Bonus day #5

Angel and I shared a pull out bed last night, getting some decent sleep.  Though my mommy-ears tune and sprint out of bed at any odd sound or movement.  At 4am, I dashed over thinking she was climbing out of bed but she was simply turning over...the simplest task complicated and slow.  She is so talkative this morning...asking Angel to change her drain dressing because they itch...the stitches beneath starting to heal, I suppose.  She teases Angel that she just wanted to be fussed with.  She talks yet again about the idea of going home...I remind her that her nurse coverage here is 24 hours and she wouldn't quite have that at home.  Not to mention that her room would need a retrofit.  We all hope to keep her comfy here...visitors can come, family can linger.  She asks for her crochet work, but by the time I gather it, she has drifted off again.

As the hours pass, we notice she's making less sense.  Speaking of batteries and tape, talking about a Mrs. Joe...we speak in soft tones back to her...confirming, acknowledging. Speaking words that are purely not Linda-like.  Words not written to ensure they drift away from memory...the lady that she is would be so offended.  I don't need to remember a tinny version of my sweet Mother.  Another switch shift, we leave as Jody takes over.  Sis confirms that she's no longer herself. 

Back at Pepper Road, I buzz about tidying... knowing that when she passes, Dad will have visitors.  I want him to have one less worry.  I hang the last two tops of Mom's that will pass thru the laundry.  Knowing she'll never need them again.  Knowing she'll never care if I hang them out of her order, but I do it anyway.  I notice her bed is now undone...I had made it reverently over a week ago when this first began.  Immediately offended...holy ground tainted.  Talking myself off the ledge, this is just the beginning of firsts and lasts in her room.  

We return to the hospital to find her in a fitful sleep...moaning, limp hands grasping at the unknown.  I confirm with nurse that she's indeed not in pain...reminding me of a dear friend's labor and delivery.  Like cavemen...her moaning tribal, soothing. One bringing in life, one ushering out.  We all sit quiet...some close, some far-away, unsure, uncomfortable, all sad.  Her output is reducing, no significant food or drink in days.  Unsure if her current state is anti-nausea related or the Cancer is finally pulling her under, I whisper sweet, difficult words to her once alone...It's okay.  You were such a wonderful mother.  Making me a good mom..creating a legacy I'll share with Maya.  We'll all be okay, missing you terribly, but we'll be with you again soon.  So, if Jesus comes and gives you his hand, please take it.  This body is a wreck and soon, you'll have a new one, free from illness and pain.  I love you so.

Bonus day #4

Mascara and concealer already streaming away and it's not even 9am. Everyday things seem mundane...trying to read, words drift untethered.  No longer caring about how big the Kardashian rump has grown (did I ever care?).  Music seems too peppy, inappropriate.  Food, unappetizing. Tim drives me to the hospital and I'm anxious to see what shape she'll be in today. I find her resting peacefully.  She can hear us but not always respond...any recognition is a sweet treat now.

I'm alone with her and deliver hugs and kisses from far-away family.  Filling the room with spiritual songs and one of her funeral picks starts to play...I Can Only Imagine by Mercy Me.

"I can only imagine what it will be like when I walk by your side.  I can only imagine what my eyes will see when your face is before me, I can only imagine.  Surrounded by your Glory, what will  my heart feel? Will I dance for you Jesus or in awe of you be still? Will I stand in your presence or to my knees will I fall? Will I sing hallelujah, will I be able to speak at all? I can only imagine. "

They've agreed to move her to the Paliative Care Suite...end of days.  A quick move down the hall, it offers her a hotel-like setting, monitoring for pain only. Spacious for family and friends to visit.   She'll stay where she's nurtured, loved on, safe, comfortable until those last breaths.  A busy housekeeper, I have her all settled into her new room, placing hygiene items in the bathroom, drain supplies tucked discretely in a drawer.  I hang my coat on the only hanger...having to place mom's fleece jacket over mine.  So symbolic.

Lots of visitors today...she has touched so many lives.  I greet, smile, hug, interpret, update.  She is so beautiful.  Her hair began growing back a silvery white..like Jamie Lee Curtis. Her thin skin bruised with the slightest touch...she has one on her left inner arm that is shaped like a heart.  Jaundice drying her skin, she begins to itch and I massage her arms with lotion.  She appears asleep, yet she holds her arm up for me to work.  Taking extra time on her soft sweet hands. Thinking she's asleep, yet she doesn't miss a single word...chiming in on pieces of conversations from across the room.  Calling you out if you are whispering about her.  She burps and says 'excuse me'...always a lady.  

I asked her how she carried on after her parents passed...her eyes closed, long pause, she pursed her lips and said, " You just do the best you can".  I don't ever want to forget that advice.

Bonus day #3

A week since we started this hospital visit, two days of chair-sleeping, gut-wretching updates and I'm a zombie. Never underestimate the healing effects of a warm shower...craving a little 'normal' time, I enjoy a beer with Tim as he traveled to visit over-night. Glad but sad to hear his updates and the routine..I am officially homesick. But then half-way thru our meal, I feel that familiar umbilical pull back to mother's side.  Quick to pay and scurry back.

The start of bonus day#4... Groggy, I run into the doctor and he shows me current bloodwork results.  Levels til today have looked good...I've been waiting for the shoe to drop....today, her ammonia is sky high...which explains her sleepiness and indicates her liver is now mostly cancer cells. Her suffering liver has now also effected the kidneys...making them struggle.  Eating is futile...her organs aren't pulling nourishment from them anyway.  To top it all off,  her recent CT scan showed metastasized tumors are back in her bones. Thinking chemo had killed them months ago, Cancer is so unpredictable and determined to thrive.  Doc is surprised she isn't in more pain.  She had only the one small dose of morphine...hoping it stays that way. Shes been so witty and focused...a little slow to respond, requiring patience, but no pain. Thankful for that blessing...another silver lining.

Awake most of the day, she is surrounded by visiting friends and family members. But I can see her drift off somewhere far away...sad, afraid, the reality of it all setting in. She wants to discuss options...hospice, home? They certainly aren't kicking her out...shes getting the VIP treatment because she's one of their own.

At home base -Pepper Rd, so ready to sleep, feeling nauseous, awkward to be away from hospital,  dirty, head aches, heart heavy... every cell is pulling downward. It feels like heaven to be held.

Tim leaves tomorrow and I'm so very sad.  Jealous that he's doing routine, 'normal' tasks.  I miss the kids terribly.  As natural as this process is with Mom, nothing about it feels 'normal'.

Bonus day #2

Bonus Day #2

Friday evening we decide to stay the night and watch over her.  She seems afraid to be alone...so restless and thirsty.  From the light of the IV machine, I could see her searching for a drink.  I clumsily lumber out of the reclining chair and direct the straw to her mouth for a quick sip.  Typically frigid, she wants all the covers removed.  My hip and back are sore, I crawl beside her to snuggle.  Her breathing is labored, short, shallow, quick... the nurse offers morphine for relief.  Her long pause reveals hesitation, but she eventually agrees.  Tears…I remember my father-in-law, Wayne, watching his previous wife fade from lung cancer..her final days in a morphine haze.  A quick squirt and soon her breathing is regulated.  Morning comes quickly…neither of us fully rested.  Groggy, but glad Mom is still with us…Bonus day #2!  

Trekking home for a quick shower and some restocking, I anxiously return to the hospital to switch shifts with Angel.  She needs her rest so I encourage her to sleep and eat.  Throughout the day, the entire family comes and it looks like Dad will finally get that honest quiet time we have been waiting for.  So curious whether he encouraged her to let go, we sit together to chat.  He is overwhelmed.  He dressed up this visit…out of his typical mechanic’s attire.  He’s trying his best.  He asks me questions about the next steps afterwards.   I realize I hadn’t kept him in the loop…he’s been worried about funeral plans but Mom and I have it all covered.  I am ashamed for keeping him in the dark. In an effort to advocate Mom, I should have reassured him, too, that some bases are covered.

Mom sleeps most of the day.  Only eating a few bites of yogurt but expelling it soon after.  She savored one soft nibble of crab ball but not much more.  Sad brother hopes that protein drink with caffeine will break the spell.  She’s already running on borrowed time…this is what the end looks like.  We are rewarded with 5 second alert periods.  We all jump eagerly to meet her needs…do you want a drink? need a blanket?  Any pain?  I find myself counting between breaths…like a thunderstorm.  A quick inhale after 10 seconds…seems like a lifetime. Her following breath a huge relief. 

The doctors have taken her off of all IV’s, to our surprise.  I thought we were still considering that option.  I was sure the disconnect would bring a quick spiral, but I should have known, she’s always the fighter.  We fill the room with Kari Jobe and Jesus Culture..creating a reverent atmosphere.  I keep busy shuffling and cleaning, offering sips, and recollecting stories with sis.  Glad to have Aunt Gail visit…she loves Mom like a sister.  I can see in her eyes that she has sadly confirmed her fears.  Her own Cancer journey with husband still too fresh.  

Night comes, yet again, and we situate ourselves in the un-comfy sleep chairs.  Lined up and on alert.  Watching, listening, waiting.  

Bonus Day #1

Any day past Christmas is a bonus.  Angel calls early to report that Mom called her to the hospital at 2:30am.  A leaking drain making her surrounding skin burn.  The staff brought in a sleeping chair, but Mom insisted that she snuggle with her instead.  Angel is exhausted, happily running on fumes.  We keep moving, one step in front of the other, strengthened by Mom.  Switch shift, she returns for sleep and I motor in.  Stopping by to pick up some Haagen Dazs vanilla ice cream…the one food I know she’ll enjoy.

Today more than others, I’m missing my family.  I miss Tim’s hugs and the way he always makes me laugh.  I miss Maya and her sweet wisdom and her silly sense of humor that I totally get.  I miss Cole and the fact that he still lets me give him long hugs and his intuitive sensitivity. Maybe it’s Dierks, Blake, and Josh that are bringing the blues.  My roots are showing as I’m starting to enjoy Country music again. 

On the ride home each night, I pray that God will let her wake up in Heaven.  A final peaceful sleep.  Each morning, I check my phone and when I don’t see that missed call, I find myself disappointed.  It’s terrible and I feel evil.  I savor every second, but I hate seeing her afraid, humiliated from accidents, so weak, tired, plugged into numerous drips.  It’s more than who she is, lower than what she deserves.  

Today, Mom is clearly exhausted.  More fuzzy…harder to get her thoughts clear.  She’s afraid of being alone….asking if someone will stay with her.  I’ll be here, don’t worry.  I won’t leave if you don’t want me to.  She has changed her plans and entertains going home again.  Grasping straws…wanting to finish last minute tasks like sending thank you cards to doctors and high school friends.  Worried that Dad will be alone, miss his doctor appointments, his meds.  She wants to hear from Jody’s husband, Jamie to ensure he’s on board with them moving in with Dad afterwards.  I haven’t told her that Dad believes having a toddler underfoot will be too much.  I reassure her again that between the 3 siblings, we’ll have him covered.  Looks like another family meeting.  I just wish Dad would have his quiet time with her and reassure her…she needs it from him.  She needs her husband to tell her it’ll all be ok but the words are too heavy for him to speak.  I’m helpless to comfort the way he can.

She sleeps most of the day away and only eats half of a blueberry muffin and a small amount of strawberry milkshake.  A dear friend visits and Mom enjoys listening to her read stories about Angels. She believes Angels live among us, keeping us safe, lifting us up.  

Tonight, we all sleep in recliners…watching over her.  Her own personal earth-bound Angels.  

Words Unsaid

wake up sleepy head, remind me when we first fell in love.  Don’t turn on that television, look at me instead.  Look into my eyes like when we first met.  Tell me what you’ll miss the most.  Are you afraid? What do you love the most about me? Remind me.  Tell me a story that doesn’t involve a tv show or a wrestling event.  I don’t want to hear about work.  I want to hear your love instead.  What makes you happy?  What brings great joy? How did we get to this point together?  Did we work too hard and not enough? Should work be the priority when I lay here in this bed? Hold my hand and kiss my cheek before I fade away. Tell me that you love me, you may not get another day. You are staring into space, wake up and look at my face. You are so far away, move closer. Tell me stories about our wedding day…how I looked in white, how I became yours.  For better or worse, indeed this is worse.  I’m sorry, sweet love.  Hold me close, stroke my cheek.  Lay sweet kisses upon my lips. This body may be weak, but the heart that beats within is still yours.  I can remember better days, drawl upon them when you are weak.  When I am no longer here, remember healthy times.  Do something every day that brings you great joy.  Something that fills your soul.  Something that brings the smile up to your eyes.  Those sweet blue eyes.  Eyes that used to twinkle but so often now seem to focus so far away.  Deep within.  Come back to me.  Sit with me a while and hold my hand.  Tell me you’ll be ok.  Tell me I was your first love, most adored.  Don’t be sad.  Check in on our children.  Call them often….they need you.  You’ve been gone so long, come back.  Be present.  Enjoy and shower love on our grandchildren.  Tell them stories about us.  Take care of yourself…take your pills.  It’s okay to cry.  I love you.  

Christmas Day

It’s Christmas morning…Christmas mourning.  Sad play on words.  We’ve all felt as if she’s holding on for Christmas.  So between missing the big morning with my family opening presents and feeling like days with Mom are so thin, I’m a big fat sobbing mess.  Everything feels heavy.  How do I get dressed? How do I lift my feet to walk?  Driving 25mph thru Preston seems like cruel punishment when I’m racing to get to her side.  I keep my sunglasses on while I sign in and receive my sticky visitor badge so the chipper receptionist won’t see  how much of a wreck I really am.  Tick Tick Tick slowly rises the elevator, then freedom.  I’m almost there.  Another wave of tears when I walk in…relieved to be there and to see her smiling face.  She beams, “I woke up and I knew something was different.  My bloodwork came back better.” The sideways glance from the nurse confirmed that wasn’t the great news it appears to be. That upswing before the final goodbye.  

I went to work…being busy helps me to feel useful and not so teary.  I open the window just a crack to let in the delicious air…it’s so stifled in here.  It smells like sour milk.  She smiled but then got chilled.  

Carolers came and sang Joy to the World.  Something about Christmas carols always makes me cry…added to this situation, I’m gushing.  Pastor stopped by and prayed with us.  More gushing.  Pull yourself together.  We go thru her outstanding bills and account information.  Once completed, I could tell she was relieved.  One less worry to weigh her down. Family arrives post Christmas flurry and we all share gifts and morning stories.  Mom starts to fade…we all give her some quiet time to nap.  

Later, Mom has quiet time with my nephew, James.  He doesn’t quite understand that Mom-Mom is fading.  That soon, she won’t be able to help with homework or keep company on the weekends while my sister works. We leave Dad alone to have quiet time as well, but we return to find him surfing the channels.  TV turned to shield the hospital bed.  Hmmm. He’s dealing with this the only way he knows how.  I try hard not to be angry.  

My niece, Angel, has shared this experience with me every day 9am - 11pm.  She has taken off of work and school, is fiercely territorial about her grandmother and single-handedly removes, drains, and repacks her side drain twice a day.  She has helped my Mom in such a way that no grand daughter should have to.  Seen more things that will cling in her memory for years.  But she is showing Mom such amazing and beautiful love.  Tender and sweet.  I’m crazy proud of her.  

At the end of the day, it’s just me and Mom.  I read her the obituary I wrote.  One less thing to write while I’m grieving later.  Then I read her the first post to  my blog..The Beginning. She strokes my arm when I get shaky and quietly encourages me to be strong and keep reading. She is quiet when I finish.  I’m waiting to hear what she thinks…was it too emotional for her? Did I get facts wrong? She loves hearing it from my perspective…15 plus years packed into one dialogue.  Would she do anything differently?  I want to read everything to her, but I can tell she’s tired.  I tuck her in and crown her with headphones…usually the Luke Bryan channel lulls her to sleep but tonight she asks for Christian music.  The song It Is Well queues up.  So timely and reassuring.  I gather my things and give her one final kiss before I turn down the lights.  Walking away from her room and down to the car, I realize it is indeed well with my soul.  

Update 4

Wide awake at 5:30am, feeling something just wasn’t quite right.  No missed emergency calls..itching to get back to the hospital to check on mom.  Arrived to find her still with us…deep exhale.  An extra iv had been plugged into her arm and the nurse confirmed her potassium and magnesium levels were low.  Big words and symptoms of liver failure.  Feeling extra weepy today.  It seems when Mom is strong, so am I.  Each day Angel and I arrive, she seems more tired and powerless.  The weaker she gets, the more often I cry.  I don’t know why I even bother putting on mascara every day.  I need to start carrying my own tissues as I’m always scrambling to find a clean place to wipe my nose.  

The doctors need us to make a decision…maintaining the IV fluids is just a band-aid.  Her body is unable to create the proteins she needs…aha moment…that’s why she asked for “protein” for dinner. She wanted meat instead of her standard ice cream diet.  Sweet girl.  No amount of beefy steak will reverse this situation. We need to make a decision to take her off of the IV fluids which will most likely begin the sad descent.  Scrambling, she wants to stay put until January so that she can take care of some bills.  Family meeting to discuss giving her the grace to let go.  We all need to tell her it will be ok.  We will all manage somehow.  We will take care of each other.  She doesn’t need to worry.  

We’ve all had our quiet time with Mom…I squeezed myself in bed with her today and let the tears fall on her shoulder.  Her baby-soft hands patted me like a baby until I could speak.  Bryan and Jody had sweet moments with her alone, too.  Their words secret and sacred forever.  

I will gather her bills and let her direct me one last time.

Update 3

The guests have gone, family members are elsewhere, I’ve dimmed the lights and I watch her sleep.  One breath in, another breath out.  We’re still good.  I am amazed by her strength.  Doctors often ask if she wants any pain medicine and she politely declines.   She has befriended every single nurse (and offered them a puppy - my sister’s dog had a whopping 10 puppies the same day we started this ordeal).  She cracks me up…last night, after eating cookie cake with bright blue teeth-staining icing, I asked her if she’d like to brush her teeth before sleeping.  She shook her head and tightened her lips…..screw it.  She no longer has to worry about cavities!  I could fill up a page with tales I’ve experienced with her these past three days. Moments of laughter, moments of tears, moments that simply warm my soul.  What an amazing and overwhelming experience I’ve been blessed with.  I get to comfort and usher one of the greatest women alive out of this world.  

Earlier today, she had to make the hard decision on where she’d like to die….at home or at the hospital. I was so relieved to hear her choose hospital. Although home represents comfort, it also reminds her of numerous chores undone and sadly, I know we’d always associate that back bedroom as the place where mom took her last breath. Tucked in and treated like a V.I.P., she’s calm, at peace, and nurtured…as she so deserves. 

I continue to be amazed at the sheer number of people that have sent me love over these last few days…dear friends have gone out of their way to check in on me and refuel my soul.  I’m strong for Mom but often tapped out and a quick text or a meal away from the hospital reboots and readies me for the next task.  I hope I can repay the joy you’ve given me.

Wondering how I’ll do Christmas this year…torn between not wanting to leave Mom in Easton for the day and wanting to create memories in Shrewsbury with Tim, Maya, and Cole (and even Charlie…which is huge because everyone knows I’m not a dog person).  I received blessing from all three to stay put and enjoy time with Mom…Best gift ever.  I am one lucky girl.  No more guilt.  

Update 2

My head hurts, my heart is heavy. I’m exhausted and it’s late so I’ll get right to the update.  Mom was admitted to the hospital on Sunday and they give her till Christmas.  Five short days.  Just one hand full.  We’re down one day.  Unless you count Sunday, then we’re down two.  They are “buffing and polishing” her with five different fluids in an effort to juice her up so she can enjoy Christmas at home.  Today was much better than yesterday…she’s on the upswing so it appears that the buffing is working.  She was quite hilarious today…apparently a side effect of faulty organs is being loopy…I’m glad she’s happy and not any of the alternatives.  Counting my blessings.  Jody commented that she looked like she was tanning (her skin a lovely jaundiced yellow) to which she replied, “no, just yellowing”. 

In her emaciated state, and in true Linda-style, she is the one offering comfort to us.  Her faith is making this transition so much easier for me.  She knows in the split seconds afterwards that she will instantly be in the presence of God and reunited with her mother, her father, and her sister.  When I added that she might even get to meet the child she lost between my birth and Bryan’s, she commented, “It might be the Good one”.  Her wonders never cease.

I am overwhelmed at the sheer number of loved ones that have reached out to me and my entire family.  Hugs given, pictures shared, milk shakes delivered, transportation offered, meals provided, tears shed, hands held, texts sent, calls left, messages written, dog walked.  I’m used to being the one that gives love…it’s strange and wonderful to receive it.  

I have become the rock…Mom’s power somehow transferred to me.  When the doctor delivers news, I’m the one he focuses on.  When family members need an answer, they come to me.  When mom says, “What’s new”, the entire room swings to wait for my answer.  Mom requests funeral arrangements and songs to be sung, dictates her medical wishes and I complete them diligently.  I’m quite honored to give her this one last gift to know I’ll do my best to get it done.  But sometimes, I just want to hide in the closet with my crayons.  

Not sure how long the “buffing” will take..not sure if she’ll “polish” enough to come home.  Hoping I’m wrong.  

Nesting

When I was close to delivering both children, I would get this burst of motivation mixed with energy and in a scurry of productivity I'd clean and organize every surrounding thing. It's something that seems to be common among new moms bringing a new life into the world. I'm learning it seems very common among seasoned moms soon leaving this world, as well. On a recent visit, Mom eagerly asked for help cleaning out closets...bagging up clothing that no longer fit due to drastic weight loss. More recently, she's been purging all bookshelves. Boxes of books are destined for Goodwill. Ancient encyclopedias are set out for recycling. From my perspective it seems futile and a poor waste of precious time. But what's important to her is now important to me, so I oblige. She joked that she didn't want another woman to come and think she was a poor housekeeper. I would quite literally tackle anyone that made that claim, but it did shed some light on her new nesting obsession. Is she concerned about visitors opinions while she is sick or even those that might visit once she is gone? Does she realize that my father won't be able to purge anything on his own? More disconcerting, is she worried Dad will too quickly find a replacement?

This week, her task list has become more widespread. She is attempting to reduce a lifetime of 'stuff' in the few short energy-filled morning hours. She requests one task, then mid-stream she shifts focus and wants another task completed instead. I picture her drowning in tasks and desperately grasping for solid ground...start here, no wait, now this is more important. Frantic. Afraid. She can't control how she feels or how rampant the beast grows, but she can take charge of the piles. The purge-happy gal I am wants to rent a dumpster, pitch it all, then finally let her be still and rest. Done. But like a true nesting Mom, she'd simply find some other task to accomplish. Sadly, however, at least the pregnant mother has the newborn to celebrate. The seasoned moms leaving this world are nesting for nothing.

Update

Wishing I had miraculous news to report, each call home brings incremental downward spirals. A few short weeks ago, she was driving, eating full meals, functioning as 'normally' as a Cancer patient can. It seems she is deteriorating each day. She needs assistance getting out of bed, visiting the ladies room, and getting dressed...simple things we all take for granted every day. It must be frustrating since her mind is determined but her body doesn't want to play along. She becomes breathless speaking on the phone so our calls are cut short. Sometimes I can't understand what she says...my hearing is terrible to begin with, but her voice is dimming, intermittent, and slurred. Our conversations are often health related so I have to consciously update her on the kids, our social calendar, but everything seems trivial. Tomorrow, she'll have a port inserted into her torso to drain fluids as needed without requiring a trip to the hospital. When her fluid baby began to grow before Thanksgiving, it required a weekly visit to drain. Now it greedily demands drainage every few days. Never relinquishing her Nurse hat, she plans on accomplishing this task herself. Of course, I'm sure she'll weigh, document, and report. Too much information? Sorry.

This morning, her blood pressure plummeted to 67/50...normal range is 120/80, so that first number is crazy low. Apparently, she didn't fight taking the ride into the office via wheelchair. Docs took her off of her blood pressure meds and gave her fluids. Seems like the equivalent of a computer reboot. Cross your fingers that it brings relief, but it seems more fluids in and more fluids out. Not surprisingly, her cancer marker numbers continue to climb. The beast must be making himself comfortable now that the chemo is no longer in the ring.

I'm told that she can no longer be left by herself. Family coverage options are slim as both siblings have toddlers. Little ones and exhausted grandma with Cancer are not an optimal combination. Wishing she could just come stay here with me, but realizing it's no longer practical because of frequent doctor visits, stairs, and the simple sheer bliss of being in her own bed. So, I restlessly pace...a caged lion. Nothing satisfies, feeling completely helpless and too far away. It's all just a wicked waiting game.

Let Me Introduce You...

If you have had the pleasure of meeting my mother, you'd know this to be true... Linda Kay Elliott is a saint. She has experienced enough to make any strong man sink to his knees. Her father was shot in a liquor store robbery...he had alcohol in his blood and to this day, she still wonders if the liquor encouraged him to fight back. Her mother developed Parkinson's disease a few short years later. She lived with us while I was in high school...I can only imagine how stressful that was to watch her degenerate...she was so fragile. She died years later in the hospital from pneumonia experimenting countless medicines in an effort to reverse the disease. More recently, her younger sister Carol, after speaking with her best friend on the phone, collapsed from a heart attack and died several days later. During each loss, my mother remained collected. Perhaps it was her training as a Nurse that created either an award-winning Poker face or the stark reality that life is fleeting.

Linda has never smoked. I doubt she's ever done any sort of drugs...not that she'd talk about that kind of thing. The only time I've seen her consume alcohol was when I bought her a strawberry daiquiri on a cruise we enjoyed together a few years ago. She didn't seem to enjoy it...maybe it's because of the history with her father. I have never heard a foul word spill from her mouth. In fact, I've never seen her angry. A few months ago, curious about her answer, I asked her what made her angry. What would actually stir her to punch someone in the face. She looked thoughtful and responded, “Nothing ultimately matters that much”. Perhaps it was the Cancer...it seems to give you a different filter. It makes seemingly important things small and small things important. The single time I heard her raise her voice was when her father was shot and it was being highlighted briefly on the news. Bryan, Jody, and I must have been too loud nearby and she stomped out of the room mad that she missed the segment.  That's it. She could also instantly transform into Nurse in emergencies. Cole almost lost his adult front tooth while we were visiting a few years ago. While I was face planted on the cool linoleum, gasping for air, she calmly applied pressure while blood pulsed from his mouth. I also just learned that when my Aunt Gail had a hysterectomy, my mom surprised her in the hospital room and slept in the chair all night to watch over her. Then you have her battle with Cancer, fought like a true champion, she has dealt with this beast in some shape or form for over 15 years.

She is the cornerstone of the Elliott family. She took my grandmother Elliott to the doctors, hair-dressers and the bank as often as needed. She has raised strong grandchildren long after her youngest was grown. She delivered thousands of babies at the hospital and my local friends even sought her out when they were pregnant. She single-handedly supported the family income and did her best to keep current. If she had two pennies remaining, she'd give you both. She visits my great Aunt Bootsie several times a month...Bootsie's hugs and gardens are healing. She loves to scrapbook, dabbled in genealogy, is an avid reader, loves country music, is a die-hard martyr, always wanted to either foster children or do mission work abroad. She is poised, caring, soft-spoken, gentle and even-tempered. I have never, ever, ever, heard her ever complain.  When the Cancer came and then returned, she promptly took the suggested steps. She sweetly endured long hours hooked to toxins via the port in her chest. Her best friend, Karen and other family members would call me to get updates on her progress because Mom wouldn't return phone calls...she didn't want to trouble them or make them worry. When her income dropped because she could no longer work, she stayed calm. She seems to have this never-ending reserve of love, patience, kindness, and joy that most people draw short. I call it a God-thing. She is a Christian, always making sure we went to Sunday school and vacation bible school. I grew up reading the poem Footprints...we've always had it framed in our house. It tells of how a man goes to heaven and God shows him the flow of his life as represented by footprints in the sand. When times were good, there were two sets of footprints in the sand. But when times were hard, there were only one. The man questioned God as to why he left him alone in times of trouble to which God responds...my child, that was when I carried you. If, instead of that seemingly whiney man, the story was written from my Mom's perspective, it would most often reflect single sets of footprints in the sand. And when God says, 'Well done, my good and faithful servant', she'll quietly giggle her sweet little laugh and humbly respond “my pleasure”.

The beginning

I'm no writer, I'm just a simple girl, often teased as a 'silver lining' girl for being naively optimistic, that happens to have a mother courageously fighting the big C.  Typically, I stroll about with birds singing and unicorns with rainbows lining my brain.  But this life event has stirred deep thoughts and in an effort to update friends and family in one swoop as well as offering an outlet for said thoughts to spill forth and hopefully cease their endless circling of the bowl, I've created my own little blog.  A safe place where random thoughts and sometimes meaningless and unconnected ideas can settle.  Let me start at the beginning.

I was newly pregnant with our first child 15 years ago when my mom, Linda, sat me down to inform me that one of her suspect breast tumors tested positive for Cancer.  I can still feel the texture of the velvety couch beneath me and remember the exact color of the carpet.  It's funny how you associate random things with significant life events.  My mom, a maternity nurse for over 25 years at Easton Memorial in Easton, Md, was diligent about having her mammograms and having every fibrous cyst examined.  I don't even remember how many biopsies she had prior to the naughty one emerging.  So, she wasn't surprised...she was calm, cool, and collected as she delivered her news.  She was going to attack it fiercely by doing a double mastectomy for the one wee tumor.  The surgery was successful and her lymph nodes were clear.  All seemed good in the world.  She returned as scheduled every six months to test her blood for Cancer markers.  And at year 11, her numbers spiked.  IT had returned.  A Pet scan confirmed the beast was now in her uterus, her liver, her scapula, and neck bone.  Crap.  Again, she attacked like a prize-fighter and scheduled a full hysterectomy but she wasn't a candidate for chemotherapy...I don't make these decisions.  Her doctor prescribed her a round of intelligent horomones which supposedly knew how to get into the cancer cells and starve them but leaving the surrounding cells healthy and intact.  There are truly some very smart people in this world!  The horomone therapy seemed to work for about a year when her cancer markers began to rise again.  NOW she was a candidate for chemo!  So, for one year she was dosed with numerous blends of toxins which would seem to work one month and stop working the next.  So fickle.  She lost her hair almost immediately.  I had to talk my dear niece, Angel, off the ledge as she was tasked with shaving the last fuzzy bits of hair from atop her grandmother's head.  Like my velvety couch and blue carpet, I know she'll never loose that image.  Next were her fingernails.  They became paper thin one month, then hoof-thick the next.  Always appearing as if they'd peel off at the slightest graze.  She diligently met every appointment for chemo, making good friends with the nurses and doctor.  Some treatments had to be dripped slowly to check for reaction and she sat in the same recliner for 6 long hours.  Never complaining.  Never.  Her numbers dropped and rose, then seemed to be dropping for good.  They were so low this past October that the doctor announced she may be able to take a break over the holidays...she became excited over the idea of a healthy Thanksgiving and Christmas.  Then, out of the blue, numbers that were almost back down to a baseline level were now off the charts.  The beast had found a way to thrive despite the intelligent toxins.  Which is where we are today.

Over Thanksgiving break, I convinced her to stay with me...letting me pamper her.  Letting her rest uninterrupted.  Feeding her with nourishing smoothies and healthy meals.  That lasted two short days.  It seems that her liver has stopped talking nicely with the rest of her body and is now dumping fluid into her torso...swirling around the spaces between organs instead of exiting nicely.  The fluids increased which pressed against her lungs making it difficult to breath.  I came home from a teacher conference to hear a quiet request to be taken to the ER.  Comforting ME...it's okay, Lisa.  No rush.  I promptly escorted her back to Easton Memorial, her stomping grounds.  She had 1500cc's taken from her torso in that visit.  I sat with her and in typical nurse Linda fashion, she was more worried about me passing out than her own shortness of breath.  The doctors removed two pitchers worth of bright yellow fluid from her belly.  All should be good, I thought.  She was admitted and held there for four days.  Never really regaining her energy, her full breath.  Prompted by my mentor Aunt Gail, I called her Oncologist and asked the hard questions.  Historically, 1/3 will rally and maintain for another 6 months.  However, the remaining 2/3 do not improve enough for more chemo, the cancer will continue to grow, and their weakened bodies can no longer fight.  For that 2/3 we were looking at 2 weeks to several months.  My mom had previously rallied between good and 'bad' chemos, so we all were expecting the same this time.  I had the daunting task as big sister to make that phone call and 'prepare' them.  That was two and a half weeks ago.  Every day seems borrowed. 

Mom's birthday was December 12th...64 years young.  I traveled back home to celebrate and ensure she was treated like the princess she is.  She had another drainage scheduled two days prior so that she could better enjoy her birthday but the fluid continued to swell her belly appearring 4 months pregnant.  She has a good sense of humor and lets me tease her about feeling kicks.  Instead of massages and bucket list items, she opted for lining up paperwork for taxes, contacting Social Security to begin the disability process, and calling funeral homes for pricing on cremation.  It wasn't what I had planned, but I'm humbled and honored that she trusted me to get it done.  I prayed the entire trip down and the entire trip back to Pennsylvania...thankful for the words said and the wisdom to be productive for her.  I don't know how many days I'll have with her...feels like we're already on borrowed time as she had 11 long years between incident one and incident two. 

I am thankful for a supportive husband that keeps the ship running all too well and doesn't question when I feel led to visit her. I am thankful for my children that don't freak out when I burst into tears. I am thankful for my friends that check in and I know pray for all of us.  I am thankful for each time I get to chat with mom...it means she's still here. 

If you're still reading, thank you.  My intention is to be transparent so that you'll understand why I look like I've been punched in the face, why I don't feel like smiling most days,  why I'm slow to return emails or phone calls.  My brain is constantly spinning with a thousand new thoughts and emotions.  I told my daughter I feel bi-polar...laughing one minute, guilty for being happy the next.  Busy and productive one minute, and scraping the barrel the next.  So, indulge me with the opportunity to get these thoughts on screen.