Turbo Cancer: Day 128 - October 17, 2022

Her Smile

On this day, last year, my mom wrote:

So constipated! Using enemas and suppositories for results. Weak, tired, dizzy spells. Better this am. Gained 2 pounds 😢.

Should start going down now.

“From my experience it is always well never to pay attention to what people say, but rather why they say it.” - Fulton Sheen.

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We assumed that the constipation was caused by the narcotics.

My mom, who was a small, thin, elderly woman, was taking long-acting Oxycodone every twelve hours, as well as short-acting OxyContin every four hours, around the clock. She was also taking a nerve blocker called Gabapentin.

And she was still in pain. She was still in indescribable, unmanageable, debilitating pain.

Oxy, chemically, is almost identical to heroin. Regardless of where the drugs are procured, on the street or from a doctor, opioid addiction leads to constipation. The drug causes the muscle contractions of the intestine to slow. The drug dehydrates the intestinal tract. Reduced muscle control leads to straining. Straining causes additional complications.

Steven suffered in the same way. He was a young man. He should have been healthy, but had so many problems with his stomach. Drugs destroy every part of a person - every single part.

She had been aware of the possibility of opioid induced constipation. Therefore, she remained vigilant with her consumption of water and fiber. She continued her practice of eating a diet consisting of mostly fruit and vegetable. She added Metamucil to her morning coffee, and stool softeners to her pile of pills.

My mom employed every possible strategy to avoid constipation, but the drugs were too powerful. Now that the pain was so intense, she was taking the maximum prescribed dosage. Her body had become a slave.

She made one fatal mistake in life. She believed in the system. She was lured into a false sense of security. They said that compliance would equal safety and comfort. They pretended that there was a simple way for kind-hearted people to help the world.

Just one little shot to save humanity.

My mom had always believed in saving humanity. She was willing to give of herself in the service of others. Accepting an injection, to her, was a small sacrifice, if it meant that she was improving the lives of millions.

She may have been naive, but she had noble intentions. In her entire life, she never tried to hurt anyone.

There are those who want to hurt. There are those who desire to maim. There are those whose purpose is to cause pain and destruction. Those guys can’t stand people like my mom. Kindness is their enemy. They know that love and unity have the power to topple empires.

Each of the treatments that my mom was receiving for pain was causing suffering.

And she was still in pain.

However, she kept her positive attitude. She kept moving forward. She was, and is, my inspiration.

On this day, she got out of bed. She came downstairs. She greeted me with a smile and a hug. She asked me how I was doing.

I wasn’t doing well.

Until my mom looked at me with eyes full of love and empathy.

I wasn’t doing well.

Until I saw her smile.

My mom’s ability to smile through her pain forced me to think outside of my own grief and suffering. My mom’s consistent gratitude forced me to see that, even in the midst of tragedy, life is beautiful.

We sat in the living room, looking out the window. The flowers were gone, replaced by the lovely, swaying, dried grasses of autumn. The birds were busy fattening up, in preparation for winter.

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The Next Day:

To know the whole story, start at the beginning: