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| My Mom "Honey" and Sister |
For the past 2 weeks, I’ve been living in a twilight zone. I honestly have started writing this post several times, and walk away, as if I have “writers block”. Sadly, it’s not. It’s a true, real story, that I’ve been living, that is much more intense than any story I could ever dream up.
On Friday, December 7th, my mom had an emergency hysterectomy. I’d taken my mom into the hospital the Sunday before (December 2nd) because she couldn’t stand up straight and she was in a lot of pain. In the emergency room, the doctors told my mom she had 2 masses on her ovaries (14 cm large) that might be cancerous. The week following was filled with several doctors’ appointments—fast forward 5 days later to December 7th.
Mom told us kids that they’d found masses and that she might need chemo. Never did she say that the masses were cancerous. She even called friends and her family to just let them know she’d be having a hysterectomy “nothing to be worried about” and that she’d be out of the hospital in 5 days. I prepared myself for the worst, that “she had ovarian cancer, but luckily, we [doctors] were able to remove it all and she’d be A-OK”. I went to work that morning for meetings, then headed over to the hospital at noon, assuming I’d just wait another hour for her to be out of surgery, make sure she was okay, and then head back to the office to finish up some work….you see, I had a deadline and a 3 o’clock meeting.
At about 2 (I think it was 2, but I’m not positive, that was a long day), my mom’s Ovarian Oncology Doctor [Dr. Kehoe—like Key-Hoe] came out to the waiting room where I, along with 3 of my mom’s sweet friends, were holding court. She took us into a private room. “Oh boy, this can’t be good.”
Dr. Kehoe then began, “I’m glad we had the surgery today, because the masses on your mom’s ovaries ruptured, so there was blood all in her stomach. After I removed your mom’s ovaries, I felt her colon, and it didn’t feel right. I called in the Colon doctor, and he’s working on your mom right now. Your mom has Colon Cancer.” All I remember saying was “It’s just not fair. Can’t she get a break?”
I emailed my VP “Not coming back to office”.
I had prepared myself to hear the whole “ovarian cancer” thing, but not Colon cancer. I cried, and cried, and cried. About an hour later, the Colon Doctor came out to talk to me. “Your mom has stage 4 colon cancer. We found the cancer started in her colon at her rectum, and spread to her ovaries and liver. I was able to get most of the cancer out, but had to leave a legion on her liver. It was too deep and your mom’s been in surgery too long, so we had to leave it.” I laughed at the doctor. I couldn’t help myself. I laughed because I thought he was being funny. But, he wasn’t.
My mom was only supposed to be in surgery for 2 hours. By the time she was done, it had been 5 hours.
I had to make the call to my Husband and Aunt and Brother and Mother-in-Law to deliver the unexpected news. It was very sad. Painfully sad. And very hard to have to remember doing.
What was even harder was knowing all this and having to wait to tell my mom until the next day—because she was groggy after surgery. Once she was in her room after surgery though, she knew something was wrong, because she saw the time (clearly past when she was supposed to be out of surgery) and because she could feel the port (for administering chemo) in her stomach.
That night was the hardest night of my life. My husband had to get up with me in the middle of the night because I was crying so hard. I didn’t stop crying that night. The next morning, I awoke in a haze to the sad reality I was in—it wasn’t a dream. I felt heavy and exhausted—I could barely move my body.
We went back to the hospital and the doctors came in to tell my mom what they’d found. (They’d somewhat explained it the night before but they knew she wouldn’t remember the conversation.)
Dr. Kehoe came in and said “Do you remember what we talked about last night?” and I heard my mom say “that I have Colon Cancer”.
Some friends came to visit, and she said that “God’s still in this. He’s not done with me yet. I am going to be famous for God and for my story. If God has a favorite child, I’m pretty sure that right now, I’m it.” She’s so positive and so faithful.
My mom is only 51- and one of the healthiest people I know. How could SHE have colon cancer? How could it have spread throughout her body? This isn’t right—she’s too young. She has at least 40 good years left. People don’t get cancer at 51—especially not my mom.
My mom was in the hospital for 6 days, and because she was recovering from her surgery so well, they released her to come home to my house to continue recovering.
I have to be honest, it’s not easy. It’s not easy to see someone who has always been so strong now be so weak and helpless. During the day she is okay, but during the night, there are many meltdowns. Many tears. Many pains.
Because the masses on her ovaries ruptured, the doctors are worried that the cancer in the blood could have spread and are going to plant themselves on other organs. On Wednesday, 12 days after her surgery, she starts chemo to flush those cells out. She has chemo Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. 3 days a week, every other week, over a 6 week period. THEN, she will begin chemo treatment (for a minimum of 4 months) to try and kill the legion that’s still on her liver…the legion the doctor wasn’t able to remove.
My mom has always said that when she has grandchildren, she wants them to call her “Honey”. My saddest thought right now is What if my children never get to meet their Honey?
