Turbo Cancer: Day 126 - October 15, 2022

Palliative Care

On this day, last year, my mom wrote:

Had chemo yesterday. Feel good- no nausea. Constipation continues.

Doctor T reminded us today that there is no end to chemo, as it is palliative only. Of course, I knew that, but hearing it again really affected me. I’ll do the best I can. Keep fighting and getting closer to God.

“I have a peculiar kind of privilege (she has pancreatic cancer, you know) which makes others more thoughtful. I don’t want to become self-important, yet I don’t want to turn my back on the gift you gave me. You have forced me to think of each day as a dwindling few. Friends need to hear this. I don’t want to be irritating. More than my pride is hurt when my condition is ignored.” - J Cormody

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When my mom started chemo, the plan was to go for six cycles, evaluate the progress, and then prepare for the next stage. Each cycle consisted of two bi-weekly treatments. According to the schedule, six cycles would be completed in early December.

My mom had looked forward to the end of the six cycles, and to chemo-free holidays. Without chemo, her blood counts would go up, her immune system would become stronger, and she would be able to safely spend time in groups.

She had been imagining going to Infant Jesus of Prague, where her church congregation had moved. She had hoped to be able to attend Christmas Mass.

She looked forward to holiday gatherings and to the family Christmas party. There would be good food, thoughtful gifts, and plenty of love.

It was important to have things to look forward to. My mom used to say: “If I don’t move forward, I fall backward.”

During our appointment with Doctor T, we mentioned my mom’s hope for a chemo-free holiday. We reminded her that the end of the six cycles coincided perfectly with the holiday season.

Doctor T looked doubtful. She said that my mom might be able to take a break around the holidays, but reminded us that palliative chemo never ends. The treatments that my mom was receiving were never meant to save her. The purpose of palliative care was pain reduction and improved quality-of-life.

The only issue was that my mom was living in colossal, insurmountable pain. Even on the good days, there was no “quality-of-life.”

If her chemo was palliative, then it wasn’t working.

My mom’s disease had become undeniable, and yet, there were those who denied it.

Sweet, young, naive doctor T believed in her computer screen. If you had looked at my mom’s numbers, you would have thought she was out sky diving, mountain climbing, and living life to its fullest.

More than my pride is hurt when my condition is ignored.

The information on the computer screen did not reflect reality. My mom looked good on paper, but human beings are not made of paper.

It is easy, in retrospect, to judge one’s own choices and actions. However, in each moment of each day, we make choices, and as soon as they are made, they are in the past.

Thinking back, it didn’t make any sense to continue with a pain-relieving treatment that wasn’t relieving pain. However, there was too much happening, and it was all happening too fast. It was difficult to think. It was difficult to focus. It was difficult to see other paths or alternative options.

We did the best we could, with the information that we had been given.

But they didn’t give us all the information.

One thing Turbo Cancer taught me is that information is a personal responsibility. I will face tragedy and trauma again in my life. People I love will become ill, and they will die. I will become ill, and I will die. The only way to take control of illness and death is to be informed. One must be aware of one’s options, if one is to have options.

Without considering the possibility of alternatives, we followed doctor’s orders. We continued moving forward. We continued the futile effort to fight a debilitating disease with a debilitating treatment.

Doctor T’s words had clouded my mom’s joyful visions of happy holidays with family and friends. On this day, Doctor T snuffed out a little bit of our hope.

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The Next Day:

To know the whole story, start at the beginning: