We begin this life outside of the womb as an infant. Then, we progress through all of the stages — the toddler, the child, the tween, the teen, and then, finally, we arrive to adulthood. Even diapers have “stages” on them. Or, at least they used to when my kids were little. We couldn’t wait to get to the next stage. I waited with anticipation of seeing my kids grow and develop into the next stage of their lives. It was a time filled with being amazed at their growing abilities and their emerging personalities. Those are the stages that are precious to watch and grow with.
Then, there are stages of our lives we’d rather forget. The times when life lets us down and things don’t go our way. Painful as they may be, these stages shape our lives as well. It can make us bitter or it can make us better. I like to think of the rough times in my life as notches in my strength belt. It’s getting a little tight these days, but I know there is purpose in pain just as there is joy in the journey.
Yesterday was Mama’s first oncology visit. We left the house in plenty of time to get there early so that we could figure out where we were going. Also, so that I would have time to navigate the Healthcare Olympics. About three quarters of the way there, Mama leaned down and started digging around the floorboard. “I don’t see my purse,” she said. It wasn’t there nor was it in the back seat. It was sitting in my house, about 45 minutes away. It was too late to turn around and I knew the doctor would not see her without some ID. Thankfully, I was able to get her information sent to the office so that we wouldn’t be turned away.
We got to the parking deck and found an ideal parking space near the elevator. And, thank you, Jesus, it was not raining. I got her settled in the wheelchair and took off to the appointment. I felt like I was forgetting something but couldn’t quite recall what. That is, until I got inside and realized it was the folder with all of her records in it. I had to run back to the car and grab it before we went in the office. The morning was off to quite the comedy of errors.
I walked up to the checkout desk and signed in. Wanting to explain that her ID would need to be emailed, I tried to tell the check in clerk about it. She asked me if she could help me and I started to explain. She interrupted me and bluntly said that I could have a seat until they called me up. Already on edge, the anger prickled my skin and I wanted to lash out. I wasn’t trying to skip in line, I just wanted to give them a heads up about the situation so that we could get Mama’s information to them quicker. I bit my tongue and, tried to stifle my desire to reach across the counter and grab the lady by her ears. This stage of my life is somewhere in the vicinity of menopause and crazy street. I don’t pray for patience, for obvious reasons, but God continually gives me opportunities to hone this skill. Fully against my will, of course.
The visit went pretty smoothly after my evil eye stares at the front desk clerk. I suppose that may be why the office manager checked me in and didn’t let me hiss with Broomhilda. Everyone else was nice and welcoming, which is what one should expect at an oncology office. Patients and their families have enough drama. We don’t need a spicy front desk clerk setting off the tone of the visit.
The doctor came in pretty quickly and looked over Mama’s records. He said that with there being nodules in both lungs and in the lymph nodes, it is classified as Stage 4. Until we get the biopsy, we won’t know exactly the course of treatment that would be best for her. He also recommended that we get a biopsy on the spot on her hip to be sure it’s inflammation versus a malignancy. We will get that scheduled probably some time next week. He said that treatment may include a combination of chemo and radiation, or immunotherapy. When he mentioned daily radiation, Mama’s ears perked up and she said she didn’t want me to have to travel back and forth every day for that. There are no places closer to my home where she could get radiation done. I told her that I wasn’t worried about that and that we would do whatever we needed to do. If she wants chemo and radiation if it’s the recommended course, that’s what we will do. It’s not a question in my mind of whether or not we do it. I want her to decide what she wants to do when we are given the options. This is her life and we treasure quality over quantity — we always have. This doesn’t change the desire to live life to its fullest. It only changes the course of how we accomplish that.
Today is the first biopsy. They tried to call and move her up on the schedule yesterday. We would have had to been there at 6:30 a.m. Again, I’m menopausal and crazy, so driving in the dark is a challenge, especially when there are furry road hazards that like to do road ballet. We have a little wiggle room to get ready this morning. I just knew that we didn’t need the added stress of getting up so early and driving in the dark to an unfamiliar location. Right now, it’s truly about protecting the peace as much as we can even with the simplest of things. I guess that is a new stage in life. I’ve been on the “protect the peace” path for a few years and now, it’s just going to be with a bit more ferocity. Perhaps I won’t turn into the Fried Green Tomatoes Tawanda character or Tyler Perry’s Madea, but if the situation warrants it, just know that I’m not opposed to being my Mama’s biggest advocate.
When the people you love are thrust into the trials of this life, it’s hard to sit idly by. But, sometimes, that is all we can do. I can’t rush the biopsy or its results. All I can do is help Mama navigate this stage of her life and wait with anticipation for the next. Sitting in a room full of cancer patients has a sobering effect on you. You quickly realize that though you are not alone, the battles are all over the place. Some are nearing the finish line of the battle being won, while others are at a different kind of finishing line. My Daddy’s oncologist told him when he began his journey with treatment that the battle within the mind was more important than the battle within the body. And, how true that is. We can’t stop smiling or laughing or living while we wait in medical limbo land. Though this stage of life isn’t what any of us would have planned for her, it is the reality. Dark humor is humor nonetheless. As I’ve said before, sometimes you have to smile through it. You have to smile through it to get through it, and by God, we are going to ride this thing out with grace and laughter. Even if I feel like I need to slap a few people along the way.
Messpot Diaries 