The Pre-Op Surprise: When Cancer Is A Blessing

Just after the holidays my mom saw her team at Mass General and began making plans for a total hysterectomy, her best shot at beating this cancer. She was tired a lot of the time, but very determined that this cancer was just a bump in the road, one she could overcome swiftly. She was positive, upbeat, even happy. We were all very confident in the excellent doctors she had, and she felt very positive about the care she was getting.

The day of her testing, which was two days before surgery, my brother took her "In Town". (that's Massachusetts slang for going to Boston). The rest of us -- there are six adult children in all -- went about our daily lives, somewhat nervously watching the clocks in our offices and our cars and wondering how she was doing.

About 3 o'clock my sister called me at work -- my sister is the stay at home mom and I'm the one who works in an office -- immediately I knew something was wrong because my sister was crying into her end of the phone. My mom had gone for testing, they found something wrong with her heart, and they admitted her for more testing and observation. She was going to spend the night. We did not need to rush to the hospital, it was not life threatening. Once she got it all out, my sister was able to compose herself ...

sometimes you need to say something once or twice before it can be said without tears ... I had discovered this some weeks earlier when I first spoke the words, "my mom has cancer ..." and found myself sobbing by the time I got out the word "mom". The fifth or sixth time I had to tell someone, I had found the way to keep my lips moving and my tears inside. It isn't easy.

So, I understood my sister and I was glad I was the first one she called. We divided the list of who needed to be called, hung up, and went through what would be a new routine for us. Soon, I would have numbers in my cell phone I never had before -- my sister's two homes, her car phone, her cell phone. That's four just for her. But when I needed her, I needed her. One brother has a business and I have his cell phone, his store phone, even his warehouse phone. I am getting to know the employees who answer his phones. They are getting good at tracking him down when I need him. Sometimes we just need each other. I need to tell someone what Mom did today or they need to tell me ... more on that later.

The next day we all arrived at varying times to see my mom at Mass General. The story now was that she had arrived for post op in near congestive heart failure. Her body was retaining much too much fluid, her blood pressure was sky high, and getting these things under control became the priority. Besides the cancer, she was not well, not well enough, in fact, for surgery. The operation scheduled would have to be postponed. As we all processed that news, the unsaid thought became: my mom has cancer and it is growing inside of her. We are helpless to stop the cancer right now.

Attention turned to mom's new diagnoses and a cardiologist was added to her team.

Note: my mother's diagnosis came months before I had the courage to start this blog. Much has happened in four months, and I want to share what I have learned. I feel the need to start at the beginning. So, even though today's date is April, my posts initially will reflect my thoughts from the beginning, December 2006, until I get caught up. Thanks for being patient with me.

Christmas, 2006: A Note to My Pastor

Dear R,

I often sit in church and believe that your sermons speak to me personally, and I wonder how you knew. Sometimes I almost feel like I am the only one sitting there, your words are so personal and they are speaking directly to me and surely no one else.

A few weeks ago you spoke about people crying in church and I smiled, recalling the countless times this has happened to me, particularly before during and after my divorce. Church was the one place I felt completely safe and cared for and the tears flowed endlessly. In a way, it was very cleansing!

When you spoke this time, I did not cry. I simply smiled and understood your message that we cry in church because we are home. I also smiled because at that moment everything in my life was going well and I had no reason to cry. So instead, as I also often do while sitting in our church, I thanked God that I am welcome here, that me and my family have this faith community in our lives. I am grateful and awed by the experience of just belonging.

Then came the holiday weekend and the news that my mother has cancer and surgery and treatments will begin in the next few weeks. I spent much of the weekend driving from one useless holiday errand to the next, trying to process the news of my mother having cancer. In the newness of this, the questions are endless and the grief feels boundless. I don't know of course whether this cancer will take my mother from me, but I know that I am simply not ready to live in this world without my mother.

As soon as that thought enters I think of all the people I know who have lost their mothers, some as children and others as adults. I imagine that they must feel an emptiness that cannot be fixed. I feel for each and every one of them, and yet, I don't want to join their club ...

So I came to all of the services you offered this holiday weekend and yes, I cried this time. First there was the pageant, which was lovely but not enough to ease my pain, I needed more. Then the family service came and the beauty of the candles and the living nativity offered me some peace, a little chip at the grief that was beginning to consume my every thought.

Then Christmas Day I arrived very late to service and of course no one glared at me or made me feel unwelcome. I took my seat and closed my eyes and thanked God again that I had this place to keep returning to, to be safe in my thoughts and to know that God is with me. And at that moment a message came to me as clear as if it were whispered in my ear and the message was: this Christmas, your mother is here ... It may seem that the message meant that she would not be here next year, and I can't explain why I did not hear that, all that I understood was that I was supposed to enjoy this day.

And I was, finally, able to smile through my tears, because I knew that this message was all that I needed at that moment in time. That message changed a holiday that I was afraid to share - I had spent the weekend being afraid of Monday, afraid to visit my family and to talk out loud about my mother's cancer - afraid to see my sister's and brothers' faces, afraid of what's next in our lives as a family. But after church on Monday, I was no longer afraid. I was simply happy to have this day and this family and this church. My heart was grateful for what was right in front me.

So, I guess the real reason I am writing this letter is to say thank you to you for having not one, but three services this weekend. I needed them all! And I appreciate that this was a huge commitment of your family time and an awesome undertaking. I know that all churches did not elect this route this year and many had just the Christmas Eve services.

Thank you, R., for all of your work this weekend, and always. I am sure you will never know completely how you and this church community nourish and support its members, and I just wanted to say thank you.

And yes, our family had a wonderful holiday and I am hopeful that yours did as well.

Gratefully yours,

S.