Day 140: 7.2 Liters

7.2 liters! Can you imagine someone taking 7.2 liters out of you? That's how much was drained out of mom's abdomen today. That's the most in one appointment so far.

Mom was really unsteady and fairly uncomfortable after it was all over. I was concerned but I think it was just organs jockying for position. Her back was really bothering her and I guess that makes sense after having had that pressure out front. Every time I go, she starts looking pregnant and today, there was just nothing left of her. Even pregnant women's bodies take some time to readjust to not having that weight. But mom loses it all at once each time. And 7.2 liters is a LOT of fluid.

I spent most of yesterday on the phone with the Cancer Center and Hospice (sometimes in tears) trying to get someone to place orders to test the fluid. Finally last night a very nice Hospice supervisor offered to call mom's primary care doctor and see if she would be willing to place the order. This morning at exactly 9am I got a call from a Hospice nurse letting me know they hadn't heard anything yet and suggested I call mom's primary care doctor. I did just that and about a 1/2 hour later, her DOCTOR actually called me back. Not a staff member, not a nurse, but her doctor. This is a doctor that really doesn't know mom all that well. She just took over her care shortly before mom's diagnosis. I was shocked to actually have her on the phone. She was very nice and explained to me that the reason no one wants to test the fluid is that it is not an accurate assessment of the status of the cancer. Depending on what part was tested, there could be more or less cancer cells and no one wants to give mom a false prognosis. That was the best explanation I had been given and really appreciated her call and her time. She suggested that we talk to mom's Oncologist about what test would be appropriate for mom to get the answers we needed, which we will do on Monday at her appt at the Cancer Center.

One thing that was continuously repeated in all my phone calls was the fact that mom's cancer is bad. No one, medically speaking, thinks it has gotten better. That still feels like a punch in the gut because I think all of us who love her want to believe it has. But as far as the doctors are concerned, the reality of it all is not pretty.

So, 7.2 liters drained. Mom had to be wheeled out again. She couldn't walk because her equilibrium was so off. But I called her tonight and she was doing well.

So, now we will have the appt at the Cancer Center on Monday...and then we just wait. We wait to see how long it takes to fill back up. If we're back in under 3 weeks again after 7.2 liters, the cancer is definitely back full force. But maybe there will be more time.

Time. It's so relative to me these days. And yet, so incredibly important. And it seems like it's ticking loudly in my ear. Today was hard for me as I had errands to run before we headed to Everett and then things took a little longer than anticipated and then it took me nearly a full two hours to get home in traffic and I had to rush to the birth center to teach a class. I was so stressed over time and then managed to dump all my papers all over the parking lot as I got out of my car. I was surprised I didn't just drop to the sidewalk in tears. But I held it together and I taught my class and am grateful for that outlet quite honestly. Even when it seems too hard to put together a sentence, I can pull it together and teach a childbirth class.

But much of today I seem to replay in slow motion. The parts that include mom anyway. The rest seems in super speed. It's as though my brain is holding on to every little moment with mom right now. It's an odd sort of sensation.

On a side note, a friend of mine, Julie, told me yesterday she saw a shirt at a Forza Coffee Shop here in town that said "Cancer Sucks". I knew I had to have it. I stopped at my local Forza and they didn't have any more. So Julie called around for me and found one in Puyallup that had them. I made a special trip out there this morning for one. It's a brown shirt and in pink lettering it says, in Italian, "il Cancro Succhia" and below that in smaller white letters it says "...cancer sucks". I love it and put it right on to wear to the hospital today.

On the way up, I stopped at a pizza place to get the boys lunch in Everett. A woman probably about mom's age stopped me to read my shirt and her response was, "Boy, does it ever! I had it!" She then asked me if I had cancer. I told her it was my mom. She asked me what kind...that's the question I always get next and the one that is so hard to answer. I told her we don't know...it's of an undiagnosed origin. And this woman was genuinely touched and felt genuinely sad. She asked me for mom's first name and told me she would pray for her. It still makes me cry as I think about it. I was holding back tears as we left the pizza place. As we were walking through the parking lot, she was leaving at the same time and approached me again and said, "How is your dad taking it?" She didn't know anything about my parents. She didn't know if I even had a dad still living or anything...but yet, it was if she really did just KNOW. I told her it has been hard and told her a little about mom and dad's relationship and how long they have known one another. This woman was drawn to me out of understanding. And two strangers met and bonded quickly over this disease. It was beautiful and heartbreaking at the same time. But it touched my heart in ways that I just can't explain. I don't think I'll ever forget her. And I never even asked her for her name. :-(

It's been a long day and I'm ready to go lie down. Tomorrow is a day off (if my clients allow it...;-)). I'm going to do my best to rest. But I'm never very good at that.

Only time will tell what happens from here. One day at a a time. Slow motion or in fast forward. One day...one moment...at a time.