I feel like this is a really heavy topic for my first ever
blog posting but it’s been weighing on my mind so much that I feel like it’s
time to get it out. I don’t want to
cover too much in one post so I’m going to leave out the history that led up to a lot of things that happened and keep it focused. God knows with
my life I could go on ten different tangents trying to explain things.
I the Spring/Summer of 2009 my Mom started complaining of
back problems. She was 64 and a
bartender at the local Moose Lodge so this wasn’t an alarming development. She tried a chiropractor. Then she did physical therapy. Then they gave her meds. Nothing seemed to be having any lasting
effect. Luckily she had husband and gang
of friends who were helping her out. My
sister decided to go see her and check up on her. Every time I spoke to my Mom she was pretty
upbeat and never gave me anything to worry about. That’s why I was so surprised when I got the
call.
Marcia, you need to come home.
That was the end of my life as simply a daughter. Someone who could go home and be Mommy’s
little girl. It was time for me to
become a caregiver. An advocate. A protector.
I went home. My sister and I took
Mom for her MRIs and her PET Scan. We
made sure she ate, drank plenty of water and was comfortable. We helped her bathe, did her hair, put lotion
on her skin. All of the things Mothers
do for their children. I was driving
back and forth between Michigan and Illinois but my sister was able to stay
there with her. Finally the results of
the PET scan were in. It was Friday
morning when we all walked into the room – Mom, Larry, Gary D., Carmen and
me. We all knew. Knew all too well. But it still hurts.
With treatment you have about a year. Without treatment you have six months.
He held up the scan and showed us what they found. One large mass in Mom’s lungs and then all of
these tiny dots all over her body. Those
tiny dots were tiny little tumors.
Everywhere. My mind flashed back
to when I was doing her hair and felt some bumps under her skin. I didn’t think much of it at the time. That was the cancer. I had felt the very thing that was killing my
Mom.
I wasn’t sure what course of action my Mom would want to take. But like most people, she wasn’t ready to die. We knew that she had a DNR and Living Will in place but this wasn’t immediate – this gave her a little more time. When you’re dying even six months is important. I waste six months waiting for the next sale at Nordstrom.
She decided she wanted to do Chemotherapy and we went on a tour of the
clinic. It was a nice place. Not what I expected – looked more like a
library than a treatment area. So we
scheduled her first treatment for Monday.
I headed back to Michigan as I had a kid turning 18 and I didn’t want
that to get lost in everything else.
Before I left Mom had scheduled a priest to come by. Even though she was never a practicing
Catholic I think she just wanted to make things right with everyone she
could. That’s another blog post
altogether.
I checked in with her Monday and she texted me that
everything was going to be fine. She
always said everything was going to be fine.
Marcia, you need to come home.
During her first chemo treatment, Mom suffered a major heart
attack. It weakened her heart to the
point that the doctors told us there was nothing more they could do for her
except to make her comfortable. Per her
wishes, we brought Mom home the next day.
Carmen and I gave her morphine, kept her clean and gave her ice
chips. When she cried out in the middle
of the night, we helped her change positions in bed.
Then she stopped crying out.
She stopped asking for ice. For
three days I watched my Mom die before my eyes. A year turned into 9 days.
You often hear people say, “If I’m ever in a coma (or
whatever), just kill me.” I know Mom had
said that many times after watching so many loved ones suffer through horrible
illnesses. I wanted to help her. I hated seeing her suffer. I talked to her. I begged for a sign. I needed to know it was ok. I needed her permission to give her the
morphine to help her die. I never
received that sign. My Mom died just
hours before I had planned on putting the dropper into the bottle.
I think every human on the planet deserves to control how
they die as much as possible. I know I
could be hit by a bus (very likely here in DC) or have a stroke. But when the time comes that I’ve decided
I’ve had enough, I’d like to be able to check out in a dignified, peaceful
way. Even if I’m not ill. I may reach that point in two years or forty
– I don’t know. But I really would like
to go out on my own terms.
