It's Hard To Dance With the Devil On Your Back

“We see a mass in her upper left lung. She needs to get it biopsied.”

And that’s how it began.

Last November, I forced my mom to quit smoking. She was not happy. In June, she began sounding like a train whistle every time she breathed, which is an annoying sound 15 times per minute, 16 hours per day. You do the math; I have a BA in English for a reason. I took her to her GP see if she might have pneumonia, as she had also been very fatigued. Dr. Helm, a lovely man whom my father even liked, (and that is saying a lot) decided, “let’s take an x-ray and see what’s going on.”

And that’s when they discovered said mass.

We were directed to an oncologist and a pulmonologist. Not to be an alarmist, but an oncologist before diagnosis? Yikes. This was not looking to be a rosy outcome. We saw the oncologist the first week of July, who ordered a PET scan. The PET scan confirmed the mass and also found three inflamed lymph nodes, as well as two additional spots; one in her adrenal glands and one in her liver. Fuck.

Mom’s bronchoscopy a few weeks later confirmed that the lung mass was, in fact, cancer. The silver lining of this procedure showed that the cancer had not progressed to the lymph nodes. The doctor also stated that the spots in her liver and adrenal glands looked to be nothing to worry about. She did, however, have fluid in her lungs that would need to be treated. Terrible and not so terrible news. Yay.

Next issue- Mom was in severe atrial fibrillation. Her heart rate was jumping between 80-150 bpm. Her heart specialist, Dr. Grove, whom mom calls Dr. Pecan Grove since that’s the only way she can remember his name (don’t ask me why she remembers two words instead of one), ordered a cardioversion to get her heart back into normal rhythm. So, mom was clinically dead for an instant while they were jump starting her heart. I asked her afterward if she saw anything or anyone, any bright lights- but she said there was nothing, leaving my atheism intact for the time being. Her heart rate went back to normal rhythm, so a positive.

Mom’s pulmonologist then gave her a treadmill test, diagnosed her with COPD and prescribed inhaler meds. That lasted about a week. Mom couldn’t press the med down to get it to come out so I had to do it for her. Then she started leaving her mouth wide open so her lips weren’t on the inhaler. Then, once we got that straightened out, she couldn’t figure out how to inhale. You would think a woman who smoked cigarettes for 60 years who be able to inhale. Well, if you thought that, like I did, you would be wrong. “Mom, pretend you are inhaling a cigarette.” “I am.” “Then why is all the medicine coming out of your mouth?” My patience range is, by nature, minimal to none, but since I was trying not to get angry with her because she has cancer, I was popping Xanax like they were tic-tac’s. I promptly got the doctor to prescribe a nebulizer that blows the meds into a mask that she then just breathes. Okay, that problem solved.

Sometime during all these extraneous diagnoses, we met with the radiation Dr., Svetlana Kats. Mom told me she couldn’t understand a word she said because of her Russian accent, but I think it was because she just didn’t want to hear anymore. Dr. Kats told us that the mass was 5 cm, which is fairly large. Normally, for a cancerous mass that has not spread, a lobectomy would be the typical course of action, but mom could not afford to lose an entire lobe due to her COPD. She told us that mom was a good candidate for high intensity radiation- 5 treatments of 40 minutes each. If it was successful, there would be no need for chemotherapy so we decided to go with that. They made a mold for her to lie in while the radiation was being performed so she wouldn’t move and sent us on our way.

Mom’s first day of radiation- I got her there and was told it would be 1 ½ hours because they needed to get her situated, make sure she was properly placed so that the radiation would be concentrated on the mass, and then they would commence with the treatment. I was not allowed to stay in the waiting room due to Covid-19 so I made sure they had my phone number and I left. Unfortunately, I decided to first go to Verizon and activate a new phone I had purchased. It only took about 10 minutes, so I then ran a number of other errands. We live almost an hour from civilization, so anytime we have to go to town, we try to do as much as possible while there. Also, we had been isolated since March so it was nice to just get out and do anything.

I returned to the hospital and parked, waiting for a phone call to let me know mom was done. About 15 minutes later, my mom’s phone rang. Spouse was calling to tell me my phone wasn’t working. Great. I went to the front of the building and there is my mom, sitting outside in a wheelchair. “Why are you out here?” “This is just where they put me.” “Do I need to speak to anyone?” “No.” I wanted to go in and get some info on how things went, but mom just wanted to go home, so we did. I asked her if she was having any pain or burning, but she was all good.

Two days later, I took her to her second appointment. I left her at the front desk and went on my way. 10 minutes later, I got a call from the office saying that mom didn’t have an appointment. What?! We had everything set up and I knew I had the day right. Come to find out, in the worst way possible, my mom’s fluid in her lungs had dissipated (great news) and her mold was no longer going to work as the mass had moved (bad news). They had to make an entirely new plan that would take up to two weeks (really bad news). They said they told my mom this during her first appointment, but she didn’t remember to tell me. They said they tried to call, but my phone went straight to voicemail. Not one person left a message or called me later to tell me any of this. I had repeatedly told every doctor’s office we visited- “My mom doesn’t understand any of what you are saying. She will not repeat it to me. She’s not listening to you. I am her caretaker. Speak directly to me.” I was so angry, I probably looked a little like this…

I demanded to see the office manager who, in the course of our discussion, asked if she needed to call security because I was apparently leaning too far forward in the chair I was sitting in while yelling at her and she felt threatened, and then I later made her cry. I’d like to say I felt bad about making her cry. I’d like to, but then I would be lying. Subsequently, I was not only able to take mom into the waiting room going forward, I also took her back to the dressing room, got her undressed and into her gown, waited for her in the waiting room, and was escorted back to the dressing room to help her get dressed again. Being a bitch is very useful sometimes.

Last week, my mom had a CT scan to determine what had transpired during the radiation. The mass had shrunk to 3.9 cm, which the doctor was pleased with. I was hoping for it to disappear, but it hasn’t spread at all and it is shrinking, so all in all, a great outcome. Mom will have a PET scan in December to see if the mass has continued to diminish, and whether the cancerous cells have died. If so, the mass will eventually be consumed by healthy cells.

I didn’t want to tell anyone about this until we had definitive news about her condition. Now that we know the cancer is not spreading, her heart is beating normally, and her COPD is under control, I felt like this was a good time to make everyone aware of what my mom, and to a much lesser extent I, has been going through. Although her outcome is optimistic, whatever your preference of positive energy you can direct toward my mom would be greatly appreciated.

To think this all started from an x-ray for something completely unrelated. Dr. Helm used to call me a ‘helicopter daughter’ because I would take mom to the see him for the tiniest of symptom. He doesn’t call me that anymore.

That annoying wheeze saved my mom’s life.

Thanks to everyone who helped diagnose and heal my mom. Sorry if I yelled at you. Well, sort of sorry. Here's a cool tune.