Turbo Cancer: Day 151 - November 9, 2022
Looking Forward
On this day, last year, I wrote:
This morning, I took my mom to see the radiation oncologist. He read the spine MRI and determined that cancer has, in fact, metastasized to the vertebrae. He said that bone cancer usually responds well to radiation and we will begin that process on Monday.
They will scan my mom’s back and mark the areas to be eradiated. Once that is complete, she will receive radiation therapy five days a week, for one or two weeks. Assuming all goes according to plan, her back pain will be gone.
Tomorrow, we see the surgeon to have the remainder of the groin staples removed, and to assess the progress in that area. Now that the lymphocele is gone, hopefully, they can address the lymphedema in my mom’s legs.
Even with all of this happening, my mom is planning for the holiday. Margaret and James will be joining us for Thanksgiving. My mom remains filled with love and hope.
“Happiness can be found in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light.” JK Rowling
This day, last year, was my son Marko’s seventeenth birthday. Marko is my mom’s youngest grandchild. We celebrated at her house. My three boys, and their friends, came over for pizza and cake.
My mom didn’t feel well enough to come downstairs. She didn’t feel well enough to eat pizza and cake. She didn’t feel up to singing songs or playing games. She didn’t want anyone to come upstairs and say hello. She said that she didn’t want the kids to see her, and to feel sad on Marko’s birthday.
Everything had changed. Turbo cancer had changed our lives, completely. The destruction brought by the vaccine had affected all of us.
Even for those of us who had avoided the injections, the aftermath was unavoidable.
For my mom, there was still a glimmer of hope. If the radiation worked, she would be able to participate in, and enjoy, Thanksgiving. She had something to look forward to.
She had something to hang on to.
My boys would be there. My brother’s children, Margaret and James, would travel from different parts of the country. My mom was excited. She had a plan for the future. She was going to receive palliative radiation treatments and then, she was going enjoy a day of gratitude with the people whom she loved the most.
She had me write down all of her plans. She dictated the menu. She decided who should be responsible for what dish. We made a list of the housework that needed to be done, and the groceries that needed to be purchased.
My mom considered the tastes and preferences of each of her guests. She wanted every person at the table to feel cared for, happy and satisfied.
On this day, my mom was suffering. Her bedroom was dark and silent. She stayed in her bed, surrounded by pillows, in an attempt to keep the pressure off her painful back and groin.
My mom was amazing. She knew that she was dying. She understood that the cancer had spread too far, too fast. She accepted that the treatments, while possibly helping with pain, would not prolong her life. However, even in this dark time, her spirit radiated with hope, light and love.
While facing death, she was looking forward to living.
To support my work, make a one-time donation, or purchase art, visit my ko-fi site:
Even in pain, lifelessness, your mom was willing to give the doctors their chance. I don't think I could have held out that long. But she was willing to give them a second, third, or fourth chance.
Bless her, and you, Kristi.
I have been up writing very late at night (my time). Your articles always pop up just when my energy is flagging. It reminds me why I do this, why I cannot give up - every time I see Mom's sweet face.