copyright 2017 Chris Smith All rights reserved.
"And the dark night...has turned into day."
Dad left to do errands and meetings and such. So it was Mom and I on top of the hill.
Mom's first health aide, Hannah, arrived late morning. It was a beautiful day and the sun had finally come out after all the rains.
She was young and quiet. But very kind. I watched her with Mom. Mom must have liked her too because she didn't try to bite her or claw the poor girl's eyes out.
"So is this your Mom?" Hannah asked.
"Yes," I said.
"She has cancer?" Hannah asked.
"Yes. She was diagnosed this year," I said.
"My brother had cancer," Hannah said.
"I'm sorry to hear that. Is he still alive?" I asked.
"No. He passed away," Hannah said.
"I'm so sorry," I said.
I wanted to hug her. I wanted to hug her whole family. The stories we heard now from all the people who were opening up to us about their own battles. It was heartbreaking. It was suffocating. I couldn't take it. I almost didn't want to hear any more stories.
It was beautiful to watch strangers open up their whole heart, show their scars, and give a voice to things that they hardly ever voiced. But it was killer too. It was like a knife in the heart. Only it was another knife. I already had a knife permanently in my heart because of Mom. I wasn't sure that sucker would ever come out. Or if it would continue to twist and turn its way right through whatever was left in me.
"You're not doing chemo?" Hannah asked.
"No. We decided not to do chemo. The Hospital told us to do chemo. But we told them no. We're doing juicing," I said.
"Juicing?" Hannah asked.
"Yeah, like fresh kale, apples, and carrots. My Uncle and Aunt bought us a special juicer that doesn't kill the nutrients with heat. So more nutrients are preserved. It's a slow juicer," I said.
"What's the name of the juicer?" Hannah asked.
"It's a Hurom," I said.
"My brother did chemo. It wasn't good and it was horrible to watch him suffer," Hannah said.
"Yeah, we've heard that from a lot of people. The Hospital was convinced we had to do chemo. That chemo was the ONLY WAY. But we did juicing and worked with our chiropractor on some alternative therapies, along with nutritional supplements to help support Mom's healing. Mom went back into the Hospital last week. We thought it was the cancer. But they did a CAT scan and MRI again, and the cancer tumors were reduced by like 20-25%. The Hospital was shocked. They didn't know what do or what to say about it," I said.
"That's amazing," Hannah said.
"That's what we thought. Chemo is not the only answer. But it's the only one the Western Medical community pushes. And there are other options out there, that work," I said.
"I wish we had known about juicing for my brother," Hannah said.
"Yeah, who knows what it could have done for him. But it would have been another option at least. Something else to try," I said.
She continued to bathe Mom. Mom was relaxed and peaceful. She was there for about an hour and then it was time for her to leave. I was sad to see her go. I liked her a lot.
"Oh, I want to write down the name of the juicer and a juice recipe," Hannah said as she was getting ready to leave.
"Okay," I said.
I grabbed some pen and paper and wrote down the name, one of our basic juice recipes, and handed it to her.
"Thank you. I'm glad I got to meet you," Hannah said.
"Thank you so much for sharing your story," I said.
Then I hugged her. Hard. For the pain. For the weight no one should ever have to carry. Because I knew the road of a having a loved one with cancer. I knew it and wouldn't wish it on anyone.
I hoped we would have Hannah every week. But somehow my heart told me we'd never see her again.
Maybe it was enough, to have met each other and know we both existed. Maybe it was enough to be touched by such a tender heart and know she was out there, somewhere in the world beating her light, trying to find her way out of the darkness. Just like the rest of us.
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A HARD RUN INTO HELL Book 4 (EDITING) is the juice worth the squeeze seriesNon-Fiction
I was standing in Hell, burning. I looked over to see my Dad, standing right next to me. He was burning too. We had brought my Mom home from the hospital and care facility, after being diagnosed with Stage 3 cancer and decided not to do chemo, ag...