By Monica Vest Wheeler
Bad news has a way of sucking the wind out of your chillin' plans. I only wanted to sit in my sunroom with my baby cats after a week away.
And what a whirlwind it was as I had been home only an hour on Tuesday, September 12. Mom didn't want me to worry while I was on the road, so she waited until I called her after my seven days of travel to Virginia for our first Retreat & Refresh Stroke Camp there and back with a detour to scout prospective camp sites along the way.
Despite her overall excellent health and some fun photos of us earlier, she told me she had finally gone to the doctor for chest, shoulder and arm pain. She had tried everything over a six-week period to ease the discomfort. After an X-ray, the doctor ordered a CT scan. And the mass on her lung unveiled itself.
She had signed the paperwork giving the doctor permission to speak to me about her health and get access to any reports. Thank goodness! They were trying to get her into an oncologist ASAP.
We said we’d stay in touch. I love you. I love you.
So, what do I do first? I called the primary physician, and the nurse gave me what information she had.
So, what do I do next? I texted Marylee to let her know what few details I had because we needed backup plans for the FIVE camps I had in the next SEVEN weeks.
So, what do I do after that? I tell my husband and son that Grandma has cancer and I have no idea what’s going to happen.
So, what comes after that? I called my dear friend Genny and said I’d do a turn and burn — a four-hour drive each way to Indiana — to see Mom on Wednesday and learn more. Genny knows Mom and said she’d come along. She brought stuff for the night; I didn’t because I was certain Mom wouldn’t be able to get into the oncologist until next week at the earliest. And Genny was a perfect and eager support team as she had survived a scary battle with kidney cancer earlier in 2017. She understood the fears and uncertainty.
Mom values her privacy. So, I didn’t tell her I was coming over. She had told me too many times in the past not to come over because SHE said I was busy or SHE didn’t want me to travel any more than necessary.
Sorry, this time, I chose to be the disobedient daughter.
And I needed to do this for ME. I was still grieving the unexpected loss of my dad just nine months earlier. How could this be happening?!?!
On our way, Mom called to say the oncologist could see her in at 12:45 Thursday. She could tell I was in the car and asked if I was driving over. Yes, Genny and I were on our way. Her voice cooled immediately. But I was excited she could get in so quickly. That was good news!
Upon our arrival, I could tell she wasn’t pleased I had come over unannounced, but nothing was said. I knew I needed to stay so I could go to the appointment with her. All we know is it’s a large mass on the middle of her lung, consistent with lung cancer. They said it was the right; she said it’s the left, where she’s been experiencing pain. I couldn’t hug her tightly as she was in so much pain. She will only take ibuprofen though I wonder if she would benefit from more. Not my call to make at this stage.
I couldn’t wrap my head around my only-child emotions. I felt like I was intruding, but geez, I just want to be there. I had to! And I’m not even sure what to say or do.
I asked if she needed any food or other items. No.
I asked if she needed anything done around the apartment. No.
I asked if she’d please reconsider getting text messages so we could communicate easier. No.
As she explained how her cancer insurance policy was for only after the fact, I started to ask if she needed prior approval for anything, but she cut me off, refusing to talk about it anymore.
I knew I had to give her needed space. Genny and I left and said we’d meet her and my aunt at the oncologist’s office the next day. And I needed some stuff for the overnight stay as my bonus mom Diane opened her heart and home, and the space I needed to process the known and unknown.
And I stayed awake much of that night, sobbing while rocking in my dad’s favorite chair ….