My sister Andrea called on Tuesday. Here's a classic opening line that tips you off that you're not gonna enjoy what's coming:
"Yeah, so ... I didn't want to call you with this on your birthday ..."
I took a deep breath, settled into my chair, and listened.
************
Andrea's been taking care of Mom and Dad. She lives a few doors down from them in the condo complex, and really doesn't mind popping in to check on them.
Lately it's been more than that - Mom's getting more and more confused, with all the related care issues. No details required, but those who have had parents with Alzheimer's or dementia know that one of the first thing that slides is - well, personal care, if you will.
That's hard to write about my Mom, because she was always - always - so well kept, so perfectly turned out. I remember when there was a Parent's Day at Linwood School - I was in Grade Seven, I think - and all the moms (and perhaps a dad or two) were in the classroom, and sat at our desks with us and watched how we worked. Afterwards, Sharon Lillie, who sat just in front of me in both the row and the alphabet, leaned back and whispered, in awe, "Ohhh. Your mom is soooo beautiful." I had never thought of that before. It made me very proud.
This is my Mom:
Empirically: stunningly beautiful. Not really much room for debate, regardless of your tastes or standards.
Well, that's how she looked in 1945. And she aged beautifully, too - even into her sixties and seventies, a striking woman.
Physically, the last 15 years or so haven't been as kind to her. We laughed with her about this - teasing her about shrinking and shrivelling up and becoming a raisin. She'd laugh right along with us, then tell us - with that sweet smile - to (and I quote) "Fuck off." (And really - how beautiful is that?)
Mom was an athlete - a champion curler and golfer. She raised six kids and won Chatelaine Magazine's "Housewife of the Year" in 1959 or 1960. (For my American or British friends, Chatelaine Magazine was, in its prime the leading Canadian women's magazine - think "Redbook"). When we were grown enough not to need her, she went into real estate and ended up running her own company. She was strong and independent long before people realized all women needed to be that way.
From the time we were kids, Mom always said "God, if I ever get to where I'm a burden on you, or come to the point I can't remember where I am or what my name is, just take me out and shoot me." It was just one of those things that people say, and as we got older we'd tease her about that, too. "Would it be okay if we worked a little ahead, Mom? I mean, you're not a burden, but you're being a bit of a pain in the ass. Can we take you out and shoot you now?"
"Frig off."
Andy will be the first to insist that caring for Mom is not a burden - in fact, she honestly thinks of it as a joy and a privilege. She'll go over a couple of times a week and say "OK, Mom, time for our shower together. Yay!" And Mom will scowl and get that stubborn set in her jaw and cross her arms as she sits in her comfy tub chair and say "Frig off. I don't want a shower."
And Andrea will laugh and say, "Ohhhh, is that a manicure? Let me see ...". And Mom will hold out her nails for inspection, and Andy will quickly grab her wrists and it's "Whee! Up we go and into the shower!" and Andrea will scoop her up and take her wriggling and struggling into the bathroom and scrub her down and towel her off and by then Mom will be smiling and happy and cuddly.
My Dad can't do any of that, of course. And it's not that he's physically unable, although he probably is. But my Dad has always adored my Mom to the point where he will literally do anything she says, anything at all to please her. So if she said she didn't want a shower, he'd go along with it.
And if she says she's not hungry ... he won't insist she eat. And those of us who have experience with Alzheimer's or dementia will say, "Uh-oh."
Because they forget. Something in their head tells them they just ate. Put a plate of food in front of my Mom and she'll scarf down every last morsel. Ask her what she wants for lunch, she'll tell you she's not hungry. And Dad won't say, "Bullshit. Eat." Because that's just not who he is.
So making sure Mom doesn't starve to death has also been part of the load Andrea has taken on. And again, she doesn't see it as any kind of a burden. At all.
Andrea is also responsible for taking Mom to the doctor ...
***************
"They found a node on her lung."
"Cancer?"
"He's pretty much 99% sure it is. The only real question - and a CAT scan will answer this - is whether or not it's operable."
"Mom would never survive an operation. She's skin and bones and old and frail."
"Well, then, if it is operable, we'll have a decision to make, won't we?"
"No real decision. She'd die on the table. If we let them do an operation, remove a lung or part of a lung ... well, hell, we might as well just take her out and ..."
Pause.
"Mmmhmm."
Pause.
"I see."
"Thought you might."
***********
Last week, a person I love and trust suggested I go here and watch the movie "The Secret". Lots of people have heard of the movie, and while I went in with my usual skepticism, prepared to roll my eyes throughout, I plunked my five virtual bucks down and came out 90 minutes later believing it has a really important, easy-to-understand, life-changing message.
It postulates that there is a Law of Attraction, and that it essentially works this way: if you have negative thoughts, feelings, and beliefs, you will, regardless of your efforts, always have negative results in what you do. Conversely, if you are positive - if you honestly believe you will (fill in the blank) achieve wealth, success, regain health, whatever - then the Universe will work with you to achieve positive results.
Now, the Universe can't achieve the impossible - you're not gonna live forever, no pixies will make the cars in rush hour disappear so you can get home faster, the Toronto Maple Leafs won't win the Stanley Cup. But in our day to day lives, the power of positive energy can affect outcomes.
I live my life in a generally positive frame of mind, but this goes further. Believe. Really, honestly believe in specific positive outcomes and they will come to you. Again, I'm a skeptic. But ... I'm being won over as I see it work in my life and in the lives of others.
So - enter my Mom, with Lung Cancer. The big one.
The woman earned it, I'll give you that. Chainsmoked for 65-odd years, even after six months in the hospital with Tuberculosis. Smoked through my Dad's stroke. Smoked when he was diagnosed with cancer and had a part of his lung removed. She spent a lifetime knowingly and relentlessly courting cancer, and it's finally come calling. And that's not blaming the victim, it's not criticizing my Mom, it's just shrugging at the facts of the case.
And here's me, wondering what constitutes a positive outcome in this. What do I wish for? What do I focus my energies on believing will happen? What is the best of all possible outcomes?
Cancer - especially lung cancer - ravages. It rips and tears, claws at you, shreds you to pieces from the inside. It's a hard, hard way to go. I don't want to see my Mom - this confused, frail, helpless person she has become - stripped of dignity and wracked with unendurable pain. For all her years of drinking deep from the cup of Life, she doesn't deserve that. Nobody does.
My best, fondest hope for this woman who gave me life, this woman I love so much I would gladly trade my life for hers, is that she go quickly, quietly, peacefully in her sleep. Soon. Before the bad stuff starts.
It really, really hurts to want that.
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