Houston, Texas: 4:47 a.m., Holiday Inn Hotel Medical Center
I feel selfish asking this question or even wondering why, yet I ask it, "Why can't everything go back to the way things were?" Once again I sit here worried about my moms health and keeping a night watch over her. She was discharged just 3 days ago but again she's under the weather. She still has congestion from the pneumonia and she lays here with excessive fluid retention throughout her entire body. Just Saturday we took her to the ER because of how bad it was and today she's back at the hotel and I'm here praying that it goes away so that we may fly back home.
Since coming on this trip I haven't had an urgency to get back. Grant it, I've been worried about work, missing my family, sister, nephews, niece and everyone back home, but I know my main priority for and during this trip has been my mom. But today, I wanted to get back "now." The reason for that, I'm scared.
I don't think I've admitted to being scared about my moms health in the past, nor do I think I have been scared at all. For the most part, I've always been at peace with knowing there's a higher power with plans for all of us and that my mother and her health are in his hands, but today I saw her and for the first time I can admit I was and am scared.
The retention of fluid in her body has gathered in her legs, abdomen and the white of her eyes. I speak to her and she seems to be in a daze. Her response is limited. As she sleeps I hear her mumble and while awake she says things in an incoherent way and I can't help but be scared. My mom isn't there. She's physically tired, drained and affected by so many medications. Meanwhile I pray and hope that's what it is. Earlier she cried. Cried for not being home and wanting to be home. Frustrated at not being able to eat. Wanting to, but the nausea preventing her from eating and in the meantime that sense of helplessness overwhelms me.
Just 10 minutes ago she awakened and asked me to move her from the position she's sleeping in. Even that a burden for her. I can only imagine what she, a woman who lived her life not having to rely on anyone feels like at this moment. Not being able to even position herself to sleep on her own. As I moved her I once again felt worried. When we came on this trip my mothers weight was around 105. When she was released, her weight was 135 due to all the fluid in her body. Her body still feels heavy. I try to move her and in trying to I just pray for god to give me strength, both physically and mentally. In carrying her from her wheelchair to the bed earlier I couldn't believe how hard it was to do so. As I looked at her a few minutes ago while i moved her and asked her how she felt, I cried without letting her see me. It's hard to see a loved one in this condition and for me it's a first. I wish I could just close my eyes, wake up and see her well again but it's not the case. In the meantime, I'll wish and pray to go home soon and that the flight is a safe and sound one for mom. She wants to go back home, misses everyone and I'm sure she too is scared...
And once again I pray for strength.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Day 21: February 7, 2009, Saturday
Houston, Texas: 4:00 a.m., Holiday Inn Hotel Medical Center
REMISSION. A word I longed to hear. 3 days ago, on Wednesday, February 4th at exactly 4:53 p.m. I heard just that.
I was sitting next to mom while she laid in her hospital bed. I recall sitting in the room and watching the nurse walk in, her name Jennifer. She'd been so helpful throughout our stay, explaining things patiently and thoughroughly. Meanwhile, when I saw her step into the room that day, it never dawned on me that she'd be walking in to give us good news. We all kind of glanced at her as soon as she stepped in. I for one thought she'd be giving us some information in regards to my moms stay at the hospital, but instead she was there to make our day. Her words—"Well I think you'll be able to go home soon, I just spoke to the doctor and things look great, they didn't find any plasma cells in the biopsy and your myeloma seems to be in remission." My instant reaction was a look of confusion and I instantly looked up and asked her as if she was crazy..."Are you serious?"
It's bizarre what I felt at that moment. I didn't cry. I felt a sense of disbelief. Me, the cry baby couldn't cry. I just wanted to take in that moment. I glanced up and looked at the time, I glanced over and looked at my mothers face. Who could believe it. 3-weeks in Houston, a trip to find a treatment for my mothers cancer and all the while they'd end up telling us it's in remission. A miracle...our miracle. My sister immediately called my older sister and shared the news, meanwhile I took a photo of my mom with this look of amazement on her face. She wouldn't blink and stared straight ahead. When we said asked, mom what's wrong, she replied in her broken english "I'm in chock" meaning shock. I laughed and kissed her forehead.
Soon after I walked towards St. Lukes hospital to grab a bite to eat and I recall looking up at the sky and saying "thank you god" and at that moment I began to cry. I wanted to share the news with someone, I wanted to tell everyone but I hesitated. We all wanted to be 100% sure. The following day we were to meet with the doctor for final diagnosis and a detailed summary of my moms condition. I stopped for a second and sat in front of St. Lukes, contemplating whether I should share the news yet or not. I sat and called a friend. I caught him while he was doing yardwork and when I shared the news with him the excitement he sent across the phone made that moment even more memorable. I felt lucky at that moment to know that I've been fortunate in life to have people around me who care—friends, coworkers, even strangers whom we've come across, praying for my mother and my family, lending support during difficult times...a blessing in our lives. A friend telling me to hold my head up and to be strong for my mother, a coworker and friend listening to me when I couldn't cope or couldn't hold back the tears, telling me good things will come. Words that are more than words. Words that are uplifting and help you become a stronger person during difficult times. People who are in your life at that specific moment for all the right reasons. Cheering you on when you see little hope up ahead. Having friends who call and end up telling you "you all are good people and good things will happen to you." Little things of that sort that make a world of a difference. One person, one word, one moment that touches and changes you forever.
REMISSION. A word I longed to hear. 3 days ago, on Wednesday, February 4th at exactly 4:53 p.m. I heard just that.
I was sitting next to mom while she laid in her hospital bed. I recall sitting in the room and watching the nurse walk in, her name Jennifer. She'd been so helpful throughout our stay, explaining things patiently and thoughroughly. Meanwhile, when I saw her step into the room that day, it never dawned on me that she'd be walking in to give us good news. We all kind of glanced at her as soon as she stepped in. I for one thought she'd be giving us some information in regards to my moms stay at the hospital, but instead she was there to make our day. Her words—"Well I think you'll be able to go home soon, I just spoke to the doctor and things look great, they didn't find any plasma cells in the biopsy and your myeloma seems to be in remission." My instant reaction was a look of confusion and I instantly looked up and asked her as if she was crazy..."Are you serious?"
It's bizarre what I felt at that moment. I didn't cry. I felt a sense of disbelief. Me, the cry baby couldn't cry. I just wanted to take in that moment. I glanced up and looked at the time, I glanced over and looked at my mothers face. Who could believe it. 3-weeks in Houston, a trip to find a treatment for my mothers cancer and all the while they'd end up telling us it's in remission. A miracle...our miracle. My sister immediately called my older sister and shared the news, meanwhile I took a photo of my mom with this look of amazement on her face. She wouldn't blink and stared straight ahead. When we said asked, mom what's wrong, she replied in her broken english "I'm in chock" meaning shock. I laughed and kissed her forehead.
Soon after I walked towards St. Lukes hospital to grab a bite to eat and I recall looking up at the sky and saying "thank you god" and at that moment I began to cry. I wanted to share the news with someone, I wanted to tell everyone but I hesitated. We all wanted to be 100% sure. The following day we were to meet with the doctor for final diagnosis and a detailed summary of my moms condition. I stopped for a second and sat in front of St. Lukes, contemplating whether I should share the news yet or not. I sat and called a friend. I caught him while he was doing yardwork and when I shared the news with him the excitement he sent across the phone made that moment even more memorable. I felt lucky at that moment to know that I've been fortunate in life to have people around me who care—friends, coworkers, even strangers whom we've come across, praying for my mother and my family, lending support during difficult times...a blessing in our lives. A friend telling me to hold my head up and to be strong for my mother, a coworker and friend listening to me when I couldn't cope or couldn't hold back the tears, telling me good things will come. Words that are more than words. Words that are uplifting and help you become a stronger person during difficult times. People who are in your life at that specific moment for all the right reasons. Cheering you on when you see little hope up ahead. Having friends who call and end up telling you "you all are good people and good things will happen to you." Little things of that sort that make a world of a difference. One person, one word, one moment that touches and changes you forever.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Day 10: January 27, 2008 (8:15 a.m.)
8:15 a.m. M.D. Anderson Emergency Room
Just around 5 hours ago I was writing the last post and now I sit alongside my mom's hospital bed in the emergency room. For mom to ask to be brought to the emergency room meant it was time to run and not take it lightly. She sleeps and meantime the doc is trying to find out what might be the trigger of what she's feeling. I'm praying its nothing major.
Just around 5 hours ago I was writing the last post and now I sit alongside my mom's hospital bed in the emergency room. For mom to ask to be brought to the emergency room meant it was time to run and not take it lightly. She sleeps and meantime the doc is trying to find out what might be the trigger of what she's feeling. I'm praying its nothing major.
Day 10: Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Another day in Houston spent indoors taking care of mom. Did I mind? Not at all. I said from the beginning this trip wouldn't be a trip for diversions, it would be one to find a cure for mom, so the fact that I've had to stick around the past few days in the room with mom hasn't been a burden. She hears me type once again at 2:07 a.m. and again the noise awakens her. She briefly opens her eyes, winks at me with her right eye and crinkles her nose and back asleep she goes...this time even too tired to tell me to go to bed. I see her do that gesture and I can't help but smile and stare at her. Ironically at the same time the feeling of wanting to cry appears.
It was a long day in the sense that I felt tired, helpless, concerned and just a little overwhelmed. I finally cried today for a change. The people that know me know how sentimental I get, even with mushy commercials or greeting cards, but since arriving here in Houston I hadn't cried. I've been upset, even angry during these days but I hadn't cried and finally today I had a brief moment in the afternoon where I let it out and felt a weight lifted from me. It's funny how at times a friends voice on the other end of the phone can give you a sense of comfort, and today I had just that. It triggered that sense of relief I needed to feel, the feeling of 'everything's going to be alright' and deep down inside I know it will be.
I think what was hard about today was seeing mom have some irritable and moody spurts through the day—effects of the steroids she's taking in combination with the chemo. When they prescribed the steroids the nurse forewarned her that there'd be a possiblility she'd be getting grouchy. With my moms sense of humor she jokingly replied "I don't need steroids to be grouchy." But lately it's been slightly difficult to deal with. She gets a little irritated, upset, bothered with little things and then raises her voice. Even though it's something you know is being caused by the meds and it's very subtle, at the moment you feel a sense of frustration, as if you're doing what you can but it ain't enough. Then I pause for a second and once again I stare at my tired mother and my frustration is gone.
She had trouble breathing today as well. Getting me worried of course. She claimed she felt a little congestion, but a few hours ago she woke up saying she felt anxiety. Of course I asked if she wanted meds, if she felt okay and the reply "no" leaving me feeling helpless, observing her breathing pattern over the blanket making sure she's okay not even wanting to fall asleep (besides the fact that this night owl isn't near sleepy yet). So again I sit here in these morning hours writing my thoughts and keeping an eye on mom in between.
As if there wasn't enough on my mind, today I began classes. It's barely my second semester of grad school. The courses are to be taken online which makes it a little more challenging, having to organize your time, ensuring you're disciplined. And although I know I'll feel overwhelmed at times, I know my driving force will be my mother. For quite some time I had wanted to start on my masters, procrastinated for quite some time, until I finally decided to do it. Encouragement was a factor as well, but primarily part of me wanted to move on it for my mom—the driving force that I know will push me to do well and finish fast so that she may see me graduate and be proud of what she has come to accomplish as a single mother and the job-well-done she has made in raising her daughters and teaching them that education important in life.
I think about so many things that I wish and hope she wil see me accomplish that again I can't help but get a knot in my throat...I'll continue tomorrow.
It was a long day in the sense that I felt tired, helpless, concerned and just a little overwhelmed. I finally cried today for a change. The people that know me know how sentimental I get, even with mushy commercials or greeting cards, but since arriving here in Houston I hadn't cried. I've been upset, even angry during these days but I hadn't cried and finally today I had a brief moment in the afternoon where I let it out and felt a weight lifted from me. It's funny how at times a friends voice on the other end of the phone can give you a sense of comfort, and today I had just that. It triggered that sense of relief I needed to feel, the feeling of 'everything's going to be alright' and deep down inside I know it will be.
I think what was hard about today was seeing mom have some irritable and moody spurts through the day—effects of the steroids she's taking in combination with the chemo. When they prescribed the steroids the nurse forewarned her that there'd be a possiblility she'd be getting grouchy. With my moms sense of humor she jokingly replied "I don't need steroids to be grouchy." But lately it's been slightly difficult to deal with. She gets a little irritated, upset, bothered with little things and then raises her voice. Even though it's something you know is being caused by the meds and it's very subtle, at the moment you feel a sense of frustration, as if you're doing what you can but it ain't enough. Then I pause for a second and once again I stare at my tired mother and my frustration is gone.
She had trouble breathing today as well. Getting me worried of course. She claimed she felt a little congestion, but a few hours ago she woke up saying she felt anxiety. Of course I asked if she wanted meds, if she felt okay and the reply "no" leaving me feeling helpless, observing her breathing pattern over the blanket making sure she's okay not even wanting to fall asleep (besides the fact that this night owl isn't near sleepy yet). So again I sit here in these morning hours writing my thoughts and keeping an eye on mom in between.
As if there wasn't enough on my mind, today I began classes. It's barely my second semester of grad school. The courses are to be taken online which makes it a little more challenging, having to organize your time, ensuring you're disciplined. And although I know I'll feel overwhelmed at times, I know my driving force will be my mother. For quite some time I had wanted to start on my masters, procrastinated for quite some time, until I finally decided to do it. Encouragement was a factor as well, but primarily part of me wanted to move on it for my mom—the driving force that I know will push me to do well and finish fast so that she may see me graduate and be proud of what she has come to accomplish as a single mother and the job-well-done she has made in raising her daughters and teaching them that education important in life.
I think about so many things that I wish and hope she wil see me accomplish that again I can't help but get a knot in my throat...I'll continue tomorrow.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Mom's Journey: Day 9-Monday, January 26, 2009
Houston, Texas: 3:21 a.m., Holiday Inn Hotel Medical Center
I sit here resting my feet up on the bed, leaning on a reclinable desk chair writing what will be my first blog ever. The subject: My mothers battle with cancer and our trip which I'm hoping will be a beginning to our road to a miracle. I'd been wanting to find an outlet to write my thoughts on where we're going with all of this. My concerns, feelings and hopes. So I sit here, staring at my mother as she sleeps, wondering "Will the mom I've known all my life ever come back and return to who she was before this illness ever made its way into her body?"
I write this and I'm not sure who I'm writing it for. Is it for my mother? So that in some way I can make her importance known to strangers, people who might access this blog somewhere, to let them know that this woman in my life has been and will always be the most important being in my life. Is it for me? To have an outlet when I feel I don't want to overwhelm my siblings with my own concerns of what my mom's going through. Or is it for a stranger? Someone who might be out there struggling with this same battle in their life and needs someone to talk to. Whatever the reason, I want to keep track of this journey. A journey I'm hoping will end with a positive and uplifting ending.
While I write I look over and stare at my mom. Momentarily in the middle of typing the last sentence, she opens her eyes briefly, peeks at me and tells me "Ya acuestate!", meaning "Go to be now." She has a little tone to it, a tone that's more of an order rather than a suggestion—a little trait of hers that although it's made me huff at times, brings a smile to my face eventually because I know that's what makes her the mom I've always loved and I think that's what makes everything even harder to cope with. While I look at her, I see this tired being. A mom that's exhausted, physically more than emotionally. I can't recall the last time I knew of her having a full nights sleep or restful night since last year when she went to the hospital for the first time in April 2008. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine that a hospital visit that was needed due to high blood pressure would lead to a diagnosis months later that I'm sure neither one of us was prepared for. The diagnosis–Cancer. A type of cancer known as Multiple Myeloma. From that day forward, the mom I knew post April '08 hasn't returned.
The mom I knew before was full of energy, a single mother since October 1976, the month before I was born. A strong and independent woman who raised 3 daughters on her own. I the youngest, her "baby". A term that even to this day she still uses at my age of 32. It's funny how we think as individuals. I used to cringe when we'd run into old acquaintances and she'd say "Es mi bebita", "She's my baby." I recall feeling a sense a embarassment or having that feeling of "Oh my god, why does mom have to say that?" And today, well now I want to have her say it as much as possible to anyone. I guess it's true what people say "It's the little things that matter" and I know that someday those are the things I'll remember most about mom.
In the meantime, with the many years I know mom will have to live, because I have faith that miracles do happen, I want to make it my mission to make the most of the time I have to spend with her. While I glance at her I think back to months prior when I had different priorities. Even after mom was diagnosed I seemed to be distracted. I wanted to maintain my life going as it was prior to mom getting sick. I look back now and I'm not sure if it was my way of coping with the harsh reality, pretending that things would be fine or that they were as usual if I went about my daily routine. Maybe part of me thought that if I remained distracted it would help the pain go away. If anything, it made things worse. A punishment for veering away from my mother when she needed me most? Perhaps. Almost 100% positive. But since around the end of October or so I've seen things with a different perspective. Nothing matters, only her. I used to even feel guilty for not dedicating enough time to other things, there was a guilt brought upon me. Even not dedicating extra time to work was there, and at this moment I wonder why did that even matter or why should anything else matter at this point in time. I want to surround myself with my mom, my family and friends that will make all of this easier for me and all of us to cope with. It's a journey I want to take alongside those who will make the journey easier not harder. And perhaps out in this blog world, other people will find a way to share their journey as well as I am seeking to do.
The time now, 5 a.m. I guess time flys when you're deep in thought or just have a whirlwind of thoughts crossing your mind. Sitting in this hotel room, I stand up and peek out the window. When I look out I see the surrounding buildings. Directly across I see the Shriner's Hospital which just two days ago closed its doors due to budget cuts, people losing their jobs, patients being relcoated to nearby hospitals. I glance at the other buildings I can get a glimpse of and I get a knot in my throat thinking I still can't believe we here in Houston, Texas, right in the heart of the M.D. Anderson Cancer Medical Center area. A place where people come from all over the world to be seen and treated, with hopes of being cured...and here we are, with my mother—another hopeful, another patient, another miracle waiting to happen.
It's past 5 and I'm not even sleepy.. Actually, come to think of it, I shouldn't be. I spent all day alongside my mother. Her entire day was spent in bed sleeping and resting. A long and tiresome day for her. Her second round of her current chemo finishes today and her steroids ended yesterday. I think the effects of the medication have taken a told on her physically this round in terms of exhaustion. She slept for the most part and for the most part I laid at her side not wanting to do anything else, but that. Some would say it was time wasted, I would say it was worth every minute.
I sit here resting my feet up on the bed, leaning on a reclinable desk chair writing what will be my first blog ever. The subject: My mothers battle with cancer and our trip which I'm hoping will be a beginning to our road to a miracle. I'd been wanting to find an outlet to write my thoughts on where we're going with all of this. My concerns, feelings and hopes. So I sit here, staring at my mother as she sleeps, wondering "Will the mom I've known all my life ever come back and return to who she was before this illness ever made its way into her body?"
I write this and I'm not sure who I'm writing it for. Is it for my mother? So that in some way I can make her importance known to strangers, people who might access this blog somewhere, to let them know that this woman in my life has been and will always be the most important being in my life. Is it for me? To have an outlet when I feel I don't want to overwhelm my siblings with my own concerns of what my mom's going through. Or is it for a stranger? Someone who might be out there struggling with this same battle in their life and needs someone to talk to. Whatever the reason, I want to keep track of this journey. A journey I'm hoping will end with a positive and uplifting ending.
While I write I look over and stare at my mom. Momentarily in the middle of typing the last sentence, she opens her eyes briefly, peeks at me and tells me "Ya acuestate!", meaning "Go to be now." She has a little tone to it, a tone that's more of an order rather than a suggestion—a little trait of hers that although it's made me huff at times, brings a smile to my face eventually because I know that's what makes her the mom I've always loved and I think that's what makes everything even harder to cope with. While I look at her, I see this tired being. A mom that's exhausted, physically more than emotionally. I can't recall the last time I knew of her having a full nights sleep or restful night since last year when she went to the hospital for the first time in April 2008. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine that a hospital visit that was needed due to high blood pressure would lead to a diagnosis months later that I'm sure neither one of us was prepared for. The diagnosis–Cancer. A type of cancer known as Multiple Myeloma. From that day forward, the mom I knew post April '08 hasn't returned.
The mom I knew before was full of energy, a single mother since October 1976, the month before I was born. A strong and independent woman who raised 3 daughters on her own. I the youngest, her "baby". A term that even to this day she still uses at my age of 32. It's funny how we think as individuals. I used to cringe when we'd run into old acquaintances and she'd say "Es mi bebita", "She's my baby." I recall feeling a sense a embarassment or having that feeling of "Oh my god, why does mom have to say that?" And today, well now I want to have her say it as much as possible to anyone. I guess it's true what people say "It's the little things that matter" and I know that someday those are the things I'll remember most about mom.
In the meantime, with the many years I know mom will have to live, because I have faith that miracles do happen, I want to make it my mission to make the most of the time I have to spend with her. While I glance at her I think back to months prior when I had different priorities. Even after mom was diagnosed I seemed to be distracted. I wanted to maintain my life going as it was prior to mom getting sick. I look back now and I'm not sure if it was my way of coping with the harsh reality, pretending that things would be fine or that they were as usual if I went about my daily routine. Maybe part of me thought that if I remained distracted it would help the pain go away. If anything, it made things worse. A punishment for veering away from my mother when she needed me most? Perhaps. Almost 100% positive. But since around the end of October or so I've seen things with a different perspective. Nothing matters, only her. I used to even feel guilty for not dedicating enough time to other things, there was a guilt brought upon me. Even not dedicating extra time to work was there, and at this moment I wonder why did that even matter or why should anything else matter at this point in time. I want to surround myself with my mom, my family and friends that will make all of this easier for me and all of us to cope with. It's a journey I want to take alongside those who will make the journey easier not harder. And perhaps out in this blog world, other people will find a way to share their journey as well as I am seeking to do.
The time now, 5 a.m. I guess time flys when you're deep in thought or just have a whirlwind of thoughts crossing your mind. Sitting in this hotel room, I stand up and peek out the window. When I look out I see the surrounding buildings. Directly across I see the Shriner's Hospital which just two days ago closed its doors due to budget cuts, people losing their jobs, patients being relcoated to nearby hospitals. I glance at the other buildings I can get a glimpse of and I get a knot in my throat thinking I still can't believe we here in Houston, Texas, right in the heart of the M.D. Anderson Cancer Medical Center area. A place where people come from all over the world to be seen and treated, with hopes of being cured...and here we are, with my mother—another hopeful, another patient, another miracle waiting to happen.
It's past 5 and I'm not even sleepy.. Actually, come to think of it, I shouldn't be. I spent all day alongside my mother. Her entire day was spent in bed sleeping and resting. A long and tiresome day for her. Her second round of her current chemo finishes today and her steroids ended yesterday. I think the effects of the medication have taken a told on her physically this round in terms of exhaustion. She slept for the most part and for the most part I laid at her side not wanting to do anything else, but that. Some would say it was time wasted, I would say it was worth every minute.
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