Tomorrow (July 9th) marks the one year anniversary that you had your HUGE surgery at St. Mary's. We knew the tumor was big, but we did not anticipate it to be the size of a football. This morning it dawned on me that tomorrow was the day. I frequently catch myself thinking "Where were we last year at this time?" Some of the flashbacks bring happiness, some sadness, and the surgery day...well those emotions are crazy.
We were all scared, you were scared, everyone just flat out freaked out. We held our heads high and hoped for the best. You handled it with the strength of a body builder. I knew you couldn't feel much worse, so you were pretty sure this surgery would bring you some relief. We had all just come home from a week at Cass Lake. We knew it could be your last vacation up north, but we also had hope this surgery would turn a corner for you and we would be blessed with brighter days. The morning of the surgery was very high stress. We all sat together in that pre-opp area while we waited for them to take you back. You were skinny, frail, and tired. We hugged, cried, and kept small talk going. I hugged you and had to leave. I knew you were going to be taken away, and I had to leave so I didn't see them take you away. I acted like all was fine and I said...see you in a couple hours, mom. I just knew that if I saw them take you down the hallway, I probably would of snort cried. You know that ugly cry I have, that I passed onto my children.
I was so scared that they would go in, close you back up, and greet us with a pitiful face stating..."Sorry, there is nothing we can do." That happens in these circumstances and we knew it was an option. The surgeon you had was top notch and we had hope. He also was a clone of Micheal Bolton. His name is Dr. L. I do not know how to spell his last name, and I don't even want to try.
The hours you were in the operating room drug on and on. We were finally moved up to the ICU waiting area, where we could wait for your arrival. We were told to wait and we would be notified by a nurse when we could come down and talk with the surgeon post surgery.
We sat in the room, chit chatted, sipped on coffee, and tried to keep as positive as possible. I am pretty sure I would sit for a MAX of 3 minutes at a time, before getting up to walk the hall, take a bathroom break, pace, etc. Family kept pouring through that door. You had one heck of a support system, Mom.
The nurse came into the room and told us that the family could come down to talk to the surgeon. She did assure us that mom was alive and they were able to operate. That took a lot off our chest. The surgeon crammed us into a small office and told us that he was able to get all visible cancer out of the abdomen area. We smiled, cried, thanked him, and just kind of stood there. I knew in my head, you still had cancer on your lungs, but I was hopeful the chemo pills would zap those. People would gasp and say...She is cancer free now! I didn't want to rain on their parade, as I knew there was still some "Nodgules" on your lungs. It's almost like since they called them "nodgules" and not "tumors" people didn't think they were as serious. They still didn't set well with me, but you can't sit and dwell on that. You have to stay hopeful or you will just get sucked in by all those feelings.
We ended this day with hope, hope that you would recover and bounce back. Hope that the cancer pills would clean up the lungs, and the cancer would stay away.
Seeing you in the ICU at first was hard. You had lots of tubes hooked up to you and your pain level was quite high. They had that under control by evening and you were up and walking the next day. Amazing.
Your drive to fight this nasty disease is an inspiration to me and the hurdles I may face down the road in my life.
We were up at Cass Lake last week, and I was a bit scared of how that week would go without you there. Just as you would of wanted, we had a great week and a great time. I still have a void though, the days are easier and less tears, but there is a hole in my heart and stomach. You are still on my mind a lot, and I think of you all the time. I catch myself still wanting to share stories and pictures with you. It hasn't even been 3 months so, I am sure that is all normal.
Miss you so much it hurts, Mamma!
Love,
Mando
Next post will have lots of fun vacation pics for you.
No comments:
Post a Comment