In the summer of 2010, my Mom had some random back and flank pain. She was 76 years old and aside from osteoarthritis, was in good health. She visited her doctor and was given antibiotics for a bladder infection. She felt better but couldn't shake some new shortness of breath and the persistent nagging pain in her back and side. My folks visited us over the 4th of July holiday and she and I had a really fun day out hitting the garden centers, having lunch and enjoying each other's company. During our day out she often needed to sit and catch her breath and chalked it up to more activity than normal. With her knees and back arthritis, she often needed to slow down and give her joints a chance to quiet. We enjoyed their visit and made plans to get together in the fall at their house. My Dad had been approved for a new treatment for his chronic prostate cancer and needed to be close to home for several weeks during the treatment.
On Sept. 11, HB and I flew out to California for a 2 week vacation. We started out in his old stomping grounds of Orange County and needed to visit Riverside to finish some details of his mother's estate. We then headed up the 101 with plans to drive the coast all the way to Seattle. Along the way we'd meet up with groups of friends and his daughter and her partner. On day 6 of our trip, we were having dinner in Monterrey, and my phone rang. It was my Dad, my Mom had gone in for a follow up appointment related to her bladder infection and her doctor ordered a chest x-ray and she was immediately ordered into admission to the hospital. She had something suspicious in her lungs and erring on the side of caution her doctor wanted her admitted for further tests. She was feeling ok, anxious and ready for answers. We offered to cut our vacation short, but both of my parents said NO, just go have fun.
We spoke to them every day. My Mom was frustrated and concerned. My Dad was exhausted and worried. Her doctors weren't telling her anything, just ordering more tests. She finally put up a huge fuss and was discharged on day 8 with orders to undergo two more tests before her doctors would give her any answers. She had asked one of her nurses to review her records and write down every test she'd had from blood work to aspirations to x-rays. We were back home and ready to go visit. She insisted she was fine and that we should get back to work and come the following weekend.
I can't remember the words but I remember the feeling. My Dad sent me an email at work saying, "We are home from the doctor, call us." I called. I don't know if dread sneaks up on you or if it is there all along or if it comes rushing over you like a hard wind, but all at once, I wanted to throw up, shit my pants and pass out. I knew it was going to be bad news. My Mom had already beaten breast cancer 15 years earlier, had already lost 2 sisters to breast cancer, lost her mother to breast cancer and had coached my cousin through her treatment for breast cancer. I wasn't surprised when they said she had breast cancer. I wasn't surprised when they said it was in the same location but a different cancer from her previous illness. I was completely unprepared for the rest; stage 4, advanced metastases, 5% chance of survival, it is as bad as you can image and worse.
My Mom was on one phone and couldn't talk, she had my Dad, on another line, give me the news. He was quiet. I couldn't breath. I couldn't inhale. I couldn't exhale. I wasn't holding my breath, I was just incapable of movement. Any movement, in or out, would have meant making a sound and I couldn't make a sound because I knew that sound would be something that I couldn't control. My Dad asked if I was still there I was so quiet. I finally said yes, how are you? How is Mom? Shocked, not surprised. Resigned. Considering options. Have an appointment with an oncologist. When are you coming?
Unfortunately that weekend I came down with a horrible cold and didn't want to expose my Mom to my illness so I stayed home. By the following weekend, she'd gotten a care and treatment plan, knew more about her cancer and was ready for me to come home and help out. My Dad and I spent that beautiful Saturday out working in the yard, raking, taking down annuals, running limbs and leaves to the dump and enjoying the last warm sunny day of fall. He needed to take several breaks, but at 79 with 12 years of intermittent treatment for chronic prostate cancer, he was slowing down as well. I cooked and cleaned. My Mom and I got out and went to Kohls, her favorite store for scoring great deals. She was subdued and sarcastic, her go-to behavior when tense and nervous. She didn't want to deal with chemo. She didn't want to lose her hair. She didn't want to be sick. She didn't want to die.
Within two weeks, she started chemo. She was surprised at how well she tolerated it. She had three weeks off and then a second treatment. She had her head shaved when her hair began falling out in clumps. She bought a cheap wig but never wore it. She was tired but hopeful and feeling surprisingly well. We made plans to go to their home for Thanksgiving. Unbeknown to us, my Dad wasn't feeling well.
When we arrived on Wednesday before Thanksgiving, both of my folks were under blankets in their recliners in their family room. Neither got up to welcome us. My Dad said he was fighting a cold with a bad cough and my Mom was feeling wiped out and tired.
Thanksgiving was quiet. I made a small turkey and all the fixings and we enjoyed a quiet meal. I think we knew this was going to be my Mom's last Thanksgiving and I was determined to make everything traditional and familiar and comfortable. My Dad was still coughing and feeling lousy but insisting it was just a cold. He spent the night in his recliner, insisting he breathed easier sitting up rather than laying down. I believed him.
On Friday, my Mom and I got out in the afternoon for a little bit. We had no desire to tackle the Black Friday sales, but she needed to get to the pharmacy and wanted to take a slow walk through the grocery for a change of scenery. We'd called my Dad's doctor and after several messages with the service, finally spoke to someone who suggested he start antibiotics to help knock back his cough. He was feeling very weak and uncomfortable and I was worried he was developing pneumonia. He spent Friday night in his recliner.
I got up early on Saturday morning and my Dad was awake. He was complaining that he hadn't slept well, was up using the bathroom several times and was really full of congestion. He asked me to help put his slippers on as bending over made him cough. When I pulled the blanket off his feet, I looked at his feet and knew in an instant his problem wasn't a cold. His feet, ankles and lower legs were so swollen there was no definition between the parts. Even the arches of his feet were swollen to the point of having no arch. I looked at him and said, we need to get you to the hospital. He asked why. I said, you are having heart failure. All the fluid in your body has pooled in your feet and your heart can't pump it back up. He agreed to let me take him to the hospital, but we soon realized he was unable to get up and walk on his own. I got HB up and my Mom was up and we were able to help him realize the seriousness of his condition and I called 9-11. The ambulance was at our door in five minutes and within 30 they had my Dad with HB following, on the way to the hospital.
I need to refill my coffee and the sun is now up. I don't mean to jar you back to 2013 so abruptly, but I think this is far enough in the story to take a break. I need to take some time to digest all of this-I haven't thought much about those early days in a while. So much happened, so quickly, so soon after, that the early days are easily forgotten.
My parents were married 57 years and their lives were entwined early in childhood in their small Indiana town. It is reasonable to expect their ends would also be entwined and connected. The weekend of their wedding anniversary, Oct. 1, they renewed their vows before their congregation. That was the weekend I was home sick with a bad cold. I wanted to be there, but my Mom said, you weren't there for the first one, you don't need to be here for the last.
Dancing to their song; At Time Goes By at our wedding in 2003.
I remember them dancing at your wedding. I know that they were both so proud and happy for both you and Scott. Take comfort in that they were both there to celebrate that special day with you.
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