Thursday, January 10, 2019

Life Is A Highway

So....long time, no blog.

One of the main reason I started this blog was to work on how to write about the story of my mom and I, and perhaps a more overarching idea, how to document her story of a life that was, in my estimation, bitterly unfair.

A few months ago, Mom was diagnosed with not one, but two kinds of cancer. Rare kinds. Either one on their own are usually enough to send people on a quick, bucket list-fulfilling quest. The super short version is surgery handled this current round of tumors, but there's a fairly sizable risk that one of them could return with a vengeance. If it does, that's probably a make-final-arrangements-and-keep-her-comfortable scenario.

But embroidered in the super short telling of a several month roller coaster ride, is a woman who has considerable anxiety and panic where doctors and medical procedures are concerned. So we have been waiting for a psychiatric fallout once she started recovering.

It's currently a moot point of whether she has or hasn't had that fallout, because she's back in the hospital. Despite a couple of hiccups during surgery, she came through like a champ and was recovering just about as well as anyone over 65 can recover from serious, major surgery. Her first post-op went well, everyone pleased with how she appeared to be healing.

So everything was all okay, as far as things ever are for my mom, until suddenly everything wasn't. We're talking several days in the ICU.

So I'm writing in a room with a view of a major metropolitan area from a hospital tower, spending 45 minutes to an hour in traffic each way to make sure Mom's getting as much of what she needs as I can manage. One of us, myself or my dad, leave home before dawn so the trip doesn't take twice as long in rush hour traffic.

Realistically, we don't know what comes next. She may continue to improve, even if it's at a snail's pace. The older you get, the longer it takes to recoup. My battered inner optimist champions this idea. She may improve to a point but never get back to where she was. And, my heavy duty layer of pragmatism warns, this could be the best she ever is and it's a downhill slide.

People ask what would help, what do I need? I've asked that to other people countless times. "What can I do? How can I help? What do you need?" My stock answer tends to be, we're okay, I'm okay. I've revised that, though admittedly it's no more helpful an answer. I don't know. I honestly don't know. Don't forget I exist, maybe? Understand that when I'm not arguing with doctors, or cleaning up my mom instead of the folks getting paid to, I mean to check in and ask how your lives are going. I'd love to have news from the outside world...maybe. Some kind of sense of normalcy. Redacted of over dramatic bullshit, because I'm just too tired. Or just, like, a funny meme or something. I mean to check in. But I remember at like midnight or 5 AM. I mean to try to keep some kind toehold in the rest of the world. And then I get out of here and I've got to pick up paper towels. Or figure out dinner. Or go to bed and start all over again the next day, slightly rested and yet totally exhausted. What do I need? A lot of things, but nothing I can currently figure out. Which is probably true of the people who I've asked in the past.

Aside from getting good news (and trying to ignore whatever daily setback happened) and aside from dogs overjoyed that I've returned to them once more, one of the most cathartic parts of my day is turning up a good song after I've merged onto the interstate and acting like I'm in the band.

To the End

When I began this blog 5 years ago, it ended up being a catch-all for whatever slogged through my brain, mostly writing and the difficu...