Goodbye.

It has taken a few days for me to process this and even then I still am having an issue grasping everything. On November 22^nd, 2012 just after three in the afternoon my mother lost her battle with Ovarian Cancer. She went quietly as we were all laughing and joking in the living room together. It pains me to think about it and realize what happened. The only thing that I can say is that we were all there together being ourselves.

It’s difficult to realize this happened and I understand I am being redundant, but things are finally starting to hit me. I don’t get to call, text, see, or talk to my mother ever again. I can’t begin to understand this, why it happened, or how to process this loss. Of all the people I’ve ever met I thought she would be the one to beat this horrible disease and be there to watch my daughter grow up, see my sister get married, and most of all see my brother graduate high school in five years. Instead we had to peacefully lay my mother to rest forever yesterday in the early afternoon. It was possibly the hardest thing I have ever had to do, say good-bye to my mother years before I should have had to.

The End Journey.

It’s been many months since I wrote anything on here. After that initial chemotherapy, remission was never possible again. I remember the joy and euphoria that was overflowing at the beginning of January 2011 when we got that amazing news that everything was in remission. That was far too short lived because in March 2011 we got that dreaded news that it was back. Now after many combinations of chemotherapy, multiple hospitals stays, we are at the end of the road.

As of last Friday (November 9, 2012) my mom was put into hospice care. She is at home and being made as comfortable as possible. She was brought home with the understanding that she had days/a week to live. At that point things still had not hit me and I’m not sure if they really have as I write this. I understand the purpose of hospice and what they are supposed to represent, a dignified, comfortable end. I can’t help but want a more skilled nurse for my mother and question their medication regime. She is showing mottling on her extremities on the right side of her body, on her back, and on the left side the extremities and skin is cold/freezing to the touch. She is sleeping probably twenty plus hours a day and barely eating or in taking fluids. Her blood pressure is so low that it can’t be registered, having trouble swallowing basic liquids, and is in what almost seems like a semi-coma state. Not to mention when she does open her eyes they are maybe half-way open, glassy, and she looks right through you. This is all normal as far as the dying process is concerned. My issue with hospice is the “nurse” that is assigned to my mom. My mother is showing almost every sign of actively dying according to all the research I’ve done and what every other person associated with hospice has said to me and my family. Yet, this nurse has the audacity to tell my family she thinks my mother has several weeks?

I understand that she has seen things like this before, but are you fucking serious? I suppose I need to be mad at someone and since I don’t believe in god, I can’t be mad at that. So I am pissed at the nurse and her blatant false hope she gave my family.

To give some background on the situation, back in July/August 2012 it was confirmed that the cancer had spread to my mom’s brain in four different locations. From there we went into radiation treatment and the tumors stopped growing so we could go back into chemotherapy. That is until she was admitted into the hospital on September 12, 2012. From there things started to take a drastic downward spiral. It was confirmed that my mother had a stroke and lost mobility/feeling of the right side of her body. From that point it went from bedside vigil to multiple doctors, various options to rehabilitation, battles with the insurance company, and finally her being transferred to another hospital for rehabilitation in mid-October. After waiting and fighting she was finally admitted into a Trauma-Unit Rehabilitation program because of her brain tumors. By this time she was admitted into it because her brain tumors had started to bleed.

Due to the bleeding blood thinners were stopped/slowed to prevent hemorrhaging in her brain. Eventually because of this stoppage in rehabilitation my mom regressed greatly to a point worse than where she started. It was at this point that she, “dropped ten points in a few days,” and her doctors decided to stop treatment and setup a hospice situation. Imagine our surprise to be called to the hospital and discuss with doctors that my mother, who had battled this bitch of a disease for over two years, only had “days to live” and was being sent home to be comfortable.

So now my mom sits at home being medicated on a level that would be nauseating to some waiting to pass. Anyone that’s consistently around her can see that she only has days or hours left. Last night she showed what might be considered and unusual amount of strength and activity. This woman, who has no mobility of her right side, can’t sit up, can’t stand, has to be moved by three people, can’t roll herself, can barely communicate, and managed to roll herself out of her hospital bed with someone sleeping in a chair beside her.

Yet, this nurse says weeks.

The road.

It has been awhile since I have updated and for that I apologize. The need for the apology is the fact that I have seen there have been hits on this blog. It's as though I needed to step away from everything for a little, but by doing that I wasn't able to possibly help anyone else through all of this.

The summer is a quick picture. My mom was given Carboplatin and Taxol for two cycles. This drug combination was supposed to be used for all six cycles, but her Oncologist did not like how slow the numbers were coming down. So she was swapped to Gemzar and Taxotere, which is harsher and far more effective. As it turns out it is far more effective. The down side is though she used to have a 21 day rest period and all the drugs were administered at the same time. Now, Gemzar is given, seven days later Taxotere is given, then fourteen days later the hell starts all over again. Some weeks she still feels ill from the previous treatment as she goes into the next treatment. She is a trooper though and has a hell of a fight in her.

As it stands from her Gemzar treatment last Tuesday her numbers are at 71. Which is fantastic. We need them under 35 and earlier this summer they were over the 2000 mark, which scared all of us, except her amazing Oncologist Dr. Michael Hicks. She has two more cycles left of these drugs and then we find out where we stand.

On a side note, she is still on fentanyl patches for pain in her abdomen.The pain they say is from internal healing and scar tissue which is normal. She just keeps changing the patch and everything keeps going along. It's a difficult thing seeing your mom lose her hair, go through multiple surgeries, and be drug through hell, but its makes you so damn proud seeing your mother beat it back with a mallet because she refuses to lose her family.

I love her more than words can express.

Incredible.

We had fireworks. Not like yours though.

o  April 26, 2010: Diagnosed with Ovarian Cancer stage III B/C.

o  June 6, 2010: Admitted to Oakwood Hospital for extreme abdominal pain.

o  June 7, 2010: Diagnosed with colitis and sever Clostridium difficile.

o  June 18, 2010: Total Colectomy surgery.

o  July 1, 2010: Portacath surgically placed.

o  July 3, 2010: Released from Oakwood Hospital.

o  July 4, 2010: Re-admitted to Oakwood Hospital.

After the colostomy surgery there was a delay in my mom’s intestinal track working properly. After a few days it got back to working correctly and then days after her port was surgically installed she was released. The release from the hospital was hard for her since she knew something was wrong. Call it a motherly instinct if you will.

Of course, she was right. A visiting nurse is required three times a week at this time and Sunday July 4, 2010 was the first visit. While on this visit my mom mentioned tightness in her chest and sweating without a fever or any other symptoms. At this point I was on my way to her along with an ambulance. Within minutes an Advanced Life Support Unit and fire truck from Dearborn are in the street. This is normal procedure given the nature of the call.

Upon returning to Oakwood Hospital she was admitted within hours for pulmonary embolism in each of her lungs. The primary culprit is an embolism of the thrombus. This was probably brought on by all the surgeries and inability to move around for weeks on end. So now we wait for the thinners to work and resolve this blockage. Until that time she is confined to her bed and no moving, skipping, jumping, running, or frolicking whatsoever to make sure this embolism does not go anywhere else. The timeframe is a general maximum of ten days.

Up next is Chemotherapy.

Let's get real.

Tomorrow is the three week mark that my mom has been in Oakwood hospital. Let's get real now, this shit is out of hand. Quite frankly I am too angry to be sad, not angry at my mom, her doctors, surgeons, or nurses. No I am angry at this cancer and these complications. Her intestines are slow to react at this time, which is pretty normal considering two major surgeries in a month and she's been on morphine for three weeks which most of the time causes constipation. Thankfully the surgeon said today it doesn't appear to be a blockage of any form in her intestines, cancer or otherwise. Also there isn't a pinch or kink in her intestines which is fantastic.

Now comes the bad part. Due to the medications and other various factors she has extreme nausea. This image that I shrank on here intentionally for those with a weak stomach, is the bile being pumped from her stomach continually for the last three days. This is going to keep going on until the nausea subsides and she can handle the feeling on her own. This tube is going up her nose and down into her stomach. Now for the reasoning this bile is being pumped out exactly. You see your body produces this consistently throughout the day. Approximately a half gallon a day of this bile is produced. It's the digestive acids. Due to her intestines not currently working how they should there is nowhere for this acid/bile to go, so it is then backing up into her stomach causing extreme and excessive nausea. Therefore since her body cannot use the bile nor absorb it, they are forced to pump it out of her until the intestinal track starts functioning correctly.

To most this might seem like a shock that I can be so matter a fact and happy about this. I'm not happy, but today was a huge step forward in this journey. My mom visibly looked better, was more chipper, and she smiled and did the whole "happy dance" with her feet. Over what you might ask? Not of her kids, no. It was over sugar. Even though they say she has to be on an ice chip diet I brought her a container of iced tea mix. She started dipping the ice cubes in it for the ice tea taste and sugar. This is the first time she's had something like this in weeks. So after a few of those, a walk, and a few more of them she had small air bubbles in her colostomy bag along with a feeling in her stomach she hasn't had in weeks. A feeling like it was processing something and working. Then, top that with the fact that her main surgeon came in while I was there and explained possible future procedures, some current ones she needs to deal with (nothing serious), and the fact that he is almost certain this is not a blockage or a complication from the cancer lead to a good day.

It was a phenomenal thing to see my mother smile and be visibly happy after weeks of hell. I know it's not anywhere near the end of this, but it's those small things you have to love and cherish. Life is not comprised of large scale moments. It's those little intimate things that no one else experiences or notices that make it special. Seeing her happy for once in weeks and taking another walk down the hospital hallway was more than I could have asked for.

Father's Day Revisited.

There is something that I did not add that also took place yesterday. Due to the most recent surgery and everything that went with it, it was required that my mom also have a blood transfusion. It was a two unit transfusion. The interesting thing about the transfusion is how it is mixed prior to going into your system. This was not an easy thing for my mom. She was worried about it and nervous, since it's like the doctors were once again making her realize that something is wrong. As if she hasn't had enough of that lately.

It was a bittersweet father's day for me. I got my daughter, but my mother was in the hospital for the second straight week. She won't be leaving for about five more days at the earliest. Also prior to leaving she will have her port installed. (yes installed is the word I chose.) It will be done by her surgeon who did the colostomy which is a good thing since she is comfortable with him.

As I said she had a blood transfusion. This may not be the best picture of her "dancing partner" as she puts it, but I feel it gets the point across. On this single IV pole is a locked morphine unit, a blood transfusion, and a general fluid IV. This is actually consolidated since at one point she had two of these since she was also getting the "big yellow bag of food". (these things are in quotes since they are her phrases, the ones I will repeat on here.)

Finally, since I last saw and talked to her today she was taken out of isolation. Which is fantastic since we can see her without dressing up in gowns and gloves now. Thankfully she is still in a private room, which, given her condition and the excessive amount of pain she is in, is much deserved. Soon though I have a feeling she will not only switch rooms, but switch floors once the port is installed. Then, hopefully she can fully rest and heal as much as possible prior to chemotherapy. I know I don't know the extent of things she's going through and I never will, but we want her in chemotherapy so the real battle and get underway. I can't wait to see her beat this into remission.

Catching Up.

It is important that I play catchup, thus the two entries in one day. Periodically I will be posting various photos along the way. These are going to be abstract or blunt, just depends on what I can get away with at the time.

The important thing right now is my mother. This journey is getting harder and rougher already. From what I have read the type of journey my mother and family is experiencing right now is not the straight forward, straight line type. Also from what I understand this disease is anything but conventional. To speed things up to real time, on June 6th 2010 my mother was admitted to Oakwood Hospital. She was then diagnosed with Colitis and C. Difficile. This apparently was due to complications from the broad spectrum antibiotics used when she had her hysterectomy at the end of April. After the hysterectomy she had an unknown infection in her which was causing extensive vomiting and fevers. It was necessary to treat it, but they did not know exactly what they were treating.  So due to that we are where we currently stand. Combined with an abdominal surgery, hospital stay, broad spectrum antibiotics, and an lowered immune system this bacteria took control and quickly went out of control.

This was her "bio-box" as of last week. Even her nurses and assistants felt bad. After so many IVs and vein issues they installed a pick-line at the beginning of last week (June 14-17th, 2010).

That's sadly not just where we stand today. After treatment with three different specific antibiotics meant to battle colitis and c.diff, they were unsuccessful. So on June 18th, 2010 at around 4/5pm EST they proceeded with an immediate colostomy. In which the entire colon and accompanying appendix was removed. The surgery is eventually reversible though. Her surgeon Dr. Mehran Mirkazemi was wonderful and did a fantastic job for what needed to be done. The only problem with all of this was it was another extensive surgery for my mother and we are still 2-3 weeks out from the start of chemotherapy.

Obviously as the oldest son I am terrified. I am scared not only for myself but my family. I am only 25 and seeing my mother who is the strongest woman I have ever seen battling this breaks my heart everyday. What's harder is she's only 46 and I get the benefit of knowing everything. The cancer as everyone knows is not a fair fighter, but her spirit and family by her side I am certain she can beat this and beat it with honor. What I feel the worst about is something she said from the beginning, "I am my hair." It may seem superficial, but to me I understand. She has the most beautiful rich red hair with natural highlights you could ever wish for and through everything it's her kids and her hair she cares the most about. (Mostly her kids. Most days, depending on how we are being.)

I love her more than I could ever express. This was supposed to be my day. It's father's day and all I cared about all day was my mother. It's hardest when your toddler keeps asking, "where's grandma?" It's difficult to always be the stable and strong one, but it's the role I must do and I fully accept. For everything she's done for me and all I have put her through it's the least I can do. I love my mommy.