The next month is a bit of a blur. The tumor was too large to be operable and she was too weak for chemo. They decided to transfer her to a hospital in Ashland, Ky. There she was seen by more specialists. We were told that she had advanced stage 4 Cancer and that their plan was to provide comfort and try to slow it down. As she was being wheeled into her room, 223, she looked up and said, "223, that's the day I'm going to die." I told her not to say such things, knowing that 2-23 was not even a month away. They made it sound like there was no hope. How could this be? We just found out she had Cancer. Surely there was something someone could do.
The tumor was begining to block her airway and made it harder and harder to swallow. They recommended having stints put into her throat to keep it from closing off. All of the surgeon's at the hospital refused the procedure because it was too high risk given her condition. We found a hospital in Ohio that agreed to perform it. She weighed her options. I pleaded with her not to give up. The thought of watching her starve to death was more then I could stand.
She finally agreed and was transferred. Yet again, I couldn't sleep, and I found it hard to eat knowing she couldn't. My feet and legs began swelling. We all were exhausted. I prayed so hard she would recover and get to meet her grand daughter. The surgery went well, but left her in excruciating pain. We were constantly reminded that we were only buying her more time. Hospital after hospital, doctor after doctor, new medicine after new medicine, and test after test, yet she only worsened.
I had to make the trip back to Ky to see my doctor and make sure the baby was tolerating another extremely stressful time. I wasn't ready to give up. I wanted so badly for her to fight, despite her repeatedly telling me how very tired she was. Everyone kept encouraging me to talk with her about her final wishes, so before I left, I did. All she really wanted was a white gown and to be buried somewhere close to the main road to make it easier for people to visit her.
My doctor confirmed our fears and put me on bedrest. I called to let everyone know I was going to take a few days to rest but would then be back. They said she wanted to come home with Hospice. We had no idea how long her illness would last. I was out of vacation time at work. My mind was tired. My body was tired. My heart was tired. I reluctantly resigned my position at work. I'd been off too long and they needed to replace me to avoid my work being delegated to everyone else. I didn't know how we would make it financially without my income, but I had to be with her.
She quickly worsened. She had so many meds to keep up with and was always worried about making sure I got her bills paid. The reality finally kicked in when she looked at my then boyfriend, and made him promise to take care of me. He had been with me every single second of this nightmare. She was really dieing....and she was still worried about me.
She shared things with me about her childhood I had never known. Things that made me realize we had survived every hard time we had when I was growing up because she had been trained. She knew the evils in this world all to well. My entire childhood played back before me and I realized, she truly did the best she could. Against all odds, she fought to raise me by herself and we got by. She loved me in a way I knew no one else ever would...the way I love my own children..the way only a mother can.
On February 23rd, 2012, just as she had predicted, my mother left this world. She would never meet the grand daughter I was carrying. She would never get to hold her or rock her to sleep. On February 23rd, exactly one month after her birthday and one month after being diagnosed, her fight was over, and I joined the ranks of the millions of motherless daughters in the world just trying to make sense of it all. Truly an amazing woman and a phenomenal mother, her struggles of this life were over. She was finally at peace.
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