So in an effort to save my sanity, I decided to stay at home today. Of course, I had to negotiate it with my boss. My IM consisted of:
"I'd like to take the day off but know that's not feasible. Mind if I work from home today?"
To which she replied:
"can you get me the Tx counts"
Hmmm, okay. I'll take that as a yes. So I sat in front of the television all day, laptop on lap, struggling to keep connected to work for more than a total of five minutes at a time. Work a little, connection dropped, log back in, work a little, connection dropped, log back in, work a little, yell out in frustration, shake fist in the air, log back in.
So after about 4 hours of solid frustration (and listening to my roommate hack and cough and sniffle next to me on the couch suffering from a cold), I get a phone call from my grandmother asking what time we're going to the hospital. Thinking about a Toastmasters event I have to be at 6:00, I figure get over to the hospital by 3:30 p.m., leave by 4:30 p.m., leave the apartment by 5 p.m., stop by Wal-Mart to get a few things for the non-sickie roommate, and get to the TM meeting by 6 p.m.
Everything perfectly timed, right?
Got to the hospital by 3:30 p.m. That's as far into this perfectly planned schedule I got.
Get to the hospital. Wait around for an hour because the doctors have decided to visit at this time. The ear, nose, and throat doctor was the last to leave, rushing out the hospital room door without a word to either me or my grandma. We look at eachother in confusion and watch the doctor walk away, then try to figure out whether it's safe to enter the room. After a few minutes, we decide to go ahead and go in.
The first thing I see is my mom sitting in a chair, breathing quickly and shallowly, with a wide strip of dried-out blood between her nose and mouth. She's constantly bringing a kleenex up to her nose and hoping that this time when she takes it away, there will be no more blood. My grandmother and I ask a question of her every minute or so with no response. We can tell she's so focused on bringing her body back to normal, she doesn't even have the strength to utter a word.
Soon she raises her head and start responding with short, succinct responses. Large gasps of air she takes after each word uttered. She asks for a sip of apple juice and I prepare the drink for her in a styrofoam cup. After two sips, she fumbles for the pink plastic bin sitting next to her and then vomits up about 1/2 a gallon of dark red blood. I stare for a moment, trying to think of an appropriate response and realize that perhaps getting a nurse's attention might be the best idea.
I rush out into the hallway. Confused, because no one is looking up, I scramble to politely get the attention of anyone who would help me. Finally a girl looks up from her desk and I say, "My mom is vomitting up blood. I need a nurse." She replies that she'll find someone and I walk back to my mother's room in shock.
My grandmother is already hovering over her and I watch, helplessly, while my mother suffers her own personal hell. The nurse walks in and asks how long my mom has had her nosebleeds. After a short discussion on her health for the past few weeks they've determined that the blood is probably remnants in her stomach left over from weeks of suffering nosebleeds. They inform her that they'll still call the doctor to confirm, but that it's probably all perfectly normal.
Normal. There's a state of mind I keep seeking, but still have yet to acheive. I'm sure my mother's thoughts are probably running pretty close to mine.
The nurses leave and it's just me, my grandmother, and my mother again. I sit close to her on the bed and rub her back, wracking my brain for any solution that might make this better. My grandmother has obviously found her solution and she starts to talk incessantly about neighbors, and groceries, and "the good old times." I'm sure in an effort to distract my mother from her pain. I can't begrudge my grandmother for trying, but I struggle to keep my eyes from rolling back into my head. This is my defense mechanism. Getting extremely irritated with everything. Granted it's not the best defense mechanism...
So we sit and watch while my mom deals with the discomfort and tries to feel better, when the door pops open with a new visitor. The lady introduces herself as a representative from the American Cancer Institute. I think to myself, "Finally, someone professional who will come in and answer all our questions in a respectful, yet empathetic way."
Then she utters the only word that I know strikes fear and dread into my mother's heart: Cancer.
The rep starts talking about how she has brochures about cancer and information about remission and dealing with it. She's talking directly to my mother, and upon uttering the "C" word, my mother starts breaking down in tears. I respond with a look of my own that includes the "B" word, then try to redirect the conversation towards something...else. I try to deflect the harm towards my mother by asking the rep if she knows what type of cancer my mother has, to which she replies negatively. I try to compose myself for a mooment to avoid ripping her head off and then ask her if she could bring more information on my mother's specific diagnosis of Acute Myeloid Leukemia.
She keeps insisting that she has documentation on cancer. She says she understands what my mothers specific ailment is but all I hear is the description from the website I looked up earlier and horribly detached mannerisms which I'm guessing she thinks is a professional demeanor.
Many thoughts and feelings are coursing through me. Anger, defensiveness, irritation, sympathy for my mother. Somehow through all this, the logical side wonders if I'm overreacting. Perhaps I've just had enough and this woman is receiving the brunt of everything I've put up with in the past two weeks.
She finally leaves. I turn to my mother. And she's rolling her eyes. Somehow, this lifts me up. Apparently I wasn't the only one who thought she was doing more harm than good.
We talk for awhile longer. My grandmother continues talking about groceries and bills. At this point, I'm pretty much staring at my mother while inserting an appropriately placed "Uh-huh" or "Ah-ha" in response to my grandmother's musings. I watch my mother drift off every once in awhile and my heart flutters in my chest in the hope that she's finally falling asleep and escaping the bad experiences of the day. However, after a minute or two she opens her eyes or raises the kleenex to her nose again and I sink back in my chair.
Finally, she gestures towards the bed and I get her to confirm with a nod that she's indicating a need to go to sleep. I jump on the opportunity and suggest that we leave now considering she's getting tired. We gather our things and I lean over to give my mother a hug. She clutches on to me and starts to sob into my shoulder. I ask her if she's going to be okay and my heart breaks at this odd role-reversal and my inability to do anything of worth to help my mom. I do the only thing I know will help and I tell her that while this day was shit, it will get better soon and that I love her. She thanks me and still clutches on. My eyes start to water and I try to control my emotions before she lets me go and sees my fear and worry.
We leave and I feel horribly guilty for leaving her there. I push down the anxiety and the sudden desire to just sleep in her room. We drive back and my grandmother vents her own frustrations about the ACS rep. I try to logic it out, but end up getting frustrated myself. When I finally drop her off, I only have two thoughts in my mind...to get cigarettes and to find out if there's any possibility to still make that TM meeting.
Normally, after such a stressful day I'd jump at the chance to cancel a meeting. But one of my closest friends is there. And another close friend, who has suffered through the same experience I'm going through, is also in attendance. I envision sitting down at a coffee shop and discussing the days events with them and feel my blood pressure lower. However, I soon find out the opportunity is missed and head home to figure out what to do with the rest of my day.
I hate these days. These days in which I have a plan to help everyone and end up feeling I've helped no one. Guilt wracks me although I know that everyone will understand the change in agenda. I'm fed up with having to negotiate my time and would love nothing better than to take a week off to spend time with my mother and then spend time to myself.
However, even as I write this, I feel the looming deadlines and know my responsibility will soon start. It is 9:40 p.m. and yet I still have a myriad of work tasks to undertake. I will stay up late, work, wake up exhausted tomorrow morning, work for a few scant hours, then head over to the hospital once again. Feeling guilt at not working enough, not spending enough time with my mom, not getting my Toastmasters tasks done, and then finally not forgiving myself.
I know this too shall pass. I struggle to take my own advice, that although these times are difficult, things will get better.
At least I have my friends. I couldn't imagine taking this on alone.
1 comment:
You are so brave and I hoped that writing all this out really helped. I journaled while my mother was going through her illness. I know it helps. You inspire me with your abilities. I too know the pain of being the parent to a parent. Call me any time day or night. I owe you a girl's night out.
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