I would estimate that I have had the worst two months in my entire life.
In August my mother was diagnosed with Stage 3 multiple myeloma. I went and spent close to a month with her to get her chemotherapy started. We did a half a cycle, and she quit.
I then worked with my brother to get her moved to an assisted living close to him in St. Louis, MO.The timing was perfect, and the move went without a hitch.
During my time in Virginia, I attended AA meetings, and when my mother decided to have wine, I respectfully declined. I also did not comment about her drinking even though she had been told not to, or to limit it A GLASS if really necessary. I let it go, and let her be.
Mom moved in to her new place and began to get used to her new lifestyle. She seemed to enjoy the constant attention, the meals in a dining room, and especially not having to cook!! I began to think things were turning around for the better.
I had been informed by my husband, the doctor, that my mother’s multiple myeloma would not be the thing that ended her life. It would take a be something else, such as pneumonia, or heart failure, as the disease would continuously compromise her immune system.
Two weeks ago, I could tell from talking to her that she was beginning to get a cold. I suggested she speak with her attending nurse to get her the nebulizer breathing machine to ward off any potential lung issues. Unfortunately, it took four days for it to get ordered and into her hands. She started using it, but was still having difficulty.
I spoke with her again last Thursday, and she informed me that she couldn’t breathe while lying down. She had to prop herself up on a pillow to get comfortable tobe able to breathe well enough to fall asleep. My husband was adamant she get to a doctor immediately. He felt that she either had pneumonia or was beginning to have heart failure.
My brother got her to her oncologist last Friday afternoon. They walked her from their office to the hospital room where she still is.
The last week has been a nightmare. I understand the process of testing for A to rule it out, then continuing on to B, etc. Unfortunately, again, living with someone who has practiced medicine for 35 years, and has seen everything once, I was getting too much mind-boggling information to fast.
Every time a new symptom was discovered, my own doctor knew the cause, the effect, and the eventual diagnosis. Although, he always added, I may be wrong, I haven’t seen any her or her chart.
He then had a conversation with the lead doctor on her case. That night he spent quite a long time drawing me pictures, and explaining what was happening, and telling me what the outcome was going to be, without REALLY telling me what the outcome was going to be. I got it, I have spent the last 72 hours crying off and on, crying and waiting.
I waited for the tests, for the doctors on site, for anyone, to prove him wrong.
Sadly they did not.
They called a family meeting to discuss the diagnosis at 3pm today.
This afternoon the oncologist confirmed what my husband painstakingly drew, described and diagnosed on Monday evening.
My mother has Stage IV lung cancer, untreatable, incurable, lung cancer. Now she has two types of incurable cancer.
Tomorrow she will turn 79 years old, in a hospital room, knowing she only has months to live. Happy Fucking Birthday.
As for me, I have run the gamut of emotions. I have spent days crying off and on. Feeling like I may vomit at any moment. I have had my issues with my mother. Our relationship was always tenuous at best. I have never asked her how she felt about it, now I never will. As I stated in August I have let it go, it doesn’t matter anymore.
I called her today and told her that no matter what, if she needs me, I will be there. I will bring my blow up bed and move in and do what ever she needs. I promised to stay with her until the end, if that is what she wants.
What I know right now, this very minute is this. If there was a bottle of wine in this house, right here, right now, I would be at the bottom of it.
I know that alcohol never solves anything, or makes it better, in fact it makes things worse, way worse. But I would love to numb this pain away for an hour or two. Right now I am hanging onto my sobriety by my fingertips, white knuckling it, all of those cliche sayings, I am living them. I actually feel like I DESERVE a drink for having to go through this.
Thank goodness I don’t keep wine in this house, and thank goodness the closest liquor store is over 20 minutes away. I don’t have the physical or emotional energy to go get any booze. Thank goodness for that too.
I will make it through this night, and tomorrow will be another day where things will probably not be better, more time will have gone by, and this urge may be gone. If not, I will spend the day in my safety spot, my bed.
As my sponsor said, what would booze solve anyway?
As always, she is right.
My mother is going to die, and I want to drink.
One moment at a time tonight, one stinking fucking rotten gut wrenching I may vomit moment.