watching cancer die

i’m at the nebraska cancer specialists office in omaha, nebraska, watching my mom and a few other folks get their chemo treatments. the docs put benadryl in the IVs and the patients tend to pass out. my mom snoozed for a while. she didn’t snore like the dude down the way! an my dad snoozed, too, even though nobody gave him anything to snooze about.
now they’re both reading.
the IV monitors go off every once in a while, beeping to let the nurses know that it’s time for a changeover, or maybe the port is blocked, or, i dunno, maybe something about HOW THEY’RE PUMPING POISONOUS RADIATION INTO A HUMAN BEING’S BODY!!!
but it’s all calm in here. there’s only one other patient. she’s watching jeopardy. dad and i have raided the keebler cracker sandwich stash. i’ve been working some. i have a few jobs to do but i’m just plodding through.
it’s strange how cancer works. that the only serious way doctors get rid of cancer is by making the patient more sick than they would probably ever get with just the cancer. and it works, most of the time. or at least enough of the time that they continue to do it.
mom’s kind of nervous about the surgery. and the unendingness of chemotherapy is scaring her, too. she has to take pills for basically the rest of her life. and she may have to have more chemo after the surgery, which is not tempting to say the least.
but she’s a trooper. she’s ok.
shes made a friend here in the clinic. they’ve exchanged phone numbers. they may go have lunch.
i’m hyper aware of cancer fundraisers these days. breast cancer is kind of played out. i’ve always been wary of it. now it’s almost insulting, the breast cancer flowers, the breast cancer gifts, the breast cancer reminders. i think my mom would like to forget she’s got cancer and that she’s being treated for it. she’s got more scarves and hats than a girl could no what to do with, but what she really wants is to be able to think clearly, taste tomatoes, enjoy a beer, walk without getting dizzy, and sleep through a night without hot flashes. and, uh, maybe have her hair back. maybe.
so hopefully this is the last chemo. and hopefully the surgery will be easy and short and she’ll heal quickly.
i think we’re about halfway through. i’m not worried. but i have so many friends who have lost moms to cancer — even though it wasn’t breast cancer. i’m trying to be cautiously optimistic.


1 Response to “watching cancer die”

  1. 1 Chris
    October 13, 2009 at 10:45 am

    hey kat,

    just wanted to say I’ve been following the blog, and that even if I don’t post a comment every time, there’s always something I would want to write down šŸ™‚

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

post everyone else likes best

topics i’ve written about

Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 195 other followers


%d bloggers like this: