Mom's Cancer Battle Update

I spent a full week with my Mom as she battles Stage III Rectal Cancer. It’s been overwhelming, terrifying, challenging, beautiful, and harmonious all at the same time. I feel like 2019 has perhaps been thirty-six months long so far, when in reality it’s only been two. I arrived to Detroit last Saturday with my posse in tow, my amazing and supportive husband and my big blue eyed girl that makes everything better. Honestly, preparing for the trip, I had no idea what to expect. Mom is under a rigorous chemotherapy and radiation regimen that will last five weeks. The first week included chemotherapy that is attached to her and distributed over the course of a week. By the time we’d arrived, the first week was over and this mysterious chemo attachment had been removed. I was so excited on the flight from Los Angeles to Detroit, but I was also worried. I had been to see my sister along her cancer journey and every time our eyes met I was presented with a different version of cancer. Would Mom be unable to walk and talk? Would her hair be falling out in clumps and how could I possibly explain this all to a seven-year-old whose only exposure was her dying Aunt. ***Sidenote…would you believe me if I told you Chicago Midway does NOT have a Starbucks?!?*** When we first locked eyes, Mom looked like she’s always looked. Hopeful, and funny, and determined. I was so cold and shivering that I really didn’t take the moment to really LOOK at her. It just seemed like a spring break trip and the fam jam and I had arrived for a fun visit. I got to visit with my Aunt Colleen, who is my Godmother and someone I have laughed with endlessly my whole life. We all made small talk and tried to navigate the range of emotions we’ve all been feeling, but it was nice to be there. To physically see for myself what the heck was going on. My Aunt Donna, Mom’s best friend since childhood, met us at home with a home-cooked meal of Spaghetti and Meatball...man-oh-man must she know my daughter well...and we enjoyed visiting and talking and laughing and maybe a few tears of crying. I am terrible with expressing emotions. When I feel that tickle in my throat that leads to a cry, I know the perfect remedy to make it subside. Swallow hard twice and keep it moving. I kept looking at my Mom. I would stare for a few moments when she’d engage with someone else so she couldn’t see me stare and really observe. “What’s actually happening in there?” I’d ask myself and try to figure it all out. Sunday night I got to visit with my Gramma; we did the math and I think it’s been nine years since I’d seen her. She is beautiful, always has been and always will be to me. We share something so special, I can hardly put it into words. And my wonderful Uncle and his beautiful wife, they’ve all been so amazing as Mom navigates this crazy and scary and wild journey. A few things I know for sure. 1) Cancer absolutely sucks. 2) You only get one family and you need to treasure every moment...even the difficult, uncomfortable, or crazy moments. 3) Your Mom is way stronger than you know...she carried you inside of her body for 40 weeks (or 42 in my case) and is a superstar. 4) We can only be our own authentic truth of a self and expect nothing in return. The week with Mom was hard at times. I hate to see anyone I love so very sick. But, I have to be honest with everyone including myself. I didn’t know what a fighter she was until I saw her face to face. She can somehow prepare herself for battle day in and day out for radiation, knowing it would wipe her out for the rest of the night. Illness is a strange thing. The evenings and nights are much harder than daylight; it’s almost if God also has to sleep at night too or something? Isn’t it that way with most illness though, not just cancer? If I could take some of the pain away I would in a heartbeat. I’ve always loved being in charge and calling the shots, but with illness you don’t get that luxury. You have to take each hour, or minute really, as they come and just go with it. As Mom's treatments are daily at the same time, I watched as dozens of other fighters arrived while I waited in the lobby. So many people are fighting with no one; they too find the strength to fight even without support. I wanted to hug them all and offer to drive them or come cook them a meal. Mom's oncologist says the ones who have the most success are surrounded in love of family and friends, and she has that in spades. My husband is my superhero. As we watched my sister leave this earth together and again now as my Mom battles this awful disease, he is always there steadfast in hope and reminding me that no matter what it’ll all be OK. I have no idea how this journey ends, but I know my Mom is strong, I am hopeful, and somehow someway this’ll all work out and teach us something at the same time.