THIS is the beginning of a piece that I hope to some day complete into a memoir. As you can see, it takes me a while to get back to writing. This was written in February of 2017. I am putting myself on a strict plan of writing at least 10 minutes per day. It's not much, but hopefully it will get me closer to my goal. Think of these blogs as me writing down thoughts. They're definitely 'short versions' and I plan on getting more in depth as I continue to write. I will definitely give them more personality and share more details. Right now, I'm just trying to get things written down.
It's hard to write about something that feels like a lead plate hitting your heart and gut every time you have to 'go back there', even just writing about it. But I have to continue on. I have to prove to myself that my parents raised a strong and motivated woman who won't become a stranger to joy due to their going away. As I continue writing, I will publish as I get more of the story written. This is where I left off the last time:
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It appears that I started this blog with merely a title and then left it at that. Pretty much sums up my life as a blogger. I'm sure I had a ton of ideas unfolding and had the best intentions of giving my heartfelt words to those who would choose to listen and then simply forgot about it. This, my friends, is the new normal for me now in my 50's.
My thoughts normally tend to scatter on a daily basis and things didn't get any easier when I lost both of my parents last year, just 6 weeks apart. It was not expected and my entire being felt as though it was being ripped to shreds, literally, piece by piece.
Death is odd. It's very personal. I've had several friends lose parents. I've had cousins lose parents. I was always sad for them and couldn't even begin to imagine what it would be like for myself one day, so I chose to not think about it. Of course I knew it was something that I would have to deal with eventually, but the part of me that likes to hide away, chose to hide from that reality altogether.
My father spent years dealing with heart issues after his heart attack in 1998. He had a successful 6-bypass surgery and his heart, he was told, was not damaged. Weeks after his surgery, he noticed things weren't quite right and he ended up with a pacemaker. His heart just couldn't seem to pump right; it was too slow.
The pacemaker worked wonders and he was feeling himself again, other than a now strange side effect that may have just been coincidence, with his hands continually shaking. They did tests and told him that if it wasn't causing him to not be able to drive, or do daily tasks, the surgery for this would be more detrimental than helpful because it was in his brain. No, they didn't say it was Parkinson's; my father never told me exactly what they said it was, only that he didn't remember but that it wasn't something to worry about as long as it didn't affect his daily activities. And it didn't.
He also had diabetes and as he aged, that of course got worse. And so did the heart issues. It seemed for the past 4 or 5 years prior to his death, he was in the hospital once a year. Then it was twice a year, then, towards the end, every few weeks. He had a short span of doing great the year before he passed. He had yet another heart procedure, and finally decided (without telling any of us...he wanted to surprise us) to attend outpatient rehab and get his strength back. I was thrilled when he told me this, and I could tell he was feeling so much better. He was talking about our plans for Thanksgiving at his place. Something we had been doing every year for a long time. He loved getting the themed tablecloths (more like plastic--as I said, my Dad was a thrifty man), plates, cups, platters, etc...and he always bought more food than was ever needed for 5 of us. But he loved doing it.
My father wasn't much of a talker. He rarely called or sent email, and even when I'd visit him, our conversations were usually initiated by me. But one morning, I woke up to see an email from him. It scared me at first, because my father was notorious for only calling or emailing me when someone had died, or was in the hospital. Like I said, he wasn't a man who did idle chit chat; but there it was, an email from him, telling me how great he was feeling and that he was able to go out and do things again, like going shopping. He loved to peruse the dollar type stores. He was always a thrifty guy, but also loved a good deal and would brag about it whenever I'd visit him. I was so incredibly happy to receive this news from him. It made my day.
Later that afternoon, he left me a voicemail while I was at work. My first inclination was to be fearful; 'oh no, Dad's calling...' but then I remembered his email from that morning and I thought, wow, maybe he just forgot I'm working and wants to talk! Maybe he's just excited about letting me know what he got for our Thanksgiving get-together. As I listened to the voicemail, I could barely hear him, but there it was: The call. My cousin, who was born the same year as me, had died suddenly. My Dad's nephew from his brother who had died suddenly at age 49 in 1992. My cousin was 50. It was heart wrenching to hear my Dad not even able to finish the call as he hung up the phone.
Fast forward a week, and my Dad ended up back in the hospital horribly sick with diverticulitis. After that, he was just never the same. This was early November. He died at the end of May the following year due to his heart disease.
My mom, who had been diagnosed with carcinoid cancer 8 years earlier, but had been doing wonderfully on her monthly chemo injection, had found a lump on her breast, right around the same time that my cousin passed away, and my dad ended up in the hospital. She didn't say anything to anyone because there was already so much going on; she didn't want to add to it. That was my momma. She never wanted to cause anyone any heartache.
Her cancer was the slowest growing cancer you can have and it was also a non-metastatic cancer, meaning it wouldn't spread to other organs. Her oncologist told her that she would likely die of something else, rather than her cancer. He treated her now more like someone who had an illness such as diabetes. Her response to her monthly injections was that of a rare group who can lead normal lives and keep the tumors at bay.
With the new lump, they did a mammogram, then a needle biopsy. She waited well over a week for the results, which usually come within a day or two. We were predicting that no news was good news and that the lump was just fatty tissue, which is why the news that came was a complete shock. The reason they had waited so long to get back to her was because they ran several different tests to confirm their findings. It wasn't what they expected either. The cancer that never metastasizes had metastasized. It was now in her breast. The original site of the cancer was her liver (it had traveled from her small intestine, but apparently, that is what this type of cancer does, and then stops there and does not move anywhere else.)
This was now December and she wasn't scheduled to see her oncologist until her birthday in March. I assumed he would be getting her in sooner, with this new diagnosis, but he never called her. My mom wanted nothing to do with any of it and even with my urging, refused to contact his office to see if she should come in sooner. She finally obliged after I wouldn't shut up about it, and called them, only to have them tell her that no, the doctor said that March is fine.
All I could think of was, well, he must think the injections will take care of it and it's nothing too serious to worry about. And my mother had a way of hiding away, just like me, and I watched as she slowly stopped going out quite as much. Her symptoms from her cancer were coming back and she was beginning to feel tired more and more.
She still went out, but not like she had been. She never wanted to worry me, so she said little about it, even when I questioned her about it. I was still shocked that her oncologist was making her wait until the end of March to see him, after dealing with a new tumor diagnosis.
When she finally did see him, he told her how sorry he was that he had dropped the ball, and hadn't had her come in sooner. My mother loved her doctor. She would never fault him for anything. I, on the other hand, was livid when I heard he hadn't just decided this was nothing to worry about, but that he had indeed, let her fall through the cracks. He doubled up her injection amounts, but by now, it was too late. The cancer was winning.
My mother was now stuck at home, on her couch, with her feet up. During the same time she found out about the lump in her breast, she had also found that the cancer had cause her heart valve to become damaged and it was leaking, which was causing edema in her feet and legs.
By mid April, she was unable to do much of anything for herself. We had a friend that lived in her same apartment complex, and he and his partner were true angels, and helped her out daily. My brother would stop by and go grocery shopping for her. I would drive down from my own home about 75 miles away, and visit and shop for her, make her bed, do her laundry, get her mail. All the things she was unable to do. She had little energy and I could see the weight loss.
In between all of this, my father was released from Hospice care and taken to the hospital because of his severe edema that was causing him great pain. It was clear he was at the end of his life, and because Hospice is all about comfort, our nurse, who was incredible, released him from their care and had us take him to the ER. She wanted him free of pain as much as possible, and the morphine they were giving him had little to no effect at this point.
While my husband and brother stayed with my dad at the ER, I was scheduled to take my mother in for her follow up appointment with her oncologist to see what we could do for her. I was being pulled in two different directions, and looking back now, I honestly don't know how I did it. I hated being away from my Dad when I knew he was in his final stages, but my mom was unable to drive herself anywhere, and I had promised her I would go with her to this appointment, and more importantly, I WANTED to be there for it. I wanted answers.
By this time, she was having to wear adult diapers because the diarrhea had become so bad that she didn't have any control over it. This is one of the main side effects of carcinoid cancer. At this appointment, he assured us 'we will get you back on track, and back to living your life again', putting her on another set of chemo drugs; this time in pill form. He told her that one of the pills would cause diarrhea and possible stomach upset. She looked at me horrified. She told him that this was already a big problem. He didn't seem to listen. He seemed so confident. I was not.
She was getting more and more confused, most likely due to the low blood pressure that no one seemed to be dealing with. I stopped and got her groceries on the way home, got her settled, then went back to the hospital to be with my Dad.
I worked on getting her help inside the home through her insurance. They didn't show up the first day they were due. When they did come over, all they did was confuse my mother and literally stay 15 minutes and then leave.
Finally, a physical therapist was sent, and I happened to be there that day. He worked with her, and she was so good to do what she did with him, but knowing what I know now, it must have exhausted her. He made notes that her edema was horrible and her blood pressure was dangerously low, as it had been for a few months.
I decided I had to go stay with my mom when things seemed to get progressively worse for her. She had stopped the medication that caused more diarrhea. She had been taken by ambulance twice in the past few weeks due to dehydration. That medication was only making things worse and doing more damage.
Her primary care doctor still had her on high blood pressure meds. It made no sense to me. I called that doctor a few days before my mother died, and asked her office why they still had her on this medication while her blood pressure was so dangerously low. They said to cut it in half. My mother was never one to question authority and did whatever she was told. I wanted to throttle someone by this point,but I also realized I was very scared for my mother.
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It's hard to write about something that feels like a lead plate hitting your heart and gut every time you have to 'go back there', even just writing about it. But I have to continue on. I have to prove to myself that my parents raised a strong and motivated woman who won't become a stranger to joy due to their going away. As I continue writing, I will publish as I get more of the story written. This is where I left off the last time:
******************************************************************************
It appears that I started this blog with merely a title and then left it at that. Pretty much sums up my life as a blogger. I'm sure I had a ton of ideas unfolding and had the best intentions of giving my heartfelt words to those who would choose to listen and then simply forgot about it. This, my friends, is the new normal for me now in my 50's.
My thoughts normally tend to scatter on a daily basis and things didn't get any easier when I lost both of my parents last year, just 6 weeks apart. It was not expected and my entire being felt as though it was being ripped to shreds, literally, piece by piece.
Death is odd. It's very personal. I've had several friends lose parents. I've had cousins lose parents. I was always sad for them and couldn't even begin to imagine what it would be like for myself one day, so I chose to not think about it. Of course I knew it was something that I would have to deal with eventually, but the part of me that likes to hide away, chose to hide from that reality altogether.
My father spent years dealing with heart issues after his heart attack in 1998. He had a successful 6-bypass surgery and his heart, he was told, was not damaged. Weeks after his surgery, he noticed things weren't quite right and he ended up with a pacemaker. His heart just couldn't seem to pump right; it was too slow.
The pacemaker worked wonders and he was feeling himself again, other than a now strange side effect that may have just been coincidence, with his hands continually shaking. They did tests and told him that if it wasn't causing him to not be able to drive, or do daily tasks, the surgery for this would be more detrimental than helpful because it was in his brain. No, they didn't say it was Parkinson's; my father never told me exactly what they said it was, only that he didn't remember but that it wasn't something to worry about as long as it didn't affect his daily activities. And it didn't.
He also had diabetes and as he aged, that of course got worse. And so did the heart issues. It seemed for the past 4 or 5 years prior to his death, he was in the hospital once a year. Then it was twice a year, then, towards the end, every few weeks. He had a short span of doing great the year before he passed. He had yet another heart procedure, and finally decided (without telling any of us...he wanted to surprise us) to attend outpatient rehab and get his strength back. I was thrilled when he told me this, and I could tell he was feeling so much better. He was talking about our plans for Thanksgiving at his place. Something we had been doing every year for a long time. He loved getting the themed tablecloths (more like plastic--as I said, my Dad was a thrifty man), plates, cups, platters, etc...and he always bought more food than was ever needed for 5 of us. But he loved doing it.
My father wasn't much of a talker. He rarely called or sent email, and even when I'd visit him, our conversations were usually initiated by me. But one morning, I woke up to see an email from him. It scared me at first, because my father was notorious for only calling or emailing me when someone had died, or was in the hospital. Like I said, he wasn't a man who did idle chit chat; but there it was, an email from him, telling me how great he was feeling and that he was able to go out and do things again, like going shopping. He loved to peruse the dollar type stores. He was always a thrifty guy, but also loved a good deal and would brag about it whenever I'd visit him. I was so incredibly happy to receive this news from him. It made my day.
Later that afternoon, he left me a voicemail while I was at work. My first inclination was to be fearful; 'oh no, Dad's calling...' but then I remembered his email from that morning and I thought, wow, maybe he just forgot I'm working and wants to talk! Maybe he's just excited about letting me know what he got for our Thanksgiving get-together. As I listened to the voicemail, I could barely hear him, but there it was: The call. My cousin, who was born the same year as me, had died suddenly. My Dad's nephew from his brother who had died suddenly at age 49 in 1992. My cousin was 50. It was heart wrenching to hear my Dad not even able to finish the call as he hung up the phone.
Fast forward a week, and my Dad ended up back in the hospital horribly sick with diverticulitis. After that, he was just never the same. This was early November. He died at the end of May the following year due to his heart disease.
My mom, who had been diagnosed with carcinoid cancer 8 years earlier, but had been doing wonderfully on her monthly chemo injection, had found a lump on her breast, right around the same time that my cousin passed away, and my dad ended up in the hospital. She didn't say anything to anyone because there was already so much going on; she didn't want to add to it. That was my momma. She never wanted to cause anyone any heartache.
Her cancer was the slowest growing cancer you can have and it was also a non-metastatic cancer, meaning it wouldn't spread to other organs. Her oncologist told her that she would likely die of something else, rather than her cancer. He treated her now more like someone who had an illness such as diabetes. Her response to her monthly injections was that of a rare group who can lead normal lives and keep the tumors at bay.
With the new lump, they did a mammogram, then a needle biopsy. She waited well over a week for the results, which usually come within a day or two. We were predicting that no news was good news and that the lump was just fatty tissue, which is why the news that came was a complete shock. The reason they had waited so long to get back to her was because they ran several different tests to confirm their findings. It wasn't what they expected either. The cancer that never metastasizes had metastasized. It was now in her breast. The original site of the cancer was her liver (it had traveled from her small intestine, but apparently, that is what this type of cancer does, and then stops there and does not move anywhere else.)
This was now December and she wasn't scheduled to see her oncologist until her birthday in March. I assumed he would be getting her in sooner, with this new diagnosis, but he never called her. My mom wanted nothing to do with any of it and even with my urging, refused to contact his office to see if she should come in sooner. She finally obliged after I wouldn't shut up about it, and called them, only to have them tell her that no, the doctor said that March is fine.
All I could think of was, well, he must think the injections will take care of it and it's nothing too serious to worry about. And my mother had a way of hiding away, just like me, and I watched as she slowly stopped going out quite as much. Her symptoms from her cancer were coming back and she was beginning to feel tired more and more.
She still went out, but not like she had been. She never wanted to worry me, so she said little about it, even when I questioned her about it. I was still shocked that her oncologist was making her wait until the end of March to see him, after dealing with a new tumor diagnosis.
When she finally did see him, he told her how sorry he was that he had dropped the ball, and hadn't had her come in sooner. My mother loved her doctor. She would never fault him for anything. I, on the other hand, was livid when I heard he hadn't just decided this was nothing to worry about, but that he had indeed, let her fall through the cracks. He doubled up her injection amounts, but by now, it was too late. The cancer was winning.
My mother was now stuck at home, on her couch, with her feet up. During the same time she found out about the lump in her breast, she had also found that the cancer had cause her heart valve to become damaged and it was leaking, which was causing edema in her feet and legs.
By mid April, she was unable to do much of anything for herself. We had a friend that lived in her same apartment complex, and he and his partner were true angels, and helped her out daily. My brother would stop by and go grocery shopping for her. I would drive down from my own home about 75 miles away, and visit and shop for her, make her bed, do her laundry, get her mail. All the things she was unable to do. She had little energy and I could see the weight loss.
In between all of this, my father was released from Hospice care and taken to the hospital because of his severe edema that was causing him great pain. It was clear he was at the end of his life, and because Hospice is all about comfort, our nurse, who was incredible, released him from their care and had us take him to the ER. She wanted him free of pain as much as possible, and the morphine they were giving him had little to no effect at this point.
While my husband and brother stayed with my dad at the ER, I was scheduled to take my mother in for her follow up appointment with her oncologist to see what we could do for her. I was being pulled in two different directions, and looking back now, I honestly don't know how I did it. I hated being away from my Dad when I knew he was in his final stages, but my mom was unable to drive herself anywhere, and I had promised her I would go with her to this appointment, and more importantly, I WANTED to be there for it. I wanted answers.
By this time, she was having to wear adult diapers because the diarrhea had become so bad that she didn't have any control over it. This is one of the main side effects of carcinoid cancer. At this appointment, he assured us 'we will get you back on track, and back to living your life again', putting her on another set of chemo drugs; this time in pill form. He told her that one of the pills would cause diarrhea and possible stomach upset. She looked at me horrified. She told him that this was already a big problem. He didn't seem to listen. He seemed so confident. I was not.
She was getting more and more confused, most likely due to the low blood pressure that no one seemed to be dealing with. I stopped and got her groceries on the way home, got her settled, then went back to the hospital to be with my Dad.
I worked on getting her help inside the home through her insurance. They didn't show up the first day they were due. When they did come over, all they did was confuse my mother and literally stay 15 minutes and then leave.
Finally, a physical therapist was sent, and I happened to be there that day. He worked with her, and she was so good to do what she did with him, but knowing what I know now, it must have exhausted her. He made notes that her edema was horrible and her blood pressure was dangerously low, as it had been for a few months.
I decided I had to go stay with my mom when things seemed to get progressively worse for her. She had stopped the medication that caused more diarrhea. She had been taken by ambulance twice in the past few weeks due to dehydration. That medication was only making things worse and doing more damage.
Her primary care doctor still had her on high blood pressure meds. It made no sense to me. I called that doctor a few days before my mother died, and asked her office why they still had her on this medication while her blood pressure was so dangerously low. They said to cut it in half. My mother was never one to question authority and did whatever she was told. I wanted to throttle someone by this point,but I also realized I was very scared for my mother.
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