Chemo: Cycle 1, Day 8

Respite and Work Day

Mother is feeling well today.  Her strength has been returning daily.  She decided to return to the common dining room for her lunch and dinner meals.  Her immune system is down, so the danger is the exposure to the coughs and sneezes of those who are not well.   She tried being in her room for meals.  But where’s the fun in that?  People don’t just drop in and visit each other, they wait to be invited.  So, all the social interactions center around the meal times.  I admit that I strongly encouraged Mother to choose caution over community.  But, I’m glad she threw caution to the wind.  This disease is just not worth the sacrifice. Friendships and community are too important.

I did not visit Mother today.  We talked on the phone several times and I kept her up to date with my comings and goings. She kept me up to date with hers.  Roy and I cleared out the Mother’s bedroom at the house, so that we can stop living out of suitcases.  This meant clearing out the clothes and stuff in the dresser drawers and the closet.  I filled 3 bins of clothes for Mother to sort through and 3 black bags to go to Goodwill.  Well, one bag is full of hangers.  But I feel like these are impressive numbers!  Tomorrow, Mother and I will start sorting through the bins and making keep and give away piles.  Roy is painting the closet and touching up the holes and spots on the walls.  This took us all day with more to do tomorrow.  But I am gratified that we accomplished this much.  One room is now ready for the sale, whenever that happens.  This is one less item on our grand to-do list.  Blessed relief.

"Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light."  . . . . 

Thank you, Lord Jesus, for your companionship and for the strength that you share as we shoulder the responsibilities of this particular journey.  Amen.

Family Work

A dear friend cautioned me that being Mother's companion and caregiver during her chemotherapy would be "difficult physical and spiritual work."  What he forgot to mention was the family work that is part of this journey.

My sister (closest in age to me) and I are referred to as the Generals in our family.  We are the two eldest and only 17 months apart in age. We organize. We create. We lead.  We're partners on family projects.  We planned, shopped, organized her son's wedding reception in three days with a budget of $300.  And, yes, we are bossy . . .  but only in the kindest possible way.  Well, we hope so.  The first time we saw the movie "White Christmas," we immediately identified with the sisters (played by Rosemary Clooney and Vera-Ellen).  I don't know how many times we spontaneously burst out singing and "dancing" to their Sisters, Sisters song.

The lyrics truly described us, especially these lines:

Sisters, sisters
There were never such devoted sisters, . . .
Caring, sharing ...
All kinds of weather, we stick together
The same in the rain and sun
Two different faces, but in tight places
We think and we act as one
Those who've seen us
Know that not a thing could come between us ...

But, we have had our squabbles, especially when we are trying to boss one another. And Lord help anyone who tried to get between us and tried to help us sort things out.  In those instances, we turned as one - - - well, it wasn't a pretty sight.

One of the ending lines to the song is "Lord help the mister who comes between me and my sister."  We loved that bit. Unfortunately, the mister that is interfering now is this dreadful disease that is threatening our mother's life.  I really want us to pull together and be the powerfully wonderful partners that we have been.   But my old childhood struggles have reared their ugly heads and are wreaking havoc with my relationship with my sister.  I am struggling.  I hurt when we talk about what's going on between us.  Pride and envy threaten to overcome me. I have to back away.  Create some space and time to rest my weary soul in hopes that the feeling of nearness and that awesome synergy will return.  

It will happen.  I'm sure it will. We will each learn more about ourselves and the other.  We will forgive each other.  Our flaws may not change much, but our relationship will be strengthened and renewed.  

As with any family at a time like this, all the work that accompanies us in this journey is difficult.  All of our frailties are exposed and sometimes battered.  But at other times, our frailties are propped up by the strengths of others.  Family becomes the source of love and forgiveness so that we may band together to overcome the difficult and rejoice in the victories.

Almighty God, our heavenly Father, who created in families: We pray that you remove every root of bitterness, vainglory, and pride. Fill us with faith, virtue, knowledge, temperance, patience, godliness. Knit us together in constant affection; and so enkindle fervent charity among us all, that we may evermore be kindly affectionate one to another; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Chemo: Cycle 1, Day 6

Quiet morning for all of us. Mother rested well last night. The Tylenol PM really helped. It helped so much that she rested some more between breakfast and lunch.

We decorated the living room this afternoon for Christmas. We had a deadline. We wanted to surprise my sister so she could relax and enjoy the beauty we have created. It took 3 of us, 1 supervisor and 2 workers, let's say elves,  three and a half hours to get it finished. We had four full boxes of Christmas stuff. Some times there were too many things to choose from.

This was a joyful respite away from shadow of cancer.

Thank you Lord Jesus for this festive afternoon. Amen. 

Chemo: Cycle 1, Day 5

Twilight Zone  That's what it sounded like.  "Did you get my voice mail?" Her voice was panicky. Clearly distressed.  What was going on? "You programmed the radio to come on and it did at 2:15.  I tried to turn it off and it wouldn't quit! If it stopped, it came on again and again. They didn't stay on a nice quiet station and I couldn't . .  There was no way to turn it off and I have been up all night trying to figure it out. . ."

How frightening for Mother and puzzling.  We talked about hallucinations and she resisted the idea strongly.  Then she heard it again and I did not.  After talking with the nurse at the oncology clinic, I learned that dehydration can cause this reaction.  So we're going back to drinking something every 15 minutes.  What a relief! But there is also a list of symptoms and activities to pay attention to.

Lord God, your presence is a constant source of comfort to our Mother and to ourselves: we pray that we may be filled with your blessings of awareness and understanding, in the name of your son, Jesus our Savior, and the Holy Spirit.  Amen.

Chemo: Cycle 1, Day 4

Wow!  What a better day.  It was hard this morning though.  This time Clara Barton (me) arrived by 7:30.  Mother woke shortly after my arrival.  Getting cleaned and dressed took a lot of energy.  It also took several stages. The first attempt for the shower was aborted quickly, too weak. Each activity required rest and caused Mother to breathe heavily.

It was also beauty appointment day.  A wheelchair came in very handy.  Later, we went to the Doctor's office.  Oh my goodness, so many details! Getting Mother in and out of the car is a real treat. Oxygen bottle, tubes, wheelchair, lock the wheels, adjust the foot rests, back up, move forward.  It gets to be funny some times like a Laurel and Hardy routine.

Next week is going to be busy.  The lump in Mother's breast will be biopsied.  Our heads are spinning with details about blood tests, biopsy, going to St. Pete's in Olympia on New Year's Eve day to have a "pick" inserted, and medication adjustments, and scheduling the next chemo dates.

Nevertheless, Mother is sitting up.  She wants a hamburger for dinner. As they day goes on, she gets stronger.  Thanks be to God!


O Lord, your compassion never fails and your mercies are new every morning: We give you thanks for giving our Mother both relief from weakness and  renewed strength. Continue the good work you have begun; that she may increase in bodily strength; through Jesus Christ our Lord.  Amen.

Chemo: Cycle 1, Day 3

"Hello?" Mother's groggy voice was deep as she answered the phone. I knew immediately that I needed to get to her apartment as soon as possible.  If for no other reason, to give her reassurance that she's not alone.  Anxiety courses through me as I rush through breakfast and throw clothes on fast so I can get to her. I have no idea what her symptoms are, but I am a delinquent Clara Barton who was not there at 6 or 7 in the morning.

Guilt and shame are really stupid companions during these times. I could have showered and tossed a load of clothes in the laundry before going.  I realized this later in the day.  I knew Mother was not in critical need, she was breathing and able to talk,  She didn't complain of aches and pains or fever. The extra 15 minutes would have been better spent.  But, this is 3 pm hindsight along with the realization that the caregiver's self-care includes showers and laundry.

When I do arrive it is clear that this definitely is the third day of treatment.  She feels tired, hardly has any energy.  No fever, but a little bit clammy.  She can get up and walk to the bathroom, but needs to hold on to my arm as she returns to bed.  Today, fluids and nutrition are the key.  Actually, that's my goal.  Mother's goal is to stay in bed and sleep as much as possible.  Every now and then, she announces that she is getting better, especially if one of the family has called in.  Then she announces loudly enough for the person on the other end of the phone to hear.

Her breathing is more labored when she sits up or walks.  This is something to watch.  She breathes easily when sleeping and her oxygen is on.  I'm going to look for an oximeter later today.

O God, the source of all health: So fill our hearts with faith in your love, that with calm expectancy we may make room for your power to possess Mother with your healing grace; through Jesus Christ our Lord.  Amen.

Chemo: Cycle 1, Day 2

The day was planned so nicely - shot at 11:30, nice lunch somewhere and then return to Mother's apartment to finish the Christmas decorating.  Well!  Come 10:45 Mother gets a "where are you" call from the Imaging Center. Turns out she had a 10:30 mammogram appointment and nobody told us!   Of course, it all got sorted out so Mother could have shot first and mammogram second. I suspect lunch at a restaurant is out of the question.

Mother's feeling a bit weak today. Her breathing is a little more labored today. It's hard to know if the fluid over her lung is building up again or if the side effects of chemo are kicking in.  My guess is probably both.

Lord Jesus, you give us ears to hear and hearts to love, we pray for discernment to give her the proper care and loving words. Amen.

Chemotherapy Cycle 1, Day 1

I see information sheets about the Wednesday Afternoon Chemotherapy Orientation sessions.  An opportunity to learn how chemotherapy works, what to expect and tips about surviving this ordeal  It's Monday and Mother began her chemo today.  Too late for being prepared, but not too late to learn.  I think I will go.

We entered the clinic this morning as two innocents, clueless about the specifics and feeling confidently informed about the generalities.  Oh, dear me.  There's more to this than we had imagined.  There's medicine to prepare you for the medicine to sustain you through the chemicals that kill the cells and disturb your body systems.  One at a time.  The first given in incremental doses to prevent the nausea and measure your tolerance.  The next, then the next and after that more and more.  Seven hours of one medication or chemical after another. Seven hours of sitting in a "one size fits all" recliner, dozing, sitting, snacking, but too anxious to read or focus on any one thing for longer than 10 minutes.

Ten recliners in one room and one special purple "lab" chair.  Gradually, the recliners fill and and empty as people come in for their prescribed dosage.  Some stay for a few hours, others for a shorter time.  The purple chair is reserved for the privileged few who come in for a shot.  In the chair for 10 or 15 minutes and then out they go.  Some chat.  Most don't.  Calm energy, weariness, fear, anxiety, determination, hopefulness are written on the faces and whispered in the undertones of the few conversations.  This is a purposeful group of people.  They are here to be cured, to have their lives returned to them, while wondering (or knowing) that the best outcome is less pain and more comfort.

Today we have confidence that survival and resurrection are ahead.  We have hope that the side effects will be minimal and that life can go on as usual.


O God, the strength and the comfort of sufferers: Mercifully accept our prayers, and grant to your servant Barbara. the help of your power, that her sickness may be turned into health, and our hopes into joy; through Jesus Christ our Lord.  Amen.

And now for the real news . . .

Thursday morning in the doctor's office, we were learning about CHOP and R-CHOP, viewing the PET/CT scan on the doctor's computer screen (Cool! Wow! Look at that!).  Four of us crammed into a small examining room and one on the cell phone, listening closely and carefully for every note of this Eucharistic prayer.  Yes, Eucharistic - thanksgiving.  There is hope and relief.  Resurrection from this disease is possible.  Survival is not only a possibility, it is on the horizon.  We can see glimpses of the dawning star that promises another day.


O Lord, holy Father, giver of health and salvation: We give thanks for the news of hope and resurrection, as your holy apostles anointed many who were sick and healed them, so we beseech our Lord Jesus Christ to sustain Mother with his presence, to drive away all sickness of body and spirit, and to give her that victory of life and peace.  Amen.

Getting the news.

Whenever the word cancer is finally said out loud, everything stands still for just a moment. Then there's a jerk of the soul. Time to pay attention to what the doctor is saying. Set aside the emotion,  the fears,  the soul-wrenching terror of losing a loved one.

Focus on the words. Lymphoma. Quality of Life. Treatable. There's hope. Really there is. What does that all really mean?  Does Mother have to go through that pain all over again,  but this time for herself and her own traitorous body?  Treatable but not curable. Are we anticipating years,  months or weeks? 

Questions run through the mind. They rest for a nano second and then flutter away. Sometimes they race and swirl around faster and faster. Dizziness. Grab on to the chair arm to stabilize and find composure. And then when the inevitable question about questions comes,  the mind is blank. Paralysis sets in. The only words that come out are, "I don't know." I have to think. Absorb. 

My very being is screaming "NO!"  While I compose myself for the tasks and conversations ahead,  my heart underneath breaks. My soul grieves and cries.  "No fair. This is not what I wanted for my mother. No way. No how."

Lord Jesus,  be with us in our hour of need.  Strengthen us to drink from this bitter cup. Amen.