Picking right back where I left off. This is still so hard to write, to think about. So many thoughts and visions float through my head. I am not entirely sure if this is therapeutic or if this is causing something more damaging inside of me. But here's where we pick back up on this journey.
Mom had a couple of things to accomplish before we could bail out of the hospital. We knew there was no cure. There was no hail Mary. There was nothing. But we have to try. Her team of doctors suggested that targeted radiation would be the best route. Mom agreed and she was off to have her cast made. They wanted to start radiation right away, so we had the first round before we left. There was to be 10 total treatments.
Eight days at Mayo Hospital in Rochester, MN, we finally got to break free. It seemed like we were there forever. I was happy to escape with her. We snagged some McDonalds on the way home, although Mom didn’t eat much of her breakfast sandwich. It would be a one and half hours until we got home. When we finally arrived home, there was just more pain and sadness waiting for us. Mom’s beloved dog, Isabelle, was just holding on long enough to see mom. She was lethargic. I moved her to a blanket and was able to pick her up and rush to the vet. She was in pain. It was her time. But I didn’t want to do it. I got to be there and hold on to her so tight. I am bawling as I type this. It didn’t seem fair. We just got home. Mom couldn’t bear to go through this; to feel this kind of pain. To mom, Isabelle was so much more than a dog. She was mom’s companion, her side kick. All that I could do was give mom a big hug when I got back home. I know that she was breaking apart inside. But like always, she was so strong.
I had to return to work. I felt like it would be the best for my mind; keep my mind busy. Mom was all set for the daily trip to Rochester for radiation and then the long haul back. Now I regret that decision. I regret not being with her in the car for those long rides, just talking about our hope and our fears. I couldn’t let my fear show even though I was breaking apart inside. This woman didn’t deserve this. Why? That is always my question. Just like a two-year-old, Why? Why? Why? She worked so hard all of her life. A single parent raising the best child ever (insert hysterical laughter). [I have to try and give myself a confidence boost every once in a while.]
It was November. Cold, snowy, wet November. But we planned to have mom and some family come to our house for Thanksgiving. I was excited. Mom was going to get to see our new house; play with the dogs, see what we accomplished. We were busy trying to get the house ready. We had just moved in and needed to paint the god-awful colors that were lining the walls. So many things to prepare before Thanksgiving. Making sure that everything would be set up and ready for mom.
It was Saturday. November 17th. Last day of radiation. It seemed to be working. Mom was able to talk and her breathing seemed to be a little better. But she was weak while she tried to be so strong. We wanted to surprise mom so we made the trip down to Rochester to meet them at the hospital. She was excited. She was happy to see us. We ushered her in to get her final treatment started. We waited patiently for it to finish. It seemed like forever. But there she came, in her wheelchair.
What’s next? The BELL. We need to do this. And she rang that bell. I felt like this was it. She did it. She earned her place to ring the bell with all she went through and it was all going to be worth it. The pain, the time, the agony. It would all be worth it. We posed for some pictures with mom. It was an accomplishment. I was proud of her. Proud of all the courage, strength and determination that it took for her to go through all of this. If I had known then what I know now, I would never have left. I would’ve held her that in that place forever.
The biggest battle is yet to come. The one that shook my life. Shook my faith. Shook everything I knew about this world.
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