I was driving to work this morning and the gas light came on.
I burst out crying.
I don't think I should be around people today.
Monday, January 22, 2018
Sunday, January 21, 2018
Off the hook
I'm angry. I'm just so angry.
Where do I direct this anger? How do I make it go away?
When I'm not feeling angry, I'm feeling helpless.
What can I do to help? How can I fix things?
I can't fix things. That's the problem.
My mother began having symptoms in late May. This feisty, active 75 year old had a bulge protrude on her belly that she referred to as a hernia, near her stoma (she had ulcerative colitis resulting in a colostomy over 50 years ago), and at the same time, found her self peeing without warning or control. Completely out of the norm for her.
As any sane person would do, she made an appointment with her doctor. Our doctor. Our invisible doctor. Our invisible doctor that you never see. You see the nurse practitioner or you see a resident. But you don't actually see "the doctor". Our doctor also doesn't believe people over 75 need to have check ups or paps or mamograms. "Off the hook" at 75 . . . and my mother, who has suffered through many surgeries told her she didn't want to be "off the hook", but still she was not given these luxuries of the under 75 crowd.
When she went to her June 7th appointment, as was typical, she wasn't seen by our doctor, but by a resident. He told her the bulge was NOT a hernia and that peeing yourself is common and comes with age. She also mentioned a sore hip.
She went home, basically having been told she's old. Later she had a phone message. He'd referred her to physio for her hip. She was not impressed. And she did not go to physio. "Shouldn't I have an x-ray before going for physio?" she asked my Dad. Afterall, if she was old, she might break a hip! At the least, it would make her pee her pants.
Three months later my mother was at her GI specialist for her annual appointment. This doctor was concerned about the bulge. She was concerned further that my Mom was bloated and she didn't like the sounds when she listened to her belly. This doctor sent my mother for a CTscan. She was told to follow up with her family doctor because whatever was going on was not related to her ostomy.
She had the scan in early October with the results to be sent to her family doctor. When my Mom and Dad were at the family doctor in late October for their annual flu shots, she mentioned the scan and assumed nothing showed since she hadn't heard anything. That's pretty much where the shit hit the fan. A wait followed. The doctor came in talking fast and furious, and blaming the lab . . . the scan showed a mass on the ovary. It was 10cm. She would be referred to a gynaecologist, and the doctor sent her for an ultrasound.
The gynaecologist first saw my Mom on November 10th. By this time, according to the ultrasound, the mass was 12cm. Tests followed. Surgery was booked for January 10th, but she went for pre-op to be ready in case of cancellations. That wasn't likely though, as they were booking a second surgeon to be in the operating room . . . to fix that hernia. Yup.
On Wednesday, January 10th, 2018, at 8:30am, my Mom was in surgery to remove the mass on her ovary. Surgery was expected to be 2-3 hours. It wasn't. It ended at 1:30pm. The gynaecologist came out to talk to my Dad and me in private. I'm not sure how much we were taking in. Ovarian cancer. Two . . . 9cm and 11cm. Baseball. Grapefruit. Stage 4. Chemo.
It wasn't one mass, it was two. One on each ovary, and stubbornly attached to the pelvic wall. They (I've dubbed them "the twins") were 9cm and 11cm. They didn't bother checking the lymph nodes; they already knew chemo would be necessary. The bowel, all 11 inches she has remaining, was twisted. The surgeon tried to untwist it but couldn't so it was put back as it was. They did their best to repair the hernia and stitch the stoma, but were reluctant to put in a mesh.
My Dad was . . . worried, nervous, anxious. What was he going to tell her? She was so worried it would be cancer. The doctor had suggested it best not to tell her today, in large part because she would still be medicated and wouldn't fully understand or remember. It would be best to wait until the next day. But, no. My Dad said he couldn't lie to her; she'd know. Omission? No. It would be her first question. He simply would not lie to her.
So I did. As luck (stupid word) would have it, the day dragged on and on. They couldn't release her from recovery because her blood pressure was low. It was almost 6pm when they finally took her up to her room. We were waiting in the hall. As she was wheeled down and parked outside her room, I gave her big smiles and a hug and told her "You did great!" "I did?" she prodded, looking terrified. "Yes, you did great!" and I whispered to her "Dr. Francis got it all!"
They got her settled in the bed and we finally got to talk with her. She seemed to be doing really, really well! I now realize it was a combination of adrenaline and medication. She also ate a fair amount of the dinner they brought her. In hindsight, she probably shouldn't have done that.
Dad had been at the hospital since 6am, and it was now more than 12 hours later. He was exhausted, and sat in the chair in the corner. My mom had questions, and I did my damnedest to dance around them, joke and keep it all up-beat. I told her there was good news and bad news; the good news was: it was TWINS! The bad news was: they took her ovaries, so no more babies. She couldn't get over that there were two. She couldn't get over the size.
Her wonderful gynaecologist and surgeon came in. They did let her know she would require chemo. They told her they got both masses, but because they were not easy to remove, they knew they would follow up with chemo, so there was no point digging around in the lymph nodes. She handled the news well . . . but, of course, she didn't really remember what she was told the next day.
My mom was expected to be discharged Saturday, four days after her January 10th surgery. It's now January 21st and she's still in the hospital. She's had complication after complication. She now has a tube down her nose to drain the bowel, an IV to keep her hydrated and fed, and another for pain meds.
I'm scared. I feel helpless. And I'm so angry. So g-d angry. She wanted a pap when she was 75 and didn't get one. She went in in June with symptoms and was told it was age. And now my 76 year old mother has Stage 4 Ovarian cancer.
I have made a stink about it. I wrote a five-page letter to the Board of Directors of the Family Health Team. I yelled at the doctor on the phone . . . and when I say yelled, I mean YELLED. In my office with the door closed, and I was heard by my coworkers. But I don't feel like getting into that right now. Another post perhaps. Maybe I'll post the transcript, since I recorded the call.
What do I do with this anger??? I can't let my mother see it. I need to stay upbeat with her. But I'm mad as hell.
Where do I direct this anger? How do I make it go away?
When I'm not feeling angry, I'm feeling helpless.
What can I do to help? How can I fix things?
I can't fix things. That's the problem.
My mother began having symptoms in late May. This feisty, active 75 year old had a bulge protrude on her belly that she referred to as a hernia, near her stoma (she had ulcerative colitis resulting in a colostomy over 50 years ago), and at the same time, found her self peeing without warning or control. Completely out of the norm for her.
As any sane person would do, she made an appointment with her doctor. Our doctor. Our invisible doctor. Our invisible doctor that you never see. You see the nurse practitioner or you see a resident. But you don't actually see "the doctor". Our doctor also doesn't believe people over 75 need to have check ups or paps or mamograms. "Off the hook" at 75 . . . and my mother, who has suffered through many surgeries told her she didn't want to be "off the hook", but still she was not given these luxuries of the under 75 crowd.
When she went to her June 7th appointment, as was typical, she wasn't seen by our doctor, but by a resident. He told her the bulge was NOT a hernia and that peeing yourself is common and comes with age. She also mentioned a sore hip.
She went home, basically having been told she's old. Later she had a phone message. He'd referred her to physio for her hip. She was not impressed. And she did not go to physio. "Shouldn't I have an x-ray before going for physio?" she asked my Dad. Afterall, if she was old, she might break a hip! At the least, it would make her pee her pants.
Three months later my mother was at her GI specialist for her annual appointment. This doctor was concerned about the bulge. She was concerned further that my Mom was bloated and she didn't like the sounds when she listened to her belly. This doctor sent my mother for a CTscan. She was told to follow up with her family doctor because whatever was going on was not related to her ostomy.
She had the scan in early October with the results to be sent to her family doctor. When my Mom and Dad were at the family doctor in late October for their annual flu shots, she mentioned the scan and assumed nothing showed since she hadn't heard anything. That's pretty much where the shit hit the fan. A wait followed. The doctor came in talking fast and furious, and blaming the lab . . . the scan showed a mass on the ovary. It was 10cm. She would be referred to a gynaecologist, and the doctor sent her for an ultrasound.
The gynaecologist first saw my Mom on November 10th. By this time, according to the ultrasound, the mass was 12cm. Tests followed. Surgery was booked for January 10th, but she went for pre-op to be ready in case of cancellations. That wasn't likely though, as they were booking a second surgeon to be in the operating room . . . to fix that hernia. Yup.
On Wednesday, January 10th, 2018, at 8:30am, my Mom was in surgery to remove the mass on her ovary. Surgery was expected to be 2-3 hours. It wasn't. It ended at 1:30pm. The gynaecologist came out to talk to my Dad and me in private. I'm not sure how much we were taking in. Ovarian cancer. Two . . . 9cm and 11cm. Baseball. Grapefruit. Stage 4. Chemo.
It wasn't one mass, it was two. One on each ovary, and stubbornly attached to the pelvic wall. They (I've dubbed them "the twins") were 9cm and 11cm. They didn't bother checking the lymph nodes; they already knew chemo would be necessary. The bowel, all 11 inches she has remaining, was twisted. The surgeon tried to untwist it but couldn't so it was put back as it was. They did their best to repair the hernia and stitch the stoma, but were reluctant to put in a mesh.
My Dad was . . . worried, nervous, anxious. What was he going to tell her? She was so worried it would be cancer. The doctor had suggested it best not to tell her today, in large part because she would still be medicated and wouldn't fully understand or remember. It would be best to wait until the next day. But, no. My Dad said he couldn't lie to her; she'd know. Omission? No. It would be her first question. He simply would not lie to her.
So I did. As luck (stupid word) would have it, the day dragged on and on. They couldn't release her from recovery because her blood pressure was low. It was almost 6pm when they finally took her up to her room. We were waiting in the hall. As she was wheeled down and parked outside her room, I gave her big smiles and a hug and told her "You did great!" "I did?" she prodded, looking terrified. "Yes, you did great!" and I whispered to her "Dr. Francis got it all!"
They got her settled in the bed and we finally got to talk with her. She seemed to be doing really, really well! I now realize it was a combination of adrenaline and medication. She also ate a fair amount of the dinner they brought her. In hindsight, she probably shouldn't have done that.
Dad had been at the hospital since 6am, and it was now more than 12 hours later. He was exhausted, and sat in the chair in the corner. My mom had questions, and I did my damnedest to dance around them, joke and keep it all up-beat. I told her there was good news and bad news; the good news was: it was TWINS! The bad news was: they took her ovaries, so no more babies. She couldn't get over that there were two. She couldn't get over the size.
Her wonderful gynaecologist and surgeon came in. They did let her know she would require chemo. They told her they got both masses, but because they were not easy to remove, they knew they would follow up with chemo, so there was no point digging around in the lymph nodes. She handled the news well . . . but, of course, she didn't really remember what she was told the next day.
My mom was expected to be discharged Saturday, four days after her January 10th surgery. It's now January 21st and she's still in the hospital. She's had complication after complication. She now has a tube down her nose to drain the bowel, an IV to keep her hydrated and fed, and another for pain meds.
I'm scared. I feel helpless. And I'm so angry. So g-d angry. She wanted a pap when she was 75 and didn't get one. She went in in June with symptoms and was told it was age. And now my 76 year old mother has Stage 4 Ovarian cancer.
I have made a stink about it. I wrote a five-page letter to the Board of Directors of the Family Health Team. I yelled at the doctor on the phone . . . and when I say yelled, I mean YELLED. In my office with the door closed, and I was heard by my coworkers. But I don't feel like getting into that right now. Another post perhaps. Maybe I'll post the transcript, since I recorded the call.
What do I do with this anger??? I can't let my mother see it. I need to stay upbeat with her. But I'm mad as hell.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)