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.