Friday, March 28, 2008

Like Mother, Like Daughter


When my mom got her cancer diagnosis nearly 3 years ago (wow, how has it possibly been that long?), my first reaction was to hold her hand and tell her we’d all be ok and that we’d take it one step at a time. Then I offered to get her a drink because her mouth was dry. That’s all she was really saying. She had no real outward reaction to the announcement that she had cancer…even though her doctor’s exact words were, “It’s cancer, and it’s really bad.” I followed the doctor out of the room on my mission to find a ginger ale. Then came my real reaction…I totally collapsed in the ER hall. My mom’s doctor (who I had come to know quite well over the years that several family members had been seeing him) caught me mid-fall and held me up. All he could say was, “I know. I know.” I remember it all so vividly. Mostly I remember the feeling I had. Pure terror.

Fast forward to today, I’m sitting on the table in my new gynecologist’s office wearing nothing but a hospital gown. My mind is racing. How am I going to describe this indescribable pain I’ve been having? Will she take me seriously or will she just brush off my concerns like my last doctor had done? And then there’s the family history…any family members I have reading this right now, you know what I mean; it’s quite extensive and almost unbelievable…how would I even begin? I have to tell her about my mother. I’m not used to that anymore. Everyone knows about my mother. I never have to go back to the beginning. The beginning is the hard part. The rest is easy. Maybe I could write it all down and just hand it to her and spare myself the possibility of completely losing control of my emotions while sitting here totally vulnerable and exposed. I don’t want to cry and get all emotional. That makes me seem irrational. Writing it down is perfect! Paper…I think I have some paper and a pen in my purse…damn! Too late…she’s knocking on the door. Why didn’t I think of this at home? In the waiting room? Now I have no choice. Just hold it together. You can do it.

We make our introductions. She seems nice. She’s fairly young and seems kind and gentle. That’s quite a switch from the brash and overbearing man I used to call my doctor. Suddenly I feel at ease. Then she asks what my concerns are that have brought me in today. I haven’t even opened my mouth yet and she’s handing me a tissue. Why is she handing me a tissue? Can she tell I’m about to….oh my god…I’m already crying! How did this happen? I suddenly realize I’ve been transported back to that moment. Pure terror. I had no idea I was so scared by the symptoms I’ve been having. Denial is apparently a specialty of mine though. So here I am, sobbing on the table, trying desperately to explain myself. Finally I manage to finish describing my symptoms, my fears, my mother, the rest of the family history…all the cancer, the gynecological problems, everything. And this wonderful woman reaches out and touches my hand very softly and says, “We are going to figure this out.”

Why this comes as such a relief to me I do not know. Well, it could be because my last experience with a gynecologist had not gone quite like this. Still, I don’t know why I feel so relieved by such a simple validation. And suddenly I feel horrible.

When my mother died I was so angry with her. I still am sometimes, if I’m completely honest with myself. I was angry because she had so many symptoms for so many years and she kept them all to herself. If she had been honest with herself and had those problems checked out, she might be here right now, watching my babies grow up. Instead my son doesn’t remember her and random memories of baking cookies and shopping for pretty dresses are all my daughter has left of this woman who was her favorite person in the world. I don’t have my mother here to be my best friend and confidant. Our family is forever changed. It didn’t have to be this way.

And now I’m sitting on this table, making a plan to find out what’s causing me so much pain. How can I not be just as angry with myself? I’ve been dealing with this pain for more than two years now. Why did I wait? What will I tell myself, my family, my friends, my beautiful babies, if my answer comes in the same way as my mother’s? I’ll be left with that same pure terror…and only myself to blame.

In the long run, I made the right choice. I am being proactive now. I should have done it sooner and I didn’t. But there’s no way to change that now. It is what it is. We’re dealing with it head on. We will be aggressive and thorough. My doctor made me that promise. “We are going to figure this out.” And I believe her. Whatever the answer is, I am thankful for this experience. It has taught me a lot about myself. It’s taught me a lot about my mother.

There’s no more anger. There’s only love and understanding. Sometimes the not knowing is easier than confronting the pure terror. That’s who my mother was. It’s not who I am. Not anymore.

~Mom on the Edge

p.s. I love you, JoJo…and I miss you.

3 comments:

Anonymous said...

You are the epitome of strength, but even the strongest people need to let themselves be taken care of sometimes. I'm so happy you found a doctor that wants to care for her patient, and not just the symptoms. I'm sorry you are going through this scary time, I'm here if you need me... I hope you know that.

Jen

GatorMommy said...

Becky, we all have times when we'd rather ignore what scares us. I'm glad you know that the most important thing is that you're dealing with it now. I'm also so thankful that you have a wonderful doctor who is seeing you through this, determined to find out what's wrong.

I'm so glad you're finding peace and letting go of the anger at your mom. You deserve that peace.

I love ya and I'm keeping you in my thoughts and prayers. You know where I am if you need to talk. ((((HUGS))))

WhimsicalBird said...

"There’s no more anger. There’s only love and understanding. Sometimes the not knowing is easier than confronting the pure terror. That’s who my mother was. It’s not who I am. Not anymore."

This is your mother's gift to you.

I'm sorry about everything, honestly I cannot imagine a world without my Mom, but I am so proud of you for being proactive.