Angels Around Us: The Second Opinion

This article is a continuation from the previous post “Beauty School Drop Out”

LIFE’S GREATEST GIFT

The sun was just below the horizon as we traveled east along the interstate. The heater turned on in my mother’s car gently blowing warm air at our sleepy faces. The events of the last several weeks now behind us as we moved forward.

Long wisps of clouds pulled horizontally through the morning sky as they were being painted by an incredibly talented artist. Brilliant shades of orange and red slowly danced across the cloud’s surface. Bright magentas evolved and became bolder with the passage of each mile marker. The horizon with bold, evolving colors transitioned into deep blues and gorgeous purples as our eyes continued up into the endless sky above.

Our eyes remained transfixed on what was transpiring in front of us. The sky was such a gift. A living canvas flowing and evolving. A deviation to calm our hearts and our minds. A reminder to appreciate the moment we were sharing together.

“Wow,” my mother said seated in the passenger seat next to me. I calmly looked over at her, smiled as she looked out over one of the most beautiful sunrises that we had ever seen and thought to myself about her being the greatest gift in my life. That I have appreciated everything she has given me. And how proud I was to call her my mother.

The mood was festive listening to Christmas music on the local radio stations as we headed to the Cleveland Clinic for a second opinion. We laughed and giggled as we sang and moved around in our seats to the nostalgic music. Memories of our family listening to songs as we put up the Christmas tree when I was younger popped into my head. I couldn’t lean over to kiss her on the cheek so we gave each other many air kisses as I had the other hand on the steering wheel.

Abby met up with us at one of the rest areas since we needed to leave slightly earlier from my mother’s house. By now, the brilliant, bold colors had shifted into lighter, pastel shades of the rainbow as the sun was breaking the horizon. Abby told us while were getting a coffee that she saw a rainbow through the sky that was shaped like an angel.

We will never forget the brilliant rainbow that appeared along the horizon at the moment when my mother’s father passed away surrounded by our entire family in his home, eight days after his wife had passed.  They had been married for over 50 years. Rainbows have always been special to our family and to our mother. The love in her tears that formed in her eyes each time she saw a rainbow took her mind back to her role models in life. And those special moments she remembered with them.

The rainbow in the sky that morning was my mother’s father and mother watching over us. Angels in the sky telling us that today will be ok. I never would have guessed when I landed back in the United States thirty days ago from traveling that I would be taking my mother to Cleveland to see if more specialized doctors could help my mother’s situation.

Before our appointment, we had lunch at iHop, one of my mother’s favorite breakfast restaurants. After I ordered for my mother, she became visibly frustrated since she wasn’t able to order for herself. Her face squeezed in and both Abby and I knew she was sad. I could feel my heart ache as I put my arm around her and pulled myself closer to her in the booth.

“We will get through this mom,” I said trying to console her heart and mind. Abby reached across the table and grabbed her clasped hands. The three of us pulled together as one, praying for our mother. Praying for positive news to ease the pressure of this scary moment in life.

We flagged our server down after we had finished with our meal since we needed to give ourselves enough time to make it to the hospital. “Someone has already paid for your bill so you are all set. You all have a Merry Christmas,” our server said with a smile on her face. We all sat frozen as she began to walk away. No one had ever done that for us before. Goosebumps covered my arms. Our eyes looked around the half full restaurant and we realized that another angel was with us.

Our hands and hearts pulled together once again. Our tears flowed down our faces. It was hard to accept. To accept we were in this position. But while it was difficult to accept our new reality, we accepted the comfort of the touching moment.

In the back of my mind, I remembered how everything happened in threes.  First the angel in the sky. Now the angel in the restaurant. I kept telling myself, “Please let the doctor be the third angel. To give us the news that our hearts need.”

We pulled up to the Taussig Cancer Center at the Cleveland Clinic. The driveway in front of the entrance reminded me of a busy departure drop off area of an airport. The valet staff was busy shuffling cars in and out of the area. I exited the car and looked up at the stunning green glass façade that stood tall into the sky. “Please give me the news that my heart needs today,” I said to myself as I stared upward into the beautiful, blue clear sky.

I helped my mom through the automatic doors at the entryway. The pure white walls of the main lobby were impressive. A huge ornate chandelier hung from the ceiling several stories high.  The sunlight filtered through the large glass windows, brightly illuminating the entire space. As we walked to the elevators ahead, the vast lobby felt like a blend between a swanky hotel and a brand new art museum.

Pure white walls with minimalist décor met up with floor-to-ceiling glass windows in the waiting area. The mood was solemn. Many cancer patients and their families sat in the brown leather chairs carefully placed throughout the main waiting area. As we walked to find a place for all three of us to sit, we could see the eyes following us like we were newbies to an already formed team.

My mother was exhausted from the already long day. The tumor had really disrupted her brain and in turn her ability to perform the normal, everyday functions that she normally could perform with ease. We needed answers and an immediate treatment plan. And we were in the right place to get those answers.

IT’S IN THE AIR TODAY

As we were waiting, I overheard someone in a nearby office say “it must be in the air today” as they were laughing. I was confident there was something in the air that day. I closed my eyes as I held my mother’s hand and took a deep, therapeutic breath to envision the good news we would receive. I envisioned the love surrounding us.

People from all over the world came to the Cleveland Clinic for very serious cases, like my mother’s. The neuro-oncologist told us that 80% of his practice is for glioblastoma multiforme patients. So we were in the right place.

“Where are we Melanie?” the doctor began his questioning in his mild Indian accent.  My mother looked over at me in the pure white doctor’s examination room. “Mom, what city are we in?” I repeated the question back to her. She said she didn’t know as she became slightly frustrated.

She was able to tell the doctor what her birthday was, but then he began asking her about the current date, month and year. As she continued to repeat her birthday with each question, I looked over at Abby as she looked back at me. My lips pressed hard together and my eyes closed softly wishing that I could somehow get my mother to remember.

After a series of questions to understand her cognitive capacity, he explained to us that my mother was not eligible for clinical trials because she is unable to communicate and understand the questions we would need her to answer while taking the trial medication. He recommended we continue with a form of chemotherapy that can pass through the blood brain barrier, which is something the Parkview team had already recommended.

My heart broke further. It felt like the remaining hope I had was slipping away. Before leaving the room, the doctor told us that the neurosurgeon had initially looked at my mother’s MRI to see if she would be a candidate for a resection, to remove a portion of the tumor before beginning standardized treatment.  I quickly prayed that this would be the third angel.

My breathing had increased and the adrenaline in my body was pumping hard as I anticipated what would happen next. The neurosurgeon entered the small, windowless room as my mother, sister and I anxiously waited.  He began to show us images of the tumor printed on paper from the MRI. But with each passing word, a piece of my heart began to be cut away.

The surgeon explained that my mother’s tumor was growing in four separate areas.  The largest area on the left frontal lobe that was pressing against the speech function represented 60% of the total size of the tumor.  He explained that while he could remove about 80% of the largest area, that he would need to leave 20% behind in that section to not disrupt the functioning cells that remained.

While a risky surgery began to sound slightly promising, there was a catch.  If we decided to have the partial resection, my mother would need to wait three to four weeks post-surgery to allow her body to heal before receiving any type of standardized treatments like chemotherapy or radiation. Which meant the other three areas of the tumor would continue to aggressively spread since they would be left untreated.

After watching my mother’s cognitive abilities rapidly decline over the past several weeks, it was apparent that we needed treatment immediately.  Waiting another three to four weeks posts-surgery was no longer an option.

My mother sat motionless next to me. I looked over at her eyes staring straight ahead at the doctor as he was describing the dire situation and realized that she had no idea that we were discussing something so serious. Something so serious that impacted her life.

This moment broke me. The helpless feeling devoured me. Like I was slowly being eaten alive by millions of insects swarming my body. Every motion that I would make would be useless. No matter what I did, I couldn’t make any of it stop.

My sister and I looked back at each other with tears in our eyes and didn’t need to say anything. We knew what all of this meant. We slowly helped my mother out of her seat. She was ready for the meeting to be over anyway.

It took every ounce of willpower to move down the hall as the sun poured in. We slowly made our way down to the valet area to wait for our cars to pull up. We felt dejected. Helpless and turned away. Like no one could help us.

My mother was seated in a black leather chair facing the large floor-to-ceiling window of the lobby in front of her, unable to understand what we had just gone through. My sister fell to her knees and wrapped her arms around our mother no longer able to hold back her emotions. Her head now connected with my mother’s head. I leaned down to embrace both of them. Uncontrollable tears flowed out wishing this nightmare would end.

The three of us now connected as one. Weeping. The bright afternoon sun beamed down through the window like an angel placing their hands on us. My mother knew something wasn’t quite right but she was present enough to ask if we were ok. Her tears flowed knowing that our tears flowed as she continued to repeat, “I love you both so much”.

… To Be Continued. CLICK HERE to continue.