copyright 2017 Chris Smith All rights reserved.
"My undoing, unraveling, right here."
"I didn't tell you this before but one of the Doctors at the Hospital who took over Mom's case while her normal Doctor was on leave, told me that we should, 'Take her [Mom] home, make her comfortable, and let her go," Dad said.
"Whhhaaaatttt?!" I said.
"His recommendation was not to even do the chemo," Dad said.
"Jesus," I said.
"Yeah," Dad said.
"That pisses me off," I said.
"I got pretty upset when he told me," Dad said.
"As if he [the Doctor] has a right to play God and mark off which patients deserve a chance to be saved and which did not. It's one thing if Mom was on her deathbed. But ya know what, even then I'm not sure I'd be the type of person to suggest one road or another. I'd give the patient and their loved ones the options and then leave it for them to decide. He's not the Reaper or God and therefore has no fucking idea what a person's soul is capable nor what the real sand clock is," I said.
"Exactly," Dad said.
"I'm surprised you didn't deck him right there in the Hospital," I said.
"I didn't think it would be a good idea," Dad said.
"I don't care how smart or how many years of experience or how many degrees they have. If they'd have come at me with that kind of defeatist attitude, I think it would have been hard to stop me from clobbering them right into the motherfucking ground," I said.
"I ignored him," Dad said.
"Here's a thought, maybe the reason people don't live longer is because assholes like him, take away their hope and condemn them with this bullshit of 'You have six months to live'. I don't know, call me crazy but if someone came at me with that kind of news it would be very hard not to give up and say 'Well, I guess I should start digging my grave now.' They should all take a long hard look in the mirror because guess what, Y'ALL ARE NOT FUCKING GOD," I said.
I was so pissed off and hurt and angry that in a place where it's their fucking job to help you heal, or so they allegedly say, they're talking about death. Well, fuck you and your chemicals and your death.
Mom was still having problems at the care facility. They had Dad's number on speed dial I'm sure because he was on the phone with them almost every day, talking medications. He didn't like giving her meds. But it was the Medical profession's only answer to keep her calm and help her sleep. The bottom line for Mom was, she wanted to get the fuck out of that place and go home.
Who could blame her?
The standard answer was to take Mom to the Hospital and from there to a skilled care facility for the rest of her treatment, assuming we put her through the chemo. There were very few people, if any, suggesting we bring her home.
There was one woman, who had told Dad not take Mom to the skilled care facility. But Dad had been advised by all the Doctors at the Hospital to take her to the care facility.
After all, what did we know?
We weren't Doctors.
When Kate, a woman Dad knew from the veteran groups, heard about all the problems Mom was having at the skilled care facility, she said to Dad, "I told you."
CARING BRIDGE UPDATE
Days in Care Facility: 6
TEST RESULTS: Follicular Grade 3 Lymphoma
Not the best kind (easiest), and not the worst kind.
We are moving Mom out of the Care Facility tomorrow and bringing her home. The "Doctor" there, said she doesn't require skilled care and that her surgery scar is healing fine.
Mom made instant friends with one of the Nurse Supervisor's at the Care Facility, Lisa, who adores Mom. Lisa is from Boston, and doesn't take any crap. Lol She says someone like Mom needs to be worked both mentally and physically. So, Mom's been working in Lisa's office, reorganizing things. And Lisa's been keeping Mom busy, keeping her active. She keeps an eye out for Mom and goes on walks with her.
She told us to "work Mom like a racehorse"! Lol
Mom's been doing a lot of walking, up and down the halls, visiting with other patients. She always makes me nervous when she does go into other patients room, because I don't know what she's going to do. But she gives them encouraging words, and gives them a kiss on their head. She is amazing with them.
We are thankful that the nurses she has at the facility, are aware of Mom's issues, and don't skip a beat.
So, the plan is to get her home, and get her off the meds (they've been giving her sedatives and such) and find out where she is mentally. The good news is she A LOT more active than she was when we took her into the hospital. And her eating has picked up a little. I'm hopeful that continues to increase because she's going to need all the energy she can get.
We have our moments of total breakdown, and the tears come, as does the reality check. Overall though, we're taking it a day at a time.
We've had a bunch of people, come forward and offer to help, which has been great. Some, who are even being "called" by a higher power, to help us. Some have offered to help us care for Mom at home. I have no words for that. Thank you doesn't seem to be enough.
This wasn't what I had pictured in my mind, for my family, or my Mom. I never pictured, imagined this. I realize no one would. Especially after everything my Mom, my family, has been through in the last hell of three years. It doesn't seem fair, not that there is a "fair" in life. I keep waiting, hoping for some sort of "sweet spot" where the ride is smooth. I have yet to find it.
Dad and I are talking about moving our offices home. It would reduce the time away from home, and fuel costs.
So, I'm pretty sure the Oncologist is recommending Chemo. However, the question then becomes, can Mom's body, in her fragile state, handle that. We're going to also look into some very aggressive alternative avenues as well, in addition to considering chemo.
My Dad and I were in market the other day, and ran across an old friend of my Dad's he hasn't talked to in a few years. He asked how we were, we asked how he was. Dad told him a little about Mom being in the hospital. Dad's friend said his wife's been very sick as well. Before we left the store, Dad's friend asked what Mom had, which Dad explained in a round-a-bout way.
So, Dad's friend (who is an R.N.), "So basically, she's in the fight of her life."
I said, "Yes, she is."
Dad and I gave him a hug, and wished his wife healing, and he wished the same for us. And then I said, "Healing for everyone."
Yeah, healing for everyone. Wouldn't that be great.
I don't know what else to say.
Thank you for the support, positive vibes, prayers, cards, gifts, donations, offers, love, healing thoughts, etc.
Blessings to you and yours,
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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...