***
How many times are we going to get the teary phone call from my dad saying that some new thing has come up with my mom’s cancer?
The roller coaster continues. I would say the cancer roller coaster is worse than any amusement park roller coaster. My stomach falls harder, slower, the rush of dread sweeps over me as we careen down the cancer mountain. We are all in the cars: family members, friends, medical staff. Dips and valleys, then steady flat places, then another sudden dip.
Unlike at the amusement park, there is no platform at the end with the sense of relief and accomplishment, the giddy laughter, and dare to do it again. My mother is at the front of the roller coaster, getting the full brunt of the ride with my dad faithfully next to her. The rest of us just follow along after her, pulled forward, straining our necks to see if there is an end in sight.
This past weekend was no different. On Wednesday, we began to get the full picture of what was going on with my mom’s neck pain. Another tumor had grown. So fast had it progressed, that just 6 weeks ago, it couldn’t even be detected on the most state of the art medical technology.
The tumor had grown on her spine, wrapping itself tenaciously to her arteries and spinal cord, eroding bone and threatening to leave her paralyzed from the neck down. Her pain was steadily increasing while the use of her right arm was steadily decreasing. The doctors said we had to act now or what my mother feared most would happen in the next few weeks.
It didn’t take much for Phil and I to decide that I needed to make the trip to be with them. I cried myself to sleep that night waking up to find my used Kleenex scattered next to me on the bed. Somehow I felt better as we clicked “purchase flight” and I started packing.
I arrived too late to see her before surgery, but in time to sit with my dad in the now-to-familiar surgery waiting room. Aunt Linda and a few other friends came to sit with him as we waited. He seemed a bit scattered and not as “put together” as usual. I am finding that I have to look for subtle signs to detect his emotional status. Forgetfulness and fidgeting are really the only signs of distress. The untrained eye might not notice and think that he is the most stoic person alive.
***
As I said, it ends abruptly. But maybe abrupt isn't bad. Maybe my "raw emotions" and real-time struggles will inspire you in your own circumstance that is confusing or hard.
Though it doesn't make it any easier, I am learning to trust God's unfolding story in this situation.
