Results of the Biopsy

I'm writing this post today because Dick is unable to while he is traveling.
-- Steve Aitkins

It's Friday and Dr. Stephan called Dad today with the results of the biopsy. Dad got the call when he was on his way to Canada for the chorus competition. Luckily he wasn't driving.

The biopsy tests showed Mom has Lymphoma.

So there it is in black and white. I don't like writing nor reading those words.

For me, now several hours later, it's a lot heavier to read those words than it was to hear them when my sister Kim called me to relay the news between choking back her tears late this afternoon, "Are you sitting down? ..."

I guess I didn't really know what to think of that verdict. Is it a death sentence? Does it mean more pain to come? Or would Mom soon be out of the pain that she's been in for the last few months after coming home from the hospital?

There are several different types of Lymphoma; with some types a person can live for many years; others are more aggressive and even a strong person doesn't stand a chance. Mom's body has weakened considerably. She's lost a lot of weight because of her pain lately and from not consuming enough calories. So quite honestly we don't know if she is good condition -- at 95 pounds -- to fight this thing that has already began its harsh effects on her body. We love her and we certainly do not want to lose her, but we do not like seeing her in constant pain.

She is a fighter though and we proudly watched her rally with everything she had to fight back in the first weeks after her stroke. So she could have few rounds of fight in her.

Between you and me, I just gotta wonder: with all the exams and tests and all the time with several different doctors, and in and out of the hospital after complaints of localized pain, why didn't any of the doctors catch this earlier? How many doctors confuse the affects of Lymphoma with Depression? All Mom's doctors and nurses were outstanding and some of the nicest and most professional people I've ever met. I'm sorry but with that said, I just gotta wonder how this was mis-diagnosed or just plain missed for so long.

I've seen Dad play this whole scenario through many times, thinking out loud, "What if ..." And I know he's discussed the worst possible outcomes with Mom. But it's one thing to talk about it hypothetically and another to face reality. Because after all, those things happen to other people but not your wife, your mom, your sister or another loved one. Right?

Apparently not.

Dad said to me tonight, on the phone from Vancouver, Canada, "When this happens to you there's nothing else like it. You can't know how it feels until it happens to you."

I know what he means.

For me, I was caught off guard a second time today and unsure how to react or feel just yet. I mean I did feel horrible, that we were closer to losing my Mom. But no. It can't be.

I know when Veronica, my sister-in-law, called me on the morning of June 23rd and told me that Mom was taken to the hospital after an apparent stroke, I thought, "Apparent stroke. But not a real stroke. No. This doesn't happen to my Mom. She'll be OK. She'll be home in a few hours and joking about this whole episode."

I was just up in Seattle after all (I live in San Francisco, a two-hour plane ride away) just five weeks earlier for my parents' 50th anniversary celebration and she seemed fine ... well she was looking a little weak and not altogether herself. But she can't have a stroke. She's my mom.

And now I'm supposed to believe she can't speak or move her legs? No. Come on."

No. This happens to other people.

Finally it started to settle in and become real after several more status calls from her hospital south of Seattle.

"Wow. I guess it is real," I thought to myself. "I better get to Seattle before her condition gets any worse." But even then I thought I was in control while making preparations, packing, making flight reservations. But when I called my girlfriend Christine to ask her if she could take me to the airport I choked on those words, "My mom's had a stroke." And I had to try three times to get them out.

These things happen to other people until they happen to you.

And they do. Believe me.

Tonight I was reminding Christine to tell her mom (and dad) the things she really wants to share with them NOW; say the things that she really feels about her own mom before it's too late.

OK, next steps:
Dad is rushing back from Canada in the morning to be with mom and the rest of the family. He'll tell Mom about the cancer when he gets back, assuming she has not read it on everyone's faces by then already.

On Monday morning Mom and Dad go back to Dr. Schumer to get more specifics on the biopsy and hopefully find out exactly what type and the severity of the Lymphoma mom has been dealing with and how to move forward.

More next steps:
As Dad suggested in his post titled "On Saying Goodbye" ... excuse me for the sappiness of this, but it is sincere: May I also suggest you to tell someone close to you that you love them today, and maybe a couple reasons why.

I love my mom ... for reasons too numerous to list here.