing the requisite tests needed for utter clarity---would be in order before telling a person definitively (fuck, excitedly) that her cancer has not spread. One just might think that.

Apparently (and I am still pretty whipped with confusion), the PET scan measures tumor activity while CAT scans show images. Oh, and there’s something called a carcinoembryonic antigen level which has decreased, a supposed indicator of the effectiveness of the treatment and a decrease of the cancer’s virulence. To translate, the cancer is diminishing in power and thus less likely to spread...and also spreading.

There’s no sense to be made of things yet and my feeling is that there won’t be. I know my cynicism is a mask for emotional ranges and depths I don’t yet feeling like traveling, but I’m sticking to it (even though my mom has warned me my whole life against choosing cynicism as a go-to perch from which to view the world).

I came back to NH on Monday night to attend some appointments but I’m readying to head back down now. (Would you believe in the midst of all this I had to have a small chunk of my shin removed---stitches and all---because a biopsied freckle came back “severely atypical”? All is well and I am grateful to my dermatologist for the catch...hopefully I’ll get to post some pictures.)

This morning I had a teeth cleaning at the dentist’s office, an appointment I thought about canceling but figured would be best to just get done. The hygienist and I got to talking (no hacky dental joke here, we actually somehow had a conversation) and when I mumbled, in response to her question about what I’ve been writing lately, that “my mom is sick...cancer,” she stopped what she was doing, looked in my eyes and said simply, “I get it.” She lost her mother and an aunt who had become like a mother to her, both to cancer. Indeed, she got it. She told me a little about these women, her story was in some ways a very positive one, and there we were, two people having a genuine connection though it probably looked to anyone else like just another round of idle chatter at the dentist’s office.

As I headed out the door, she said, "I'm going to give you a hug," and did (and I was positively grateful). “If you ever want to talk, you can always call. I know you don’t know me well but I’m here. Really.”

Getting in the car, I couldn’t help but think that God had arranged that little rendezvous. (Did I mention she comes from a family of four girls?) I know God’s been making Her way into the conversation a lot lately---believe me, it surprises me to be talking spirit so publicly---but it felt to me like it had been prearranged; a Divine shove towards connection that I so needed.

I suppose I’m not as cynical as I like to think. And who do I have to thank for that?

(Will try my best to keep you posted.)