One Year Today

One year ago today, my mom had surgery to remove what they thought was one tumor from her abdomen. There were three. Dad & I had looked at photos of tumors on the internet; we considered what the prognosis might be. We tried not to look ahead very much, because the road did not look like one we wanted to travel.

Perhaps the most insidious piece of information was the innocent little red & blue chart in Dr. Genesen's office, which showed ovarian cancer with its different stages. Stage 3 & 4, we knew, were the most common. The chart was very sterile, like a drawing in an anatomy book. If it had been a horror movie, it would have better delivered its message. I remember Mom pointing to it and asking, "Is that what I have?" I think I answered, "Don't look at it, Mom. We don't know."

Mom was admitted in a flurry of emergency when she went for her post-op blood work on Friday. Something wasn't right in their initial testing, and Mom was in pain. She was on morphine all weekend, waiting for Monday when they could do surgery. They can't stage ovarian cancer until they see it. At my church group one evening, a friend said, "Isn't that the cancer they call 'the silent killer'?"

My pastor has preached on Matthew 6 several times, the sermon Jesus gave about not worrying. Pastor says that all the worry we do doesn't pay off; never do we say, "Wow, I'm glad I spent all that time worrying. It really helped the situation!" I spent a lot of time kicking worry in the head. We had a mountain of some kind to climb, looming in front of us. The best way to conquer it was one step at a time. No amount of worry could help us face an ugly prognosis. This time was hard enough to get through, on its own.

Mom was up most of the night before the surgery, a bit loopy on medication. Dad "slept" at the hospital. Some friends from my church came to pray with us in the morning after I arrived. The gurney came for her surgery. We smiled at Mom, kissed her...I barely remember it now.

I talked a lot in the waiting room to Dad. Being entertaining is how I pass the time. I wonder if he remembers anything we said? We talked a little politics, a little history, but I talked a lot about Jesus. I like to think about Jesus, who He really is. Waiting for Mom to come out of surgery, I would rather talk about Jesus than just about anyone else.

Dr. Genesen (who looks a bit like George Clooney) told us they had found three tumors. One was growing inside her uterus--endometrial cancer--but the fact that they tumors were synchronous was good news. Oddly, having both endometrial and ovarian cancer together tended to have a better prognosis. He had taken out some lymph nodes. There were no visible tumors on organs other than Mom's reproductive system. Mom's abdomen had been so swollen because one of the tumors had burst, and the fluid had actually invaded the chest cavity around her lungs. The tumor bursting was not so good, spreading the fluid around her gut; she would need chemotherapy. The staging? One C. Stage 1c, the "c" because one of the tumors had burst. The fluid buildup had probably been one of the most serious symptoms, and ironically might have caused us to find the tumors earlier.

You could not have watched my parents throughout the month of October, 2008, without being struck by how much they love each other. Of course, growing up with them, I have always known this. It was incredibly poignant to watch. My dad shook Dr. Genesen's hand; he looked like a teenager, thanking a father for giving permission to marry his daughter. We were so relieved. The dark road we feared wasn't there.

I guess that's what it was: fear hanging over us. And for that moment, it dissipated, and the road ahead wasn't so frightening. We're a strong family; we could fight this battle. And we did.

Praise be to God, today, one year later, we're going out to eat. With Mom.

Happy Anniversary.