Turbo Cancer: Day 143 - November 1, 2022
Turbo Cancer: Day 143 - November 1, 2022
Stages of Grief
On this day, last year, my mom wrote:
Internet in and out. How important that is to me now. Kristi spent a long time talking to ATT and no luck. Appointment for Wednesday. Then, suddenly, it came back on!
Lots of staple pain. Better now. Hope it’s not infected.
On this day, last year, I wrote:
My mom has been more tired over the past few days, which has me worried. I suppose she has a reason to be tired. Her body is fighting off multiple invaders, at the same time.
We have been having a nice time together while she rests. We started watching X-files. We watched the original series together in the 1990s, when Steven was a baby. Thirty years later, we will see how many of those conspiracy theories came true.
For now, it is healthy meals, medicine and rest. We will visit the surgeon on Thursday, so that he can assess his work. Then Friday, it’s back to chemo.
There are five identified stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. With a terminal disease, one grieves the loss of one’s own life.
I could see that my mom had fallen into a state of depression. Instinctively, I knew that this meant that she had reached a new stage of her disease.
Ever since the surgery, my mom had been tired. Her back was constantly hurting. She was constipated, and had stomach pain. Her leg was swollen and heavy, making it difficult to walk. The surgical site was painful, which was concerning.
She couldn’t find a comfortable position. She couldn’t rest. She had good reason to be tired. It made sense that she was tired.
But she was different.
She wasn’t herself.
She had gone through so many trials, and had maintained her strength and resolve. Through it all, she had remained positive and energetic.
Since June, my mom had been very sick, but she had loved having company and visiting with friends. Between the doctors’ visits and the friends’ visits, her calendar had been full. Maintaining her social life had brought her healing and great joy.
On this day, she didn’t want visitors. She didn’t want to go downstairs. She didn’t want to leave her bed.
So, we lay there, with the lights turned low, watching TV.
It was unlike her. Just a few months before this day, she had been a ball of energy. She never sat still. She never stopped moving. She never stopped smiling. She never stopped laughing, hugging and loving.
Turbo cancer made her so fragile. She was finding it harder to focus on what was happening outside of her own body. She didn’t have enough energy to give it to others.
She couldn’t imagine having people around when she had nothing for them.
I told her that nobody expected anything from her. I told her that people wanted to do things for her. I told her that people just wanted to see her and be with her.
She said that everyone would be too sad if they saw her like this. She said that she didn’t want to make people sad. She said that causing pain in others was the worst thing that she could imagine.
She had me call her friends and cancel her visits.
She wanted to be alone. She wanted to stay in bed. She wanted to grieve in silence.
So, that’s what we did.
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This is the same with severe depression even without physical ailment.
Oh, you do have a way with words. Thank you Kristi.
To grieve, to suffer, in silence.
It's when one knows they have been beaten, but not conquered.
Silence!