I am not a doctor. But, I am a daughter. And, I have to say that Mom is doing amazing. Her thought processes are quick and nimble. Her body is responding to her brain well enough for her to participate in her yoga class (which she attended today). Her smile is contagious. And, her heart is filled with love for all of the wonderful people who support her, each and every day. I am so thankful for this day. Oh...and one more thing! She looks so very pretty in her colorful head scarves!

On Wednesday, after a beautiful morning at the zoo, Mom and I went to her oncologist appointment. This was the first time that we were to talk with Dr. Ritche since learning of the brain metastasis. While Dr. Ritche acknowledged the seriousness of this development, he said that it is possible that the course of radiation that Mom just completed will destroy the brain tumors. As he told us before, small cell cancer is tough because it spreads very quickly. However, it tends to respond favorably to radiation. He shared a story of a patient of his who was diagnosed with small-cell lung cancer that metastasized to the brain. They were able to eradicate the brain tumors with radiation. The man lived an additional 14 years. Dr. Ritche told us that he cannot say if Mom will live one year or 14 years. But, he will do everything in his power to give her the best chance for survival.

As we left the appointment, Mom and I were walking arm in arm down the cancer center halls. Mom's doctor had just given us some encouragement and nothing could bring us down. Then, I couldn't believe my eyes. Walking toward us was the hospital doctor who told us three weeks ago that Mom would die from this cancer in six months. I held on tight to my mom, walked right up the doctor, and said rather boldly, "Hi. Remember us? You treated my mom in the hospital about three weeks ago. Look at her? Doesn't she look amazing? She is doing so well!" The blank look on his face told me that this young doctor had no idea who we were or what her condition was. (Funny how I will never forget his face.) Then Mom and I took off for Barnes and Noble. And, we rode with the sun roof wide open.

Below: Mom and I at the zoo. It was a gorgeous fall day and we enjoyed just being outside.

 

As many of you know from reading this blog, when I need peace and comfort I often go out into nature. And, nature never fails to put this whole world into perspective. This Sunday was no exception.

Sunday morning my 5-year-old niece, Eliana, and I got up early to go for a sunrise hike down by Lake Michigan. We were walking south along the bike path that parallels the lake as the sun started to peek over the water. If you have never watched a sunrise before, you may be surprised to learn that the sun doesn't slowly work its way up. It actually happens very quickly. In fact, you can see the sun move against the horizon. (Of course, I know that the sun is not moving and that it is actually the earth. But, that is how it appears.) Although I didn't time the sunrise, it only seemed to take a few minutes for the round, blazing ball to be lifted up and exposed in its entirety.

When the sun popped up into the sky, I was struck by an overwhelming feeling of connection. The sun rises every single day, whether anyone is there to watch it or not. And, it stays with us throughout the day, warming our bodies and lighting our way. How often do we appreciate what the sun does for us? When do we acknowledge the serenity the sun brings when it reassures us with its steadfast ways? It occurred to me that the sun I was gazing upon was the same sun that watched over the hundreds of thousands of people that came before me. And, it will continue to provide life for thousands, or perhaps millions of years after I am gone.

Another strong sensation also overtook me at this moment. I felt that the sun, the earth, and I were suddenly very close together. We were not very different in terms of size and we were not far apart in terms of distance. It felt almost as if we existed within one of those snow globes that you see at Christmas time. And, like the feeling of connection, this feeling of closeness also gave me an overwhelming sense of peace.

Somehow I knew that everything will be okay, regardless of where this cancer journey takes us. Cancer or no cancer, eventually our bodies will be separated during this lifetime. But, we will always be together as part of something much greater.

My bedroom window faces east. And, every night this week, as I lay in bed thinking about how much I love my mom and fearing what the future may hold, I take comfort in my little snow globe. And, I remember, the sun is on its way.

While I do not have anything "medical" to report, I can tell you that Mom had the most wonderful glow about her today. After breakfast with Dad, Mom and Alicia spent the day shopping, taking in a movie, and talking over coffee. When I came by after work, Mom was making Dad a dinner of sourdough, grilled cheese sandwiches. All of these activities would not have been possible about three weeks ago when Mom was admitted to the hospital. Then, Mom and I sat on the couch and talked about today's miracles and looked at some pictures of Amanda from a few years back.

When I look at my mom, I do not see illness. Instead, I see the most beautiful and courageous woman who is more alive than anyone I have ever known. (Except for maybe Conrad. Mom and Conrad are about tied these days in appreciating the wonders of the world.)

Oh...one more thing! I want to share a picture with you that captures a tender moment between Mom and Eliana. If this doesn't brighten your day, I don't know what will...

People have told me that they admire how positive I am in writing this blog. And, yes, it is true -- I try to stay positive. After all, the alternative isn't such a great option. But, sometimes I hurt so incredibly bad that I couldn't imagine a worse pain.

All of my life my mom has been there to help heal my wounds -- both physical and emotional. She has done more for me than any other person on this earth. And now, I feel so helpless because I can't make this cancer go away. If only I could make this cancer go away...

Tonight as I type through a veil of tears, I think of all of the people who are with us on this journey. When I see that this blog has had over 3,200 page views, I know that we are not alone in our pain. Nor are we alone in our search for answers. There are so many people in this world who love my mom. Thank you so very much for loving my mom.

Mom had another miracle to tell me about today. She said it was either a miracle or a sign.  As she was opening the ladies room door at Froedert Cancer Center, standing in the doorway was her friend Mishu! (I know that I am likely misspelling her name. Please forgive me.) This connection brought much happiness to Mom's day.

Mom's radiologist is starting to lower her steroid prescription, which has been reducing the swelling in the brain and thereby reducing the symptoms of unbalance and trouble walking. Of course, this makes me nervous because Mom has been enjoying feeling quite well for the past week or so. By reducing the steroid, her symptoms may return. As I understand it, the hope is that the radiation treatments should be helping with the tumors and the swelling should not be as pronounced. So, what we need to pray for over the course of the next few days is that the radiation has been blasting the hell out of those tumors and that the symptoms do not return to the degree they once were.

Friday night Mom, Amanda, Conrad and I went to Culvers after picking Amanda up from a social at school. We had such a nice time sitting around, eating, talking, and laughing.  Below is a picture of Mom and Amanda. (Yes, Amanda has painted whiskers. She also has her tail on, as always, but you just can't see it because she is sitting on it. The attention she gets with that tail!) I just wanted to share this happiness with all.

I stopped at my parent's house today to help Mom clean out the fridge. What a liberating activity that is! Getting rid off all of the old and making room for the new. In fact, I was so inspired, that I cleaned out my own fridge when I got home.

When I got to Mom's house, she was sitting in her chair, writing in her journal. She read me today's entry. I cannot remember the exact wording. But, I'd like to share the take-a-way with you.

Mom wrote about her mom -- my grandmother. Grandma didn't like to wrap presents. She used to put gifts in brown paper bags and staple them shut. But, my mom told me, that the things inside of the brown paper bags were the most wonderful hand-made items. Grandma must have been an excellent time manager -- spending her valuable time making the gift, but not wasting time on the packaging.

Mom said that she looked out the window this morning and saw the grey sky. She said that we just needed to unwrap the grey sky to find the miracle waiting for us today. Just like Grandma's gifts.

Then Mom showed me the miracle of the day. She picked up her left foot (the bad foot as she calls it) and moved it from side to side. That was something that she was unable to do a week ago.

Tomorrow is supposed to be another grey, rainy day in southeastern Wisconsin. But, I am sure that there is another miracle just waiting to be unwrapped. We just have to look for it.

Every day my mom continues to amaze me. This morning she sent me the following text message:

"Do you want me to call on your lunch with insights and funny things?"

My reply: "Yes!"

Her text message says it all. She is learning and laughing just as always. And she wants us all along for the ride. So, please take comfort. Today was a good day.

This is the most difficult thing that I have ever had to write. Therefore, I am going to stick to the facts. As we learn more, I will post the information.

On Monday, October 1st I brought Mom to the emergency room at Froedert. Her oncologist, Dr. Riche, was concerned about her growing inability to walk. The ER doctor was fairly certain that the problem was neuropathy. But, Dr. Riche ordered an extensive MRI of her brain and spinal cord.

After 8 hours of tests and waiting, the ER doctor confirmed our worst fears. Mom’s cancer has spread to her brain and is pretty extensive. It can best be described as “salt and peppering” the back and top areas of her brain.

She was immediately admitted to the hospital. They put her on a steroid to reduce the swelling caused by the lesions and reduce the symptoms that she has been experiencing.

The hospital doctors met with us the following day. They said that the cancer was no longer curable. They believed that the plan was going to be to administer radiation to prolong her life, which may give her 6 months to a year before her body would succumb to the disease.

On Wednesday, October 3rd, Mom was released at 12:00. At 12:30 we met with Dr. Gore, her radiologist. Dr. Gore was not in total agreement with the prognosis the hospital doctors had given us. She said that although the cancer is considered incurable at this point, many people live with uncurable disease. She said that she will continue to fight the disease, taking it step-by-step. The first step is ten days of radiation. The second step will be determined by how the cancer responds to the radiation.

All things considered, Mom is doing amazing. The resilience of her spirit is her backbone. Her love for her family and friends is her fuel. She meets every day accepting this challenge and amazes us with her determination. Stay strong, Mom. We are with you.

If anyone has specific questions, please call me. I will do my best to return your calls and answer your questions. 262-945-4872