I always remember the date of that particular Easter ~ April 3,1994. Really the last day before her cancer journey was in full swing.
We all joined Mom on that first day. Dad, Rhonda, Randy, and I. Yes, Middle Child Me ~ The Worrier ~ The Fretter ~ The Emotional One ~ who somehow showed such strength around a woman who clearly was terrified about what was about to happen.
Reclining chairs ~ all in a circle ~ and hanging I.V. bags just waiting to drip. I squeezed in beside her as Dr. P started to hook up the tubes. I noticed he never used gloves and that bothered me then. Today it would not bother me now to know his human touch made my mother more at ease ~ more than any risk of infection from her not feeling rubber fingers on her wrist.
Still, at the moment he inserted the needle, she bit her lip and started to sob.
"Oh, My God!" she wailed.
"Oh, Mom, I'm so sorry. I love you. We're all here for you. We'll help you through this," I whispered to her gently.
But she knew. The nightmare had officially begun. The poison that would try to kill the cancer would end up making her even sicker than she already was. Yes, the nightmare had truly begun.
Once the tears had subsided, we made the aquaintance of another cancer patient, Dear Phyllis, Stage 4 Breast Cancer which had already spread to the bone. She was tall like Mom with short, sassy hair and a mom to two 12-year-old daughters ~ her own daughter and the daughter of her husband Geoff. Geoff worked at Union Grove Music downtown. He was with Phyllis for part of her appointments. When he left for work, Phyllis would talk up a storm with all of us ~ ever so cheerful and upbeat ~ that the time would pass more quickly with all of her good energy in the room.
Phyllis was the light that we needed on one of the darkest days of our lives.
We would see Phyllis on each cycle of Mom's chemotherapy and get to know a little more about her husband and daughters. Her husband was Jewish; she was Christian. He had adopted her daughter after they got married. I think I remember she was a school teacher.
On Mom's third cycle of chemotherapy, Phyllis told us that Dr. P was trying a new "Chemotherapy Cocktail" because all the other drugs had stopped working. She said she was sleepy that morning from the Benadryl she had to take during the infusion. Phyllis fell sound asleep and did not chat with us that session. Her snoring soon took over where her chattiness had ended.
I felt that familar feeling come over me ~ that I knew the end was near ~ for Phyllis this time ~ I just knew this would be the last time we saw Phyllis.
And so the call came just before 9:30 a.m. a couple of days before Mom's next chemotherapy appointment. Dr. P was calling to tell us Phyllis had died. Mom was in the shower. And through my tears, I wanted to desperately pound on the bathroom door and tell her that Phyllis was dead.
I paced the upstairs hallway ~ back and forth ~ listening to the sound of the water pouring out the shower ~ knowing Mom did not even have one single lock of her beautiful wavy hair to even wash anymore.
I wanted to tell Mom right away because in my heart, I knew my dear mother was next. Next in line.
Next in line to fall asleep during her chemotherapy appointment. To rapidly deteriorate. And then to have us call people to tell them she had died.
I hugged Mom as she got out of the shower ~ towel on her head as if she still had hair ~ and broke that news that Dear Phyllis had died that morning. Mom took it well, but of course she knew, too.
The Chemotherapy Circle had been broken.
One by one, the patients went to the hospital or went home to die.
No more chatting while poison was dripping into their veins.
Chatting like life would somehow still be okay despite all this madness.
No more Mom bringing the staff and the patients a basket full of snacks from Costco ~ little fruit rolls and Quaker Granola Bars. Something to take the edge off during the long hours of poison infusion.
Because Mom could barely walk an inch the next time we took her to Dr. P's. He took one look at her, ordered a wheelchair, and then had us take her to Dominican. The end was here. She was never coming back.
There would be no more chemotherapy. Just pain control.
A different kind of drip. The Morphine Drip. Where she could push her little Jeopardy-like game button and give herself a jolt of drugs. Swoosh the medicine right through her veins. And make herself fall asleep within a few minutes.
A Peaceful Snore to my ears.
"Be careful how you touch her
For she'll awaken
And sleep's the only freedom
that she knows ~"
From "Wildflower"
No comments:
Post a Comment