Turbo Cancer: Day 122 - October 11, 2022
A Desperate Plea
On this day, last year, I wrote:
My mom has been in pain every single day since June 2022, when I took her to the emergency room for a small lump in her groin. She has seen dozens of doctors, taken hundreds of pills, has had surgery and chemotherapy and narcotics. Still, she has been in pain every single day since June 2022.
Despite it all, she only cares about how everyone else is feeling. She smiles, laughs, kisses, hugs and loves. The only motivation she has ever had is the motivation to help others. She is a stunning example of how to live life in accordance with God’s word.
Recently, my oldest son died, of a Fentanyl overdose, after a decade long struggle with addiction. My mom, in spite of her pain, was only worried about me. My mom loved Steven more than one could think was possible. She took him in when he was at his worst. She tried to fill him with the love of God. She knew that Jesus Christ was the missing piece from his puzzle.
God is the missing piece from the puzzle of modern humanity. For most people, the combination of physical pain, deep emotional pain, and spiritual pain would be too much, but my mom still smiles and laughs and kisses and hugs and loves.
We will see another doctor today. This time, it will be a surgeon. We are hoping he will be able to do something to reduce the pain and pressure being caused by excess fluid production. What we would like is to have a tube put into her leg, which will drain off the excess fluid, before it overwhelms her system. So far, the doctors have not been able to find any formula that leads to relief. Pray that God will guide this surgeon to the answer that my mother so desperately needs.
I woke up on this morning, experiencing an overwhelming sense of foreboding.
Here is what my brain was thinking:
The hole in my mom’s leg had been an escape route for the fluid. The hole had now closed. She had been hospitalized, previously, for congestive heart failure and pleural effusion, due to fluid overload. Without the hole, the fluid would spread throughout her body and overwhelm her vital organs, once again. Without the hole, my mom would drown, with her own fluid filling her lungs.
The way I saw it was that without The Blowhole, my mom would die, painfully, very soon.
She needed that hole.
With these thoughts running around in my head, I decided to send an email to Doctor S. He was the only person I knew who had the necessary skill set. He was the only one who could help.
The last time we had seen Doctor S, he didn’t want to do anything surgical with the lump. He had been concerned that the risks might outweigh the rewards. He was, additionally, certain that, at some point, the fluid would stop filling the space in my mom’s groin, and that the hard lymphocele would turn gelatinous, dissolving into the surrounding tissue.
We had the sense, after our last visit, that Doctor S didn’t want to see us anymore. From a surgical point of view, he had done everything that could be done. The body’s ability to recover from surgery was the responsibility of a different type of doctor.
So, we waited. The fluid continued to be produced and the lump continued to grow. It had not gotten better on its own. It had gotten worse. On October 11, 2022, it was critical.
The pressure was increasing. The pain was unbearable. My mom wouldn’t be able to tolerate more.
I wrote an email. I told Doctor S that the hole had closed. I explained my theory about hypervolemia. I wrote that, in my opinion, The Blowhole had been controlling the fluid levels. The Blowhole had been the escape hatch. If my mom hadn’t had The Blowhole, her system would have been overwhelmed and she would have died, months earlier.
I told Doctor S about my fear, and I told him that, at this point, he was our only hope. I asked him to, please, see us about the possibility of placing a new drain.
Doctor S agreed to an appointment in his office.
On this day, last year, my mom wrote:
Today, back to Doctor S. Desperation attempt to get rid of pain. Help him, Jesus.
Kristi is so caring. So filled with empathy, so loving. Thank you for her.
John is so hard working, caring, funny - he makes me laugh every day. He fixes everything. Thank you for him.
Papa brings coffee, buys protein and is ever hopeful - which helps me.
Thank You God.
Your mom is an inspiration who lives on through your writing. Thank you for that!
Would Dr. S be able to fulfill her needs, I wonder out loud for tomorrow's installment. I know Kristi's mom dies, did medical science yield any answers? Give any relief!