Turbo Cancer: Day 92 - September 11, 2022
The Remembering Parts
On this day, last year, my mom was home.
She was very tired.
Progress had been made. My mom had lost ten pounds of fluid. Her breathing was back to normal, and her leg was smaller.
We were incredibly grateful. The diuretics were clearly working, because she needed to use the bathroom, constantly.
However, the frequent walks to the bathroom were causing problems.
Having to get up so often, while carrying excess fluid weight, was hard on my mom’s knees. In addition, the increased walking was exacerbating her lumpy pain.
With each step, the pain got worse, causing my mom to hunch over, leading to back pain.
She was a mess.
And the day was long. Each time my mom was able to get comfortable in bed, she needed to get up again. The short walk to the bathroom became more and more difficult as the hours passed.
My mom had been given a bedside commode. I offered to set it up. She said she wasn’t ready for that yet.
For my mom, giving up the ability to use the bathroom felt like giving up completely. She said that using a plastic potty would make her feel like a child, and that she couldn’t stand the thought of me cleaning up after her.
Turbo cancer had stollen most of her independence. She wasn’t ready to let go of the rest.
Rather than quit, she struggled.
She fought.
My mom’s bedroom and bathroom were on the top floor of her house. As long as her walker was within reach, she was able, with help, to complete the six steps between her bed and the toilet.
She was using the bathroom every thirty to forty-five minutes. There was no bathroom on the main floor. My mom couldn’t come downstairs to sit in her chair and watch the birds. Until the frequency decreased, she was forced to stay in her bedroom.
We didn’t know how long she would be confined. We tried to think of everything she would need.
With the help of my strong sons, I rearranged the furniture and added a comfortable chair to the corner. We also brought in an extra folding chair for visitors.
I created a display of all of the flowers and gifts that my mom had received. I set up a little bedside table with her pills, water bottle, books, journal and I-pad.
Then, I brought the toaster to her room, along with bread, peanut butter, jelly, crackers, apples, oranges and bananas.
We couldn’t think of anything more.
We pretended that we were on vacation, staying at a fancy resort, eating breakfast in bed. We made up stories about the fun times we were having on our trip.
We talked about vacations we had taken when I was a kid, and when my boys were little.
We reminisced about long car rides and campfires. We remembered running with toddlers, flying colorful kites. We could almost smell the ocean and feel the sand between our toes.
The remembering parts were always nice.
That lack of mobility combined with the need to go to the bathroom sucks, but when I experienced it, at least I knew I'd get better (hip replacement & bone disease), slowly.
💔