I Can't, but He Can

Tomorrow my mother will be meeting with her doctor to discuss her treatment options, and though I'd love to be with her during this question and answer session, I can't.
It hurts to even type that. I can't.

While it's life that is keeping me away, I still feel as if I'm letting her down. My husband is going out of town for the week, and tomorrow I have a school conference with my oldest son's teacher, so it's not like I'm just opting to miss the appointment.

So, what's with the guilt? Or is it not guilt at all, that I'm feeling? Perhaps it started as such, but I think all of my fears are trying to be heard. Seems they saw and took the emotional opening that my momentary guilt created.

I want to cry. I want to scream so loudly that this can't happen to my mom. I want someone to tell me that there has been some huge mix up and my mother won't really have to brave this battle without her daughters there to support her when the need becomes daily. I want to believe that my youngest sister isn't too broken to be a true support to my mother, since she lives nearest. I want to fall asleep and wake up having dreamed it all. The reality is just to hard to look at. She can't really have to walk this alone. Can she?

Then my Christianity takes the reins.
She is not alone in this, she need only give it over to Him and her burden will be shared.
No matter how far away I live, no matter how many appointments I can or cannot make, no matter how much I may want to, sharing her load is one thing that God, alone, can do for her.

I can't, but He can.

Please pray for my mom's salvation.

The Road to Discovery

When I heard her voice, drenched in fear and sadness, I was taken back to the only other time my little sister had sounded so wrought with worry. That time, too, was a life and death situation concerning my mother. I was sixteen, and my sister, twelve. When I was called while working the morning shift, I knew right away that something wasn't right. My mother had tried to take her own life and my sister had called the paramedics after finding her nearly lifeless the next morning. I was worried, but more than that, I was furious. My mother and I had fought the night before, in what I know now was brought on by her battle with misdiagnosed manic depression, but that's not what had me so angry with her. I couldn't believe that she could be so selfish as to hope to die and leave my baby sister to find her the next morning. Of course, this anger was justified, but it was all part of the deeply conflicted feelings of a teenager dealing with her mom's suicide attempt. I blamed myself for years. It wasn't until gaining a greater understanding of depression and manic episodes that I learned that the medication for depression had turned to poison during the manic phase of her illness. Thirteen years later, the same sort of phone call came, but this time my mother wasn't the cause of her near death circumstance.

After hanging up with my little sister, and having shady details, at best, I phoned my sisters in Florida, and they decided to head home the following morning. Living only an hour and a half away, I made my way to the hospital to see my mom shortly after receiving the call. The drive home was a blur of emotion, tears and avoidance. Honestly, I don't know how I made it there in one piece. I was on auto drive for the bulk of the trip. When I arrived, I learned that my mother had a pulmonary embolism, emphysema, a mass in her lung, pneumonia, and that she had possibly had a heart attack, as well. I spent that night, and the next, in my mother's hospital room, asking more questions and getting more vague answers than anyone should have to put up with during such a trying time. By the time that my sisters arrived, mom's diagnosis had changed drastically, praise the Lord! The "mass" was more likely scarring than an actual mass, and the procedure they had planned to do was postponed until the heart attack could be ruled out. Over the next several days, my mom was monitored, given antibiotics and breathing treatments, and was sent home to wait until further tests would be helpful. My mom, sisters, and I all went back to life as usual.

After a month or so, my mom underwent a PET scan in order to see how the possible mass looked after some time had passed. Had it changed, or had other areas of concern shown up on the scan, they would proceed with the steps necessary to determine whether it was cancerous growth, or benign. After having the PET scan, a stress test was preformed and the heart attack was ruled out. So, all that was left was to learn the results of the scan. The following week, my mom reviewed the results with her pulmonologist and was told that the "mass" was indeed scarring, and that there was no cause for concern. During this appointment, he informed her that they had discovered a lump in her breast. She had noticed it, herself, but since she has issues with fibroid cysts, she hadn't given the lump much thought. Having not had a mammogram in longer than she could recall, the doctor ordered one for the following day, just for good measure.

Just for good measure turned into a biopsy later in the week, and the biopsy revealed the cancer that had hidden among the fibroid. A routine mammogram would have missed it, as it didn't show up on the screening. A breast self-exam would have caused no concern, due to her history. It took the grace of God to help discover what my mother was up against, and it will take the grace of God to get her and our family through the battle ahead.

My Mom Has Breast Cancer

She just found out today, but I've known since Saturday's 5k.

As I stood among the survivors, the left behind, the supporters, and the women in the midst of the battle for their lives, I knew that my mother would soon join their ranks, and my sisters and I would be celebrating and encouraging our mom during the battle ahead. Surrounded by people affected by this disease, I was struck by this calm understanding that the results of my mother's biopsy would reveal that she, in fact, has breast cancer.

I signed on to run in the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure in honor of a woman that lost the battle last year. She was such a light and a wonderful example of God's peace and love, and man, did she spread hope like wild fire! After more than a month of training for the race, I learned that my mother would be having a biopsy on a lump found in her breast. That was a little over a week ago. At the time, I just thought it to be an odd coincidence. Will I ever stop believing in such silly notions? God's movement is never a mere coincidence.

After her biopsy, she phoned to fill me in on when to expect results and nonchalantly mentioned that the doctor removed more than originally planned. She told me that she had prayed the night before and had a peace wash over her, and that she knew everything would be fine. Actually, she said she didn't think it was cancer. It's funny how God's peace feels so wonderful that we translate it into automatic good news. I received it as being peace beyond understanding, which God often grants during trials such as these, but decided not to say that aloud. My mom, being new to practicing her faith, probably wouldn't understand. I know that God's meaning gets lost in translation so very often, in fact, the same had been true for Ansley at the start of her battle. She knew that God planned to heal her, but she thought that meant on this earth. She's healed now, for sure, but not in the way she imagined.

After the race, I didn't think of the biopsy again. I feel awful that I let such a huge trial in my mother's life go on without giving it a second thought, but having a sick toddler sort of makes the world stop. I knew that today was her follow up appointment, but it had slipped my mind in a feverish haze. Taking care of a sick toddler always leads to a sick mommy. All of my thoughts about the cancer came flooding back when she called today. Hearing no strain in her voice was a huge relief to me at first, but as she told me more and more of her meeting with her doctor, the calm became unsettling. My mom was protecting me, and that's something she has never really done until now. Why is it that we get all we ever needed from our loved ones at the most mixed up and emotional times? I feel guilty for not being able to enjoy the moment, and guilty for wanting to, at the same time.

We talked for a little while, and I'm sure that I said the absolute wrong thing on more than one occasion, but what do you say in times like these? I encouraged prayer and let her know that she was in mine. I offered to help in any way, as if anything other than God's grace is of any help to her right now. Then I asked about my sisters. There are four of us in all, scattered here and there. My youngest sister still practically lives at home, so she was told first. As with her entire life, she made it all about her, and her pain, and her fears. Then mom called me. My older sisters must know by now, but we haven't yet spoken. I need my oldest sister, and dearest friend, so badly right now. So, that's the next step for me, aside from more, and more, and more prayer. I'm banding with my sisters as we begin this journey, and our mom begins the battle for her life.