Why So Much About Cancer, ‘coma?
I got an e-mail asking me why I constantly wrote about cancer. It was kind of snarky. I’m going to respond because … well … because.
Okay, this is going to be a long post. I will post about Bigfoot later and then you might feel some normalcy. Go here while I ramble if this isn’t your cup of tea.
When my mother was diagnosed with three tumors in her brain that had metastasized from lung cancer which we didn’t know about, it was one week before Christmas, 1996. The doctor said if she hadn’t come to the doctor then, she would have been dead within a month. I lied to my mother and said an ambulance was coming (it wasn’t) if she didn’t go to the doctor. I very rarely lied to her, but I did that day.
The doctor, who is a friend of mine whom I respect and generally like said it was bad after the MRI showed her brain was covered in a liquid mess of cancer. I remember blurting to him (I was comfortable enough to do this) and asked if she was going to die.
He didn’t say anything, but he nodded. He had come back from a Christmas party to tell us this. I remember that clearly. Homer and SQ were standing with me in the hall. Homer walked away. SQ went after her and I just stood there. Homer had a new child, the first one, that I call Corn here. I can only imagine what she was thinking. She didn’t want her daughter not to know this lovely woman. It was hard. I remember there were Christmas decorations in the hallway, but I didn’t see those things at the moment as they were peripheral. They pissed me off in retrospect.
“What do we do?” I said, my voice inside my head sounding like I was talking into an iron kettle where there is no oxygen. I didn’t cry. I didn’t react. I had just been told my mother was dying from cancer. For some reason, I remember a numbness that went so deep inside of me that all I felt was cold and dark.
I’ve worked with battered women and sexually abused children (seen things that would make your eyes bleed) advocated for them, became an activist on a small level and I’ve been in news.
Do you have any idea the amount of car wrecks I’ve been to? Burned bodies, compound fractures, holding IV Bags until the Air Evac folks showed up for kids choking on their own blood. It isn’t fun. I wasn’t a reporter then, I was a person.
So, when I was told my mother had terminal cancer, I didn’t react. I knew Big Daddy would be coming soon and I had to tell him that his love, his lover, his partner and his wife of 35 years was sick. I had to tell him she wasn’t going to get better. I knew that Homer and I had to do this.
And we did.
That, my friends, is when I cried. That night I went home and dreamed of burying my mother. I dreamed of funerals and pungent smelling flowers. I dreamed of her dying.
Over the next few weeks, there was radiation and chemo scheduled. At this time in her life, she had short hair. After the first radiation treatment, she was a bit disoriented as the radiation went into her head to combat the tumors. But the chemo, God, the chemo was the worst. I held her head as she vomited. I told my friend in local law enforcement if she wanted marijuana, By God, she could have it, because the sickness of the chemo was so horrible. They looked at me like I was crazy but dammit I meant it.Her hair drifted in the air like the pollen that you see now, but a hundred times worse. A kind woman in this town came to the house a couple of days later, a woman whose profession was as a hairdresser, cut my mother’s hair to the scalp.
But it was Big Daddy who shaved it down. It was choking her. It was choking all of us. It was so representative of the illness and I inhaled it. I sat and watched and after it was done, I cleaned up the bathroom.
For fourteen months, Homer and I were close to her. I remember going to see John Waters at the Daisy in Memphis and feeling so guilty I had left her for just a night, but she did threaten to kick my ass if I didn’t go (I adore John Waters.)
She went into remission. We took a breath.
Within three months it was back and she was in excruciating pain. I took a leave of absence from my job and then was offered a better paying one that did, so kindly, allow me flexibility to be with her. My bills had fallen behind taking care of her, but it didn’t matter. She was my mother.
It got worse. You know the story. So when I hear about cancer I flinch. My breath catches.
So, that’s why I write about cancer. Watching someone you love die who isn’t even 54 years old is so painful.
That, my friends, is why I have empathy toward the families of Tony Snow and Elizabeth Edwards and it isn’t political for me.
It’s a human thing for me.
So don’t send me another snarky e-mail about this. I mean it.
Now back to your regular scheduled programming of Newscoma.
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I think when you share what you and your family went through it helps others. Truly. When they diagnosed my dad’s cancer I went numb too and felt like shit for not crying. (He passed away 3 days later) Hearing that you didn’t cry at first normalizes my own feelings and reactions. You keep on writing about cancer and know that it reaches out to those of us who have been there.
**great big hugs**
Fuck anyone who sends you snarky emails about writing about cancer. I’ll kick their ass for you.
Cool. I knew you would.
You are now officially the “bodyguard” but you would probably need to protect me from getting arrested.
Yay Ivy.
Well, whoever the snarkster was who was rude enough to send you that e-mail may have read your blog in the past but obviously hadn’t been paying enough attention to ask a damn fool question like “why” about THAT. Sheesh.
Damn, Trace. I’m sorry to hear that story.
We had a client in the other day who has brain cancer. He’s a big, strong guy who looks like he could break your hand while shaking it if he wasn’t paying attention. But he doesn’t have long, and he can hardly walk, despite the fact that he still looks so strong.
I can’t imagine why anybody would be snarky about cancer. Maybe I’m just naive like that.
Grrrr…
It comes down to treating people the way you want to be treated.
Golden Rule stuff, you know …
I love you.
Love you too, Tits.
I know that it took a lot of strength for you to share this story with your readers today. Thank you.
And piss on whoever would be so heartless to write such an insensitive e-mail to you.
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Well, whoever sent you that email is an insensitve soul who probably just needs a good lay…did I just say that? Sorry. This post was beautiful and heartwrenching. Thanks.
It was our saucy sailor talk from earlier, Finn.
And thanks.
In the last week we’ve seen a lot of people politicize John and Elizabeth, and now Tony Snow. It’s gross.
I am so sorry someone subjected you to this crap.
xoxoxo
Sharon
Thanks guys. I just reacted. it was sort of theraputic to get it out and I’m good.
Usually, I don’t give a shit what people say but occasionally it grates and burns.
Had a bit of a fit, but maybe people will understand what’s it’s like.
In all honesty, she tried to live her life as long as she could.
That’s why I respect anyone who tries to continue to live. In the end, it was impossible for her but maybe in the almost ten years since her death, people like Snow and Edwards will have more options.
[...] 2007 — Slartibartfast I get up this morning, and the very first things I see are this, and this . I sometimes wonder why God gave me two or three extra helpings of empathy. Sometimes, it [...]
[...] Newscoma, on why she writes what she writes: I got an e-mail asking me why I constantly wrote about cancer. It was kind of snarky. I’m going to respond because … well … because. … When my mother was diagnosed with three tumors in her brain that had metastasized from lung cancer which we didn’t know about, it was one week before Christmas, 1996. The doctor said if she hadn’t come to the doctor then, she would have been dead within a month. I lied to my mother and said an ambulance was coming (it wasn’t) if she didn’t go to the doctor. I very rarely lied to her, but I did that day. [...]
You know how I feel about it. You are one of my most loyal supporters.
Mean people suck.
‘Coma talking about Very Important Things (and the occasional Seemingly Unimportant But Always Damn Interesting Thing) does not suck. Yea verily, it is marvellous in our eyes.
If’n you want, I can send that schmuck an e-mail about his momma and an illiterate manure-spreader salesman that will make him cry for three days. Say the word.
Addendum: I also, if you want, can send that schmuck a copy of an e-mail I just got from the mother of an 8-year-old three-time cancer survivor. Who is a good friend of mine. Who is jumping off into the abyss AGAIN. Dammit.
Don’t be hateful to cancer patients and their loved ones, Snarky E-mail Schmuck Who Upset ‘Coma. We will jam a radioactive cylinder up your business just for starters.
Obviously, that person has never been personally touched by cancer.
Whoever left that comment hasn’t been touche by cancer’s ravages yet. Give them time If they know ten people eventually they will be touched by cancer.