Turbo Cancer: Day 169 - November 27, 2022
No Limit
On this day, last year, I called Meilssa.
She had been to my mom’s house the day before. She had put her back on Oxy, along with the Fentanyl patch. She had said to wait forty-eight hours for the narcotics to kick in.
We couldn’t wait for forty-eight hours.
I learned from my mom that there is no limit to the amount of love one can give.
I also learned that there is no limit to the amount of suffering one can endure.
Many times, I thought that my mom had reached the pinnacle of pain. I assumed that there would be a point where it couldn’t get any worse.
The day I took my mom to the hospital with a lump in her groin, I thought we had reached that point. Two weeks later, when she was debilitated with pain, I thought we had reached that point. When her lung was collapsed, and she was in the ICU with a chest tube, I thought we had reached that point. When we begged Doctor S to surgically remove the ever-growing lymphocele, I thought we had reached that point. When my mom was in the hospital, with an infected abscess in her groin, and her pain meds were withheld, I was certain we had reached that point.
I kept thinking it couldn’t get any worse.
And then it kept getting worse.
My mom described her pain to me.
It began in her lower back.
And then it spread.
As if it were alive with electricity, it travelled along every nerve, causing shockwaves.
She was in her chair. She was trying to remain perfectly still. Every tiny movement caused the pain signals emanating from her spine to shoot through her body and out from the top of her head, the tips of her fingers and her toes.
She sat.
Eyes closed.
Perfectly still.
Then, she shuddered.
She moaned.
Every muscle was tense. Tears were rolling down her face.
The situation was desperate.
I had to call Melissa.
Within thirty minutes, she was there.
She came in the front door, climbed the stairs and walked straight up to my mom. She held her hand and said, “How are you doing, JoAnne?”
With dried tears staining her face, my mom answered: “Not so good.”
Melissa was confused by my mom’s pain. She said that my mom was taking really high doses of really strong narcotics, and that it should be more effective. She said that she wouldn’t normally increase narcotics so quickly, but that, in this case, she would make an exception.
Melissa doubled the dosage of the Fentanyl patch. She said that it would take twenty-four to forty-eight hours for the new dose to fully take effect. In the meantime, we needed to keep my mom’s bedroom environment as calm and as soothing as possible.
My mom was distant. The pain did not allow her mind to focus on anything outside of her body.
Her spirit was elsewhere.
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You'd be shocked if you knew how many people in the medical industry are drug addicts. Those you least expect have ways to steal your drugs. Pretty obvious this is a case of clever medical personnel enjoying some of the benefits meant for the patient.
What your mother went through is just horrible. It's hard to even take it all in. I'm so sorry.