I've always been close with my parents and grandparents. But I had special connections with my Mom and her father, my grandfather. In October of 2000, I was pregnant with my second child and having a very tough pregnancy since my Crohn's disease was active, and I couldn't have solid food. We were spending a Saturday night with my parents when we got a call that my grandfather had been in an accident and was behaving strangely. From hearing a description of how he was feeling I really suspected he was having a stroke. My parents went and took him to the hospital, and he was having a hemorrhagic stroke (the worst kind, with virtually no survival rate). He was airlifted to another hospital where they had a better stroke unit. Two days later, on my seventh anniversary, we found out we were having another son and I knew my grandfather would be over-the-moon about it. I went to the hospital to tell him (even though he was comatose, I felt like he could hear me). The very next day, he passed away and I named my son after him, in his honor. His birth brought a lot of healing to our family, and things seemed to be going well until I returned to work. The first day back, I slipped on a marble floor and herniated two disks and cracked my tailbone. I was taken off of work for a month to allow the tailbone to heal. On September 21 I was supposed to have jury duty, and when I called in, my number wasn't called. A few minutes later, my Mom called to ask whether I could go with her to her yearly mammogram. She was pretty doctor-phobic and I didn't want her to have to be alone, so I went with her. We made a day out of it, and did a little shopping and had a nice lunch. That day changed everything.
When they did her mammogram, the technician saw something that concerned him and immediately performed an ultrasound. A nurse came out into the waiting room, called my name and asked me to come back there. My heart sank; I knew something was wrong, but I didn't want to believe it. When I got back there, my Mom was in tears and through the tears she told me they wanted to do a biopsy ASAP and could I hold her hand while they did it. So while they got her prepped, I called my father, and then went to hold my Mother's hand as she had for me all these years when I was faced with something painful. We were told that she'd get the results after the weekend. I don't think I slept a wink during that weekend at all. Tuesday I went with my parents for the results; she said she wanted more people on her "team." The doctor confirmed her suspicions, and it was breast cancer. I don't think any of us took a breath for a few minutes. It seemed as if all the air was sucked out of the room. The next few weeks were full of doctor appointments and surgeries. She had a pre-op where they found diabetes, and then she had a lumpectomy, followed by an axilliary node resection once they found cancer in 29 lymph nodes. Through this all, my mother was strong and determined to fight. She had two of her closest friends survive breast cancer, so she felt that her odds were good even though the oncologist told her she'd have a 50/50 shot. After she heard that, she became possessed to be in the top 50% and she never asked for "how long" again.
During that time, my physical condition had been deteriorating and now was facing major back surgery to correct the problem. To add to my fear, I developed an inter-ductal papilloma in one of my terminal milk ducts, and I had to stop breastfeeding to have surgery on my breast. In November 2001 my mother went for her first chemo treatment, and immediately afterwards we went to dinner as a family as was our Friday tradition. In February 2002, I had my back surgery--a spinal fusion, a diskectomy on the level above, and a 5 level laminectomy. My mother insisted on being part of my daily care when I got out of the hospital. It made me feel much better to have 'my Mommy' there and to see her feeling well. She sailed through two 3-month rounds of chemotherapy, and 6 weeks of radiation. In the Summer of 2002 she was deemed "cancer free" and we all breathed a sigh of relief. I went with her to every oncologist visit and 6 month mammograms, and every time she'd get the OK we would celebrate.
Fast-forward to the summer of 2004. Once again, she went for her six-month mammogram and it was clear. Then she started having chest pain, and the docs told her she had costochondritis (inflammation of the sternum) and gave her meds and told her it would be better in a few weeks. In six weeks the pain started worsening and we convinced her to see her primary doc and the oncologist. They sent her for lab work for the cancer markers which came back normal and a bone scan which came up as inconclusive. The oncologist said she could have the chest wall biopsied, but it was her decision. We talked her into the biopsy, but due to a busy thoracic surgeon's schedule, I was going to be away on a business trip (that I couldn't miss) when she had the surgery. That morning, August 4, I was a nervous wreck, and thank g-d for my friend Bonni who lived in the city where I was for the meetings. She held my hand as my husband delivered the blow--it was cancer, and it was all over her chest wall and sternum. I couldn't catch my breath for about an hour. It was at that moment, that I realized the true probability that she could die. I showed up at my meetings later that day, but couldn't function until I spoke to her and heard her say she'd be okay. Once I did, she said she'd fight with all she had, and that is what she did.
My dad sold his shares in his business, and made my mother the center of his universe. She continued working through chemo again, but made the decision to retire at year's end as she was now eligible. In November 2004, they repeated the scans, and noticed a bit of spreading, but it was still confined, so they changed her chemo meds. In December 2004 she went on vacation with my dad and their best friends and had a wonderful time. It was then that I regained hope; she felt well and was fighting with all she had. At the end of January 2005 she had slowed down a bit and her pain levels were increasing, so they repeated the PET and bone scans. The cancer had spread everywhere: her skull, spine, liver, kidneys, lungs, and bones in her legs. The next day (January 29) we took her to the hospital because she was having shortness of breath, which turned out to be a collapsed lung from the cancer. Mentally I wouldn't let myself verbally admit that she was dying, but in hindsight that is what was happening.
She was released from the hospital on January 31 and her oncologist got her into a clinical trial that looked hopeful. That gave her some renewed fight and she did everything needed to get into the study to gain some more time. On February 9, she was to go get her first dose of study medication, but she said she didn't feel "right" and her oncologist told her to come to the office for labs. She was immediately admitted as her kidneys were failing. We all rallied around her at the hospital, but she only wanted to see two people, her grandchildren, my sons. My husband brought them to see her, and she just lit up. That turned out to be the last time they saw her alive. On February 12 they said her kidneys were doing much better, and they were talking about moving her to a step-down unit. February 13 brought heartbreak. She lapsed into a coma, and on Valentine's Day, they told us there was nothing else they could do other than palliative care. She passed away 2:32pm February 15, 2005.
I felt like I was moving through water for the next few months. My husband urged me to see a therapist. Finally, in September 2005 I did. I still miss my Mom terribly, especially around the holidays, birthdays, and anniversary of her death. There will always be a hole in my heart, but I'm enjoying life with my family, and looking forward. I'll be walking in my 6th Race for the Cure in October, and cheering on all those other Mothers and Daughters fighting breast cancer.
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