Largely for my own documentation -
Jul. 16th, 2004 10:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kyburgBecause this could get ugly.
Talked to Mom yesterday and today and will again tomorrow. Why? Because I call my Mom to see how she's doing. It's something I'm made a conscious effort to do at least once a week since she had her heart attack nearly four years ago. Mom's older than anyone she's ever been related to - her father died at 59 from heart disease, her mother at 72.
Mom's going to be 80 next year.
Mom went in for her six month check with an additional complaint. Not to put too heavy a touch on it, but it's one of those "suspicious bleeding" issues that points to cancer. After checking more about it, I'm nearly convinced (and so is Mom) that it's most likely the cause of the problem.
There's no pain involved here; there's a bit of suspicious blood where there shouldn't be any. Both she and I have had basal cell carcinomas removed from almost the exact same places, at the exact same ages. There hasn't been a recurrance of it. (Mom's a chocolate brown brunette, I'm the natural blonde - same type of skin cancer, same place, same outcome.)
She's coming in tomorrow to take advantage of the Skechers Family Days - and she'll be able to go to the company picnic (with my niece and her boy) - which is just fine with me.
Problem? She hasn't told anyone but me and little brother. And won't. Not until more is known.
Not a problem? I'm both shocked and pleased this hasn't scared the shit out of me. On one hand, I have a good understanding of the mechanisms and the treatments for this type of cancer - there are two types, one that could spread to surrounding areas, one that doesn't - but neither of them throw mets like lung cancer or breast cancer does. Surgery isn't always necessary - the usual treatment is something much like what we had done for the skin cancer. Chemo? Topical. Follow up? Sure - once a year, maybe.
Nothing Mom can't weather in good stride, all things staying equal.
I just can't tell anyone. Sis is going to be livid. Can't say I blame her - but this isn't my call.
Maybe I'll be scared when I know more. Has it gotten that routine? If I can't soothe the ooches, and plump the pillows and bring cookies - maybe then I'll feel the need for tears.
I remember the hysterics I had when Cliff was diagnosed with that first round of strokes. Perhaps I have internalized my mother's mortality - getting ready to lose her, because I will, I can't stop it - but the tears just don't come anymore. I think I'm more worried about how unpleasant treatment is going to be - not that I could lose my mother to cancer. Guess that's the paradigym shift.
You come into this world naked and squalling; you leave it much the same way. You'll always have what you need to survive your time here; have faith. Lillies of the field and all that. (Hey, I've tested that theory - it's true!)
Guess I've gotten good at letting God have my problems. S/He'll be up all night anyway.
God, don't let her tell my niece while she's driving in tomorrow; she'll drive them all off the road, I swear it.
Talked to Mom yesterday and today and will again tomorrow. Why? Because I call my Mom to see how she's doing. It's something I'm made a conscious effort to do at least once a week since she had her heart attack nearly four years ago. Mom's older than anyone she's ever been related to - her father died at 59 from heart disease, her mother at 72.
Mom's going to be 80 next year.
Mom went in for her six month check with an additional complaint. Not to put too heavy a touch on it, but it's one of those "suspicious bleeding" issues that points to cancer. After checking more about it, I'm nearly convinced (and so is Mom) that it's most likely the cause of the problem.
There's no pain involved here; there's a bit of suspicious blood where there shouldn't be any. Both she and I have had basal cell carcinomas removed from almost the exact same places, at the exact same ages. There hasn't been a recurrance of it. (Mom's a chocolate brown brunette, I'm the natural blonde - same type of skin cancer, same place, same outcome.)
She's coming in tomorrow to take advantage of the Skechers Family Days - and she'll be able to go to the company picnic (with my niece and her boy) - which is just fine with me.
Problem? She hasn't told anyone but me and little brother. And won't. Not until more is known.
Not a problem? I'm both shocked and pleased this hasn't scared the shit out of me. On one hand, I have a good understanding of the mechanisms and the treatments for this type of cancer - there are two types, one that could spread to surrounding areas, one that doesn't - but neither of them throw mets like lung cancer or breast cancer does. Surgery isn't always necessary - the usual treatment is something much like what we had done for the skin cancer. Chemo? Topical. Follow up? Sure - once a year, maybe.
Nothing Mom can't weather in good stride, all things staying equal.
I just can't tell anyone. Sis is going to be livid. Can't say I blame her - but this isn't my call.
Maybe I'll be scared when I know more. Has it gotten that routine? If I can't soothe the ooches, and plump the pillows and bring cookies - maybe then I'll feel the need for tears.
I remember the hysterics I had when Cliff was diagnosed with that first round of strokes. Perhaps I have internalized my mother's mortality - getting ready to lose her, because I will, I can't stop it - but the tears just don't come anymore. I think I'm more worried about how unpleasant treatment is going to be - not that I could lose my mother to cancer. Guess that's the paradigym shift.
You come into this world naked and squalling; you leave it much the same way. You'll always have what you need to survive your time here; have faith. Lillies of the field and all that. (Hey, I've tested that theory - it's true!)
Guess I've gotten good at letting God have my problems. S/He'll be up all night anyway.
God, don't let her tell my niece while she's driving in tomorrow; she'll drive them all off the road, I swear it.
