Update on Mom 2

As the surgeon walked away my step dad and I were each left alone in our thoughts. A strange stillness encircled us in the mist of the chatter of the busy waiting room. Time stood still. We both looked at each other, holding back emotion. I sat there next to the man I loathed 3 months ago; the man that has never truly accepted me as part of his family. The man that has stood between my mother and me for the past 15 years was now including me in a life and death decision. I think he was looking for reassurance that he himself had not made a mistake. The day was long and taxing on our nerves…While we sat, while we paced, while we waited all I could do was pray. It has been one of those times in life that I can already look back and see one set of foot prints in the sand. I felt an inexplicable strength come from within me while I was making the phone calls to family and friends. It took all that was within me to not break. One of things I dreaded the most was telling my grandmother, my mother's mother, that her daughter could not be cured. But God already went ahead of me and my grandmother already knew, by one look at my face, that it was too late. She took it as well as expected. She is upset and her heart aches for her daughter. My mother stayed in recovery for too many hours. After I went back to the hotel to get my grandmother and sister, Lonny was still in the hall (we had already abandoned the noisy waiting room for a small, quiet in-cove down the hallway). I called into the recovery room and she was awake and waiting for a room to open up. She's awake I asked? Yes. I wondered why in the heck they hadn't come to get her husband. Maybe she just woke up, even though it was 5 hours later. Lonny's friend, Frank, was in the area and was at the hospital when I had come back. He was very calm and supportive. I was glad he was there for Lonny. By this time it was getting dark and my head was throbbing. Finally, around 7:45pm they let us back to see my mother. She looked worse than ever but as I looked around the room I realized that anesthesia is not flattering on anyone. It wasn't till around 9pm, and after I was being kicked out of the hall for not having a visitor’s pass, that my mother was transported to a room. When she got settled all she wanted to do was enjoy the stillness of her private room. The recovery room had been hectic and chaotic, she was glad to be anywhere but there. I left the hospital around 10pm and was back at 6am. The surgeon came in and explained to my mother why he could not do the surgery. She laid there with a bewildered look on her face. I was so drained I could say nothing. My mother approved of any kind of treatment or procedure that needed to be done. She asked and the doctor answered that this could not be cured; yet she agreed, without question, to put a port in her chest to do chemotherapy treatments. I still do not think she fully comprehends the reality of it all. She thinks she can beat this. God help us, if she can. By observing my mom think and react, I don't imagine that my mom is at all ready to die.