Two Words That Are Hard To Say Out Loud: Chemo and Radiation

This article is part of the series “One Moment At A Time” about my family’s journey as we help my mother fight brain cancer. Feel free to subscribe below to receive periodic updates about our journey in your email inbox. Thank you for your continued support during this challenging life moment.

THESE ARE A FEW OF MY FAVORITE THINGS

One of my favorite things about this journey is walking out of the guest bedroom at my mother’s house each morning, walking down the carpeted hallway, looking up and seeing her beautiful face smiling back at me as she alertly sits in her spot on the couch.

“Hi honey! How are you?” she joyfully asks me as if nothing is wrong (because nothing really is wrong). As I walk towards her with a big smile on my face, her loving arms open up and I lean down to give her the biggest embrace.

“I love you mom. You are so beautiful,” I whisper into her ear as we hold each other. My throat lumps up as she squeezes me and I can hear her softly whisper back “I love you so much”.

But today was the first time since we began this new journey that my mom wasn’t smiling back. Her eyelids drooped halfway across her eyes as she looked back at me walking towards her. I sat down next to her to begin to assess the situation. She smacked her lips together as the sides of her nose scrunched upwards. I wondered if she was just exhausted from possibly not sleeping or if the medication made her feel this way. I would make sure to ask the doctor a little later at her radiation appointment, but it was tough to watch her not be her usual, happy self.

LITTLE WHITE PILL

Eight hours earlier, I had slowly opened her bedroom door and let some of the light from the guest bedroom across the hallway creep into her room. I softly moved my hand down her arm laying at her side as her eyes slowly cracked open.

“Hi mom, it’s time for your medication.” I whispered to her as the clock read 11:00. For the past week we have increased the dosage of the steroid to prevent the tumor from pressing against her good brain cells.  I have stayed up later into the night to make sure the time between doses is close to eight hours apart. And with the change of dosage I have noticed a plateau in her once rapidly declining speech condition. This plateau has given me much more hope than I once had.

But tonight I had two more pills in her pill dish than I did the previous late nights. My adrenaline pulsed through my body knowing I was about to give my mother pills that would begin to kill the cancer in her head. But I also was about to enter the unknown. How would my mother feel after taking these very potent pills? What would these two small white capsules really do to the rest of her overall healthy body? The fear of the unknown gave me the chills.

As she quietly sat up knowing the routine well, she grabbed the glass of water from my hand and I placed the steroid in her empty hand. She leaned her head down to her cupped hand and then pulled back to empty the pill into her mouth.

I carefully placed the first chemo capsule into her hand and sensed her pausing wondering why I was giving her more pills tonight. My stomach rolled over. I took a deep breath and placed my hand on her back to console her as she sat up. My tear ducts began to activate as I watched her throw back the pill. I shut my eyes and shook my head in disbelief. I wanted just wake up from this horrible dream. How could this all be happening?

After she swallowed the second chemo capsule, she laid her head back down onto her soft pillow and I pulled up the blankets to cover her sleepy body. I leaned down placing my arms around her and gently kissed her forehead. “Sweet dreams mom. See you in the morning. I love you,” I whispered to her as she shut her eyes.

“I love you Cor,” she said breathing out an exhale before drifting back into a deep sleep.

THE BEST GUESS

The nurse slowly walked with my mom into the consultation room and told us that she had done extremely well during her radiation treatment. I could still see some marks on my moms face from the special mask customized for my mother that is placed over her head during each treatment so the machine can pinpoint exactly where the radiation should be applied. I breathed a sigh of relief knowing that the first full session had gone well.

My mom quickly sat down in one of the chairs along the pure white wall of the small room. She immediately hunched over in her chair as we quietly waited for the radiation oncologist to meet with us. Her hands pushed down on her knees holding her body up. She looked exhausted. I wish there was something that I could do to make her feel better.

“Mom, are you ok?” I calmly asked wanting to figure out how to help her.  She said she was ok.

“Are you in pain?” I continued assessing.

“My stomach hurts,” she said as she began to pull her hands over her stomach and winced.

Dr. Chang walked in and asked how everything was going. His assistant must have told him that my mother had some discomfort. My mother looked across the room at me and motioned with her eyes for me to speak on her behalf.

I proceeded to explain to the doc that her bowels have never cooperated with her throughout her life and that her diet prior to yesterday had not been the best for her system. So is her stomach pain a bowel issue? Is it nausea from the first chemo treatment last evening? Is it hunger since the steroid is increasing her appetite? Or maybe she is just exhausted from potentially not sleeping well last night?

These were all best guesses. I knew the journey ahead would continue to present new challenges. At least my mother can tell me where she isn’t feeling well. The doctor concurred that the best we can do with the information we have is isolated trial and error. All my business strategy training is now coming in handy. Only now I was trying to solve a problem for the most important person in my life.

I took a long, deep breath and reminded myself, “One moment at a time.”

I plan to continue to write about this new life journey. It is a tough topic to write about but I feel writing will be a great emotional release for me and could help others along the way going through something similar. If you would like to receive a weekly update, feel free to enter your email and sign up below.