On this day, last year, I wrote:
Today we go to the radiation oncologist, to start setting my mom up for palliative radiation. The hope is that this procedure will grant pain relief and much needed rest.
We saw the surgeon last Thursday. The surgical site looked good. I now have a better understanding of what happened in the groin area.
Back in July, the doctors removed a lymph node for biopsy. The lymph node was full of pancreatic cancer cells. Once removed, lymph fluid continued to fill the space that had been left behind.
The fluid, combined with the surrounding tissue, formed a hard capsule, called a lymphocele. This was exactly what was supposed to happen. Normally, within a few weeks, the capsule resolves itself, dissipating and then being reabsorbed into the body.
I’m my mom’s case, all of the tissue that created the capsule was already cancerous. The mutated cells were incorporated into the lymphocele. The cancerous lymphocele could not heal. The mutated cells regenerated. The fluid-filled tumor continued to grow.
Before the recent biopsy, the doctor’s had not understood what had been happening, because they had never seen it happen before.
I pray for pain relief. I pray for an end to the suffering. I pray that my mother can experience peace during this period of her life.
We were very excited to go to the radiation oncology office and get set up for radiation. We knew the test would be difficult, but also worth it. If the radiation treatments were successful, my mom would be relieved of her pain.
For this test, my mom had to, once again, lie flat on her back, on a hard table. For her, the most painful position of all was that of lying flat on her back. There were no alternatives. In order to achieve pain relief, she had to suffer just a little bit more, a little bit longer.
The radiation oncology office was a lovely space. The waiting room walls were painted with soothing colors and the furniture was comfortable. There was pleasant music playing in the background. It smelled fresh and homey. There was a water cooler and an array of hot drinks and snacks in the waiting area. There was a table with jigsaw puzzles, games and magazines. The office gave the appearance that those who worked there cared about the comfort of their patients.
Before the test, I mentioned to the doctor that my mom had also been complaining of hip pain. I was concerned that this could be the result of additional tumor growth, and wanted him to be aware, in case the hip was a candidate for radiation, as well.
My mom made it through the test, but it was extremely difficult. I wasn’t sure how many more of these procedures she would be able to tolerate.
When the test was over, my mom was brought out of the room. She was hunched over in her wheelchair. Her suffering was so intense that she could not look up at me or speak. Her fists were clenched and her body was trembling.
The nurse told us that the doctor wanted to speak to us. I took my mom to the waiting room and we sat. I rubbed her arm and I told her that I could see how hard the test had been. I told her that she had done a good job. I told her that she would soon be home in bed. I told her that I was so proud of her. I told her that she was so strong.
The doctor came in and said that, considering the rate at which the cancer had been metastasizing, and considering this new hip pain, it would be best to do a full body bone scan. He said that, with a bone scan, he would be able to pinpoint all areas of tumor growth and then radiate them simultaneously. He said that, with the guidance of a bone scan, he could ensure that no new bone pain would crop up.
The problem was that this test would be grueling. It would require my mom to go to the hospital and be injected with an isotope. After the injection, she would be required to wait for three hours for the radioactive substance to spread throughout her body. After the wait, she would have to lie on the table, on her back, for an additional hour, while a machine is taking pictures of her entire skeletal system.
I looked at her, tense and shaking in her chair, and I said that I wasn’t sure if she could handle all that.
He said that it would be optimal for providing targeted, complete and long-lasting pain relief. He said that, without the test, there could exist tumors that would be missed. He said that, without the test, my mom would be suffering new bone pain within a month or two. He said that, without the test, her life could become an endless cycle of tumor growth, pain and radiation.
I asked why these tests hadn’t been done months before. I asked how her condition could have gotten this severe without the doctor’s noticing.
He said that the hadn’t had enough information to have a full understanding of my mom’s disease. He said that time and testing had provided more clarity.
I said that the test sounded like too much. I said that my mom had barely made it through the test to which she had just been subjected. I said that I didn’t know how much more she could take. I asked about options. I wondered if we could start with radiation on the spine, and then see if she could tolerate a bone scan.
My mom reached over and put her hand on top of mine. She looked me straight in the eye and said: “It’s O.K. I’ll do it. It’s just one more test. I want the radiation. I want the pain to go away.”
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Sadists, wanting nothing but to extract the last little bit of suffering from the 'patient.'
That's the real reason they waited to do the 'tests.'
Why do them when she was more able to handle them, why not wait, when the agony would be unbearable. That's the real motivation here. Bastards.
😓😓😓