Monday, December 24 - Mom was able to have her chemo treatment today. All of her blood levels were just were they needed to be. YEAH! :) After two weeks of missing treatment, this was great news.
I am a very goal oriented person. When the doctor said twelve weeks of chemotherapy my mathematical mind started counting the days. 84 days, - 12 weeks, - 3 months... ok the end of February; we can do this, No Problem! We've got this! Now I know that twelve weeks is a very loose spectrum of time which translates to 12 weeks of perfect blood. And, by the way, these blood levels are completely out of the patients control. There is no magic food that my Mom can eat, no magic pill that will help bring up a count, absolutely nothing that she can control. Twelve weeks could easily lead no 14, 16, 18, etc...very quickly. Three months could easily stretch out to six. And again in my goal oriented perspective, these missed treatment weeks amount to time when the Cancer is winning.
The doctor has explained to me that when the blood levels are not perfect the chemo drugs would do more damage to my Mom's immune system than good in fighting the Cancer. He patiently explained to me that she would have no immunities to fight even a common cold, or some sneaky bacteria that could later turn out to be deadly if her body were not able to fight it. I see now....OK Doc., I just have to put on my Patient Hat and hope for the best each time my mom travels more than an hour to an appointment that might not even happen because of some sneaky blood cell that is choosing not to cooperate.
I love going with my mom to the Oncology Clinic. Everyone there is so supportive and loving. Today the feeling was especially nice since the nurses and staff were celebrating Christmas Eve. The wore Christmas sweaters, reindeer antlers and Santa hats. The clinic was filled with candy, cookies, hot chocolate and all of the sights and sounds to Christmas.
My mom sat in the recliner with the chemo drugs passing in to her body through her port for more than three hours. I visited with her, the nurses, and the people around us. This camaraderie and communication between perfect strangers is the most amazing part to me and the part that I love the most. There was a teacher in the next chair visiting with a colleague who had attended to support her. An elderly veteran slept in a recliner in the corner. His snoring was so loud I had to smile, and somehow I was able to just tune it out. All of the nurses loved him and it was evident that he is a "regular". I could tell because they actually gave him small food gifts. The military tattoos and the hat he wore gave him away when he walked past us in to the bathroom. He smiled and visited with everyone around him. The next chair was occupied by a prisoner. He wore his orange jump suit to the treatment and the two men visiting with him were actually police officers. These three men spoke to all of the people who sat around them, and in that moment the only thing that gave them away was the clothes they wore that segregated them to some specific lot in life. These people were all battling some form of Cancer. Each one knew what the others were facing. They all share the same unseen fears.
I am so glad I got to share this day with my mom. Even if she sentenced me (the person who does ALL of her Christmas shopping online) to the mall to finish up some of her last minute gifts. The oncology clinic on this day reminded me of the true meaning of Christmas.
My husband and daughters came to my Mom's house that evening and we finished shaving off the remaining stragglers of hair. Those few remaining that refused to just give up and fall out. My daughters helped her wash her newly discovered scalp. We all laughed and the girls rubbed her head, kissed it, and made a wish. Mom laughed until her side hurt. This, I believe, is what families suffering through Cancer do. It is these small snippets in time that we will always remember. These are the moments that have touched our souls.
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