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May. 20th, 2004 05:02 pmI finally was able to speak to the oncologist today, after four days of playing phone tag.
And it comes down to this:
He doesn't recommend my mom go through chemo. She's far too weak and going through too many things, the chemo would be too much on her system.
The suggestion is to have her put on hospice care, as soon as she gets out of the hospital. And that maybe with their care, she can be built back up enough in time for chemo. But, he truly believes that all of this (meaning everything going on right now) is just prolonging her pain.
...
I took this news rather well, all things considered. Then, I hung up the phone and commenced losing my shit in my office.
No one else knows yet, either.
And, as always, it is up to me to be the messenger.
I don't know what to do. I don't know when I should tell her, or even if it should be ME who tells her. I don't know how to tell anybody else, like my brother. I also don't know if telling my mother about this would actually make her WORSE. Like, hearing this news would make her finally give up? I don't know.
There is a small chance that her going on hospice would build her up enough for chemo, after she recovers from this hospital stay. But, from the way everything is seeming right now (and granted, I haven't been to hospital yet today), it just appears that it's all too much for her system to take. And even if hospice does do what we want it to do for her, we don't actually have all that much time to accomplish it in.
It's all so fucked up.
And thinking about all of this right now, as I'm writing this entry, I've realized that I would much rather have someone I love die very quickly and suddenly, then have to go through this drawn out ordeal. Every day, watching her go further and further away.
I remember a scene in some television program, maybe Six Feet Under, where a woman's father had died of cancer. And she was commenting to another character that "watching someone die of cancer is like watching the ocean wash them away. Every day the waves come up and take away another little bit of them."
It's true. So fucking true.
I have to go now. I can't type anymore.
And it comes down to this:
He doesn't recommend my mom go through chemo. She's far too weak and going through too many things, the chemo would be too much on her system.
The suggestion is to have her put on hospice care, as soon as she gets out of the hospital. And that maybe with their care, she can be built back up enough in time for chemo. But, he truly believes that all of this (meaning everything going on right now) is just prolonging her pain.
...
I took this news rather well, all things considered. Then, I hung up the phone and commenced losing my shit in my office.
No one else knows yet, either.
And, as always, it is up to me to be the messenger.
I don't know what to do. I don't know when I should tell her, or even if it should be ME who tells her. I don't know how to tell anybody else, like my brother. I also don't know if telling my mother about this would actually make her WORSE. Like, hearing this news would make her finally give up? I don't know.
There is a small chance that her going on hospice would build her up enough for chemo, after she recovers from this hospital stay. But, from the way everything is seeming right now (and granted, I haven't been to hospital yet today), it just appears that it's all too much for her system to take. And even if hospice does do what we want it to do for her, we don't actually have all that much time to accomplish it in.
It's all so fucked up.
And thinking about all of this right now, as I'm writing this entry, I've realized that I would much rather have someone I love die very quickly and suddenly, then have to go through this drawn out ordeal. Every day, watching her go further and further away.
I remember a scene in some television program, maybe Six Feet Under, where a woman's father had died of cancer. And she was commenting to another character that "watching someone die of cancer is like watching the ocean wash them away. Every day the waves come up and take away another little bit of them."
It's true. So fucking true.
I have to go now. I can't type anymore.
