Turbo Cancer: Day 170 - November 28, 2022
The tiny bedroom had become her entire world.
On this day, last year, we were still at home, waiting for the pain medicine to kick in.
The radiation receptionist called. She said that we needed to schedule the treatments. I told her that my mom was in too much pain. She said that the radiation would alleviate the pain. I said that it would be impossible for me to bring her to the office. She said that I should try. She said that my mom was already set up for radiation. She asked me: “Don’t you want to help her feel better?”
I said: “All I have done is try to help my mom feel better. If I could get her there, I would. As I already told you, she is in too much pain. I cannot bring her to you.”
The receptionist replied: “Okay. When she feels up to it, call and we will get her in, right away. Try to figure out the transportation. I am certain that we can help her.”
At the doctor’s office was Radiation. Radiation was said to be a prize fighter, waiting in the ring. He was beefed up and ready to take those tumors down.
At my mom’s house, I had set up the bedside commode. The back pain had become so intense that she could no longer walk the six steps to her bathroom. The idea of getting her into the car and out to another doctor’s appointment was incomprehensible.
Radiation was there, waiting, with gloves on, but my mom never made it to the match.
In addition to the back pain, she was having major issues with her left leg. The wound vac was in place and was constantly suctioning fluid. However, her leg was engorged. The edema was severe. It weighed at least twenty-five pounds. My mom could neither lift it nor move it unassisted.
She spent the day in bed.
When she needed to use the bathroom, I helped her. First, we got her into a sitting position. She put her arms around my neck, while I lifted her under her armpits. Once she was sitting, I lifted both of her legs for her, and pivoted her body, so that her feet were on the floor. Then she would, once again, put her arms around my neck while I lifted her into a standing position. Finally, after one small pivot, she could sit back down on the commode.
It would have made sense to start using a bedpan or diaper at this point, but my mom didn’t want to give up her last bit of dignity and independence.
I understood the reality of the situation. I knew that my mom would be spending the rest of her days in her room. Her cancer was a wildfire. It had spread too far and too fast. There was no coming back.
There was little I could do to help my mom. I couldn’t regulate her disease or her pain. I couldn’t end her suffering. Her life was in the hands of God.
All I could control was her environment. As she would be spending the rest of her days confined to her room, I decided to make it pleasant.
I felt compelled to clean, organize and decorate the bedroom. When she looked out from her bed, I wanted her to see beautiful things that made her feel happy. I decided that it was time to hide the disorganized piles of bandages and medical equipment.
While my mom was sitting in her pain, waiting and hoping for relief, I was cleaning her room. I displayed the flowers and angels she had received as gifts. I made it so that everything that she could see was peaceful and beautiful.
The tiny bedroom had become her entire world.
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Kristi, this picture of your beloved Mom slays me. What the medical industry put this woman through is reprehensible! And what you are doing to expose it is so courageous and powerful! God sees it all. Just remember that your Mama is right there with Jesus in utter bliss with no pain! Life on earth is short, but eternity with Him is long! Keep the faith, Kristi, you are touching thousands!
>The radiation receptionist called. She said that we needed to schedule the treatments.
I actually gasped when I read this. Vultures. No words. Unspeakable.