Turbo Cancer: Day 148 - November 6, 2022
Turbo Cancer: Day 148 - November 6, 2022
The American Way
On this day, last year, I wrote:
The past few days, my mom has not been feeling well. The pain in her back is getting progressively worse and is keeping her in bed. She also has pain in her leg from the surgical site and the drain. She is getting more and more tired, and this evening, her stomach is hurting, as well.
We are waiting for the MRI results and for palliative care. Chemo is scheduled for tomorrow afternoon.
In the early weeks of November, 2022, I was worried. My mom was changing, and I was concerned. I couldn’t see how she could go on living, in her condition. I wasn’t sure how much longer she would be able to fight.
The pain had gone on and on. It had been endless. The doctor’s had made promises of relief, but none of the pills or tests or treatments had helped. My mom had no “quality of life.”
In the early weeks of November, 2022, I came to accept that the promises that had been made were all lies. I had lost faith in the system, but I didn’t see a way out.
It was a form of addiction. My mom and I were addicted to the promise of pain relief. Nothing that the doctors were doing was working, but we kept going back for more.
The doctors claimed to be committed to my mom’s recovery. Their heartfelt assurances filled us with hope. Perhaps it was the hope that kept us coming back?
Perhaps it was the fear.
After a lifetime of believing in the system, it was scary to imagine trying to navigate through this disease without them. We were being abused by them, but we also felt that we were dependent on them. We were being hurt by them, but we also felt that we needed them.
We were addicts. The men in white were pushers: “One more test. One more treatment. One more pill and all of your problems will disappear.”
It was never going to work. They had to have known that it was never going to work. Still, they kept pushing. They kept selling us their lies.
Lies in exchange for money. That is the American way.
My mom had become depressed and distant. She had fought so hard, but she was beginning to feel defeated.
She was strong, but the invader that had entered her body was stronger. It had changed her tissue on a cellular level. The doctors could do nothing to change that. Nothing that they could sell us had the power to make things right.
On this day, we were waiting for the results of the MRI. We were waiting to see if the cancer had spread to the spine.
I could see my mom’s pain. It was a dark, shadowy creature, frantically flying all around her. It had attached itself to her, and was feeding on her spirit. It was sucking the life out of her. It was growing and spreading at an accelerated rate.
The further it spread, the stronger it became. Every time it touched her, it sent shockwaves of pain through her body. It kept digging in, deeper and deeper. It was relentless.
My mom was quiet. She just wanted to stay in bed. She just wanted to be alone.
She was praying for mercy.
We didn’t need the MRI to tell us that the cancer had spread. The result would confirm what we already knew. Turbo cancer had taken on a life of its own. It was wildfire. It refused to be controlled.
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Wow, this is a profound way to describe the process— dependency and addiction. I never quite thought of it that way, but you’re right. 😥
And they wanted more, like they knew it was over, the visits would stop, the money waould be gone, with the patient.
I am so sorry.