Leaving

Note. The post below was written a little over a week ago, during my flight home from home (i.e., to DC from Seattle). For work, I'm currently in Charlotte, North Carolina, functioning once again with only my laptop, and I came across this post. So, what the heck. Let's post it.

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Mom was discharged from the hospital late Monday afternoon. It was up in the air, as her morning blood levels were a hair away from the surgeon ordering ANOTHER blood transfusion and another night at the hospital. (I told Mums she had earned all the blood after all the times she donated as a non-health disaster.) We arrived at the hospital not really knowing what would happen, but we were happily informed that Mom’s blood had climbed to a normal level, so we proceeded with the normal discharge.

The surgeon checked on the pathology, and it was as feared. Like, officially. Although, the lymph nodes came back clear (and this IS the most important thing, by far—no chemo for Mama!), the cancer has indeed spread past where we want. It’s right against the chest wall, which I think makes it harder to neatly excavate. Anyway, Mums gets to make the next choice: radiation, another surgery, or mastectomy.

Mums was so glad to be home, she got teary-eyed. Dad had to go shopping for Thanksgiving fixings (and some staples) solo, and I think he damn near convinced the clerk (who he had to ask for help 3 or 4 times) to just make Thanksgiving dinner for him. He picked up Mom’s favorite fried chicken while he was out, so she got a good layer of food down before taking a pain killer.

Today (Tuesday—I’m actually typing this on the plane and who knows when I’ll actually post it because I’m too cheap to buy the wireless connection) I had to fly home. My parents’ fabulously sweet and wonderful neighbor stayed with Mom so Dad could take me to the airport. Parting was . . .  hard. Mums wasn’t ready for me to go; I wasn’t ready to leave, despite having stayed an extra two days; and even Dad acknowledged it was time for me to get back to my little girls, Chris, and dog. (Confession: I missed Emma terribly this trip. I reaaaaaaally could’ve used her this past week! I can so see why dogs are used therapeutically.) My mother-in-law has done an amazing job holding down the fort (and then some), taking such sweet care of my Charlotte and Lorelei, and my father-in-law has gone above and beyond with my canine girl. I think Chris is actually getting spoiled in my absence. I’m told he hasn’t had to do anything!

Anyway, leaving was so, so hard. Once I got through security at SeaTac, I did what any Opp or Hofmann would do and promptly found a bar (and some spectacular clam chowder). This being Seattle, people were too friendly and talkative, and an innocent solo traveler asked about my reason for being in Seattle. I kept my answer to about six words, but I felt tears threatening. Then a folk-type band with Indigo Girls-esque harmonies was performing in the atrium, which OF COURSE was right outside where I was consuming white wine and clam chowder. And then the bartender was unbelievably sweet.

I called Chris to check in, and he didn’t answer because he was in a meeting. He texted me to make sure all was okay. I confirmed it was—I just wanted to hear his voice, but I’m certain that if I did, I would’ve been done for. In public. Among all the people happily going to relatives’ houses for Thanksgiving.

At the same time, I LONG to hold my girls in arms. And I can’t wait to plant a giant kiss on Chris.

And we’ve established that Emma and I need some one-on-one lovin’ time.

So there we are. Mom is out of danger, but in some ways, this is a more difficult stage. The pain and healing occurs, the this-effing-sucks blues set in, the high drama is over.

What else can I say? I tried to stay perky and positive during the past week, at least when appropriate, and I think it was a good move. But as a couple of my friends have heard from my, um, UNEDITED missives, I’m so angry, I could kill. Sure, we were unprepared for how rotten this week was going to be, but I’ve seen some really, really awful things this week, and when they’re happening to someone you love, and it was all caused by some effing little cancer cells threatening to shorten my mother’s time here on earth, it’s just maddening. The crapshoot aspect, the fact that modern medicine is actually so inexact, the fact that the damn cancer couldn’t even have the decency to be in an easily accessible area.

You know how you go into Bed, Bath and Beyond and roll your eyes at the pink-handled ice cream scoop as part of breast cancer awareness, or politely tolerate the one game or whatever the NFL devotes to breast cancer, or the pink foil caps on Yoplait yogurt?  Confession: I was such an eye-roller. Breast cancer had such a high cure rate, I thought. Let’s focus on leukemia or pancreatic cancer or something super deadly!

Oh, I was freaking schooled. In a single year I lost my mentor, who was so, so important to me this past April from an aggressive breast cancer. And now this with mom. And you know what? It’s ugly. High cure rate or not, weirdly trendy or not, hot pink extravaganzas or not, breast cancer sucks sucks sucks SUCKS.