The Bad News
Like I mentioned in February, this is my wax on post, my bad news post, my mopey post.
So yesterday afternoon I got The Phone Call.
There are a few of The Phone Call calls. They are never good, and nothing ever stays the same or is the same after.
The Phone Call puts you on a path you can't get off, it's a road you're forced to take. There are no u-turns allowed, no stopping on the shoulder, no right or left turns onto unknown, secret back roads. The Phone Call comes, and you suddenly realize you're on a road and you don't know how you got there, except that the Phone Call came, and that was what put you there.
This call was to say that the 'mass' discovered lurking malevolently and without invitation in my mother was most likely cancerous, most definitely inoperable, and really, only treatable.
There's a few problems with this, of course.
She is a cancer survivor, cervical cancer (get your damn asses to the doctors once a year women, because not going CAN kill you), and had lots of radiation pumped into her. The radiation did something wonky so she can no longer make her own iron. It also makes her leg swell up something fierce. Anyhow, she usually goes and gets an iron booster shot and occasionally, a bag of iron. The problem is, they can't operate because this 'mass' is too large and interconnected beween organs. They can't give her radiation, because they gave her so much the first time. The first time was five years ago, so this is a real kick in everyone's gut. I mean, talk about a sucker punch... Look, I survived cancer... oh, never mind, the bastard's back. It's unrelated to the first, but I read somewhere once that radiation can sometimes cause secondary cancers later on. What can you do right? Anyhow, they can only give her chemotherapy. And when it is time to decide if the cure is worse than the cancer, they will discuss options.
They don't discuss time, of course. Nobody knows how much time is left, not for anyone, but it's inevitable now. She won't live to be old. She won't be kooky and quirky at 80. This wasn't supposed to be what happened. This wasn't supposed to be a long ending. This wasn't supposed to come back.
No one is expecting next week's biopsy results to be good. See, at first they told her, no problem, we're going to operate and hey, while we are there, we'll give you a hysterectomy and fix your hernia. Then, it became 'it's inoperable and incurable, but treatable.' So we're not really looking forward to next week's prognosis, because if it's an aggressive sort of cancer, and really what cancer isn't, there isn't much anyone can do. They don't know how treatable it is yet. It's not what anyone wanted to hear, least of all my mother.
A road we can't get off, none of us, we have to travel it, even though we know it ends somewhere we don't want to go. And where we go from there, well, we certainly can't go back the same way we can.
So yesterday afternoon I got The Phone Call.
There are a few of The Phone Call calls. They are never good, and nothing ever stays the same or is the same after.
The Phone Call puts you on a path you can't get off, it's a road you're forced to take. There are no u-turns allowed, no stopping on the shoulder, no right or left turns onto unknown, secret back roads. The Phone Call comes, and you suddenly realize you're on a road and you don't know how you got there, except that the Phone Call came, and that was what put you there.
This call was to say that the 'mass' discovered lurking malevolently and without invitation in my mother was most likely cancerous, most definitely inoperable, and really, only treatable.
There's a few problems with this, of course.
She is a cancer survivor, cervical cancer (get your damn asses to the doctors once a year women, because not going CAN kill you), and had lots of radiation pumped into her. The radiation did something wonky so she can no longer make her own iron. It also makes her leg swell up something fierce. Anyhow, she usually goes and gets an iron booster shot and occasionally, a bag of iron. The problem is, they can't operate because this 'mass' is too large and interconnected beween organs. They can't give her radiation, because they gave her so much the first time. The first time was five years ago, so this is a real kick in everyone's gut. I mean, talk about a sucker punch... Look, I survived cancer... oh, never mind, the bastard's back. It's unrelated to the first, but I read somewhere once that radiation can sometimes cause secondary cancers later on. What can you do right? Anyhow, they can only give her chemotherapy. And when it is time to decide if the cure is worse than the cancer, they will discuss options.
They don't discuss time, of course. Nobody knows how much time is left, not for anyone, but it's inevitable now. She won't live to be old. She won't be kooky and quirky at 80. This wasn't supposed to be what happened. This wasn't supposed to be a long ending. This wasn't supposed to come back.
No one is expecting next week's biopsy results to be good. See, at first they told her, no problem, we're going to operate and hey, while we are there, we'll give you a hysterectomy and fix your hernia. Then, it became 'it's inoperable and incurable, but treatable.' So we're not really looking forward to next week's prognosis, because if it's an aggressive sort of cancer, and really what cancer isn't, there isn't much anyone can do. They don't know how treatable it is yet. It's not what anyone wanted to hear, least of all my mother.
A road we can't get off, none of us, we have to travel it, even though we know it ends somewhere we don't want to go. And where we go from there, well, we certainly can't go back the same way we can.
posted by Lahdeedah | 2:13 PM
3 Comments:
Oh, gee, that's awful. You have my sympathies, and so does your mother.
I'm sorry that you have this heavy burden just now. I wish you and your mother and all your family strength and grace to face the hard road.
Thanks guys,
It's just. well, one of those sucker punches hat takes the wind out of you and really, takes quite a while to get a deep breath.
Scotland, huh landgirl?
I am jealous. I visited once or twice, but not long enough to suit me.
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