No Fear of Cancer

Mom and Dad were in the last stages of preparing to leave for their summer in Michigan when Mom went to see the doctor about some abdominal pain.  A suspicious observation by ultrasound caused the doctor to order more tests, leading to the discovery of stage four gall bladder cancer a few weeks later.  Meanwhile, the trip to Michigan was delayed, then cancelled.  Mom and Dad came down to San Diego for Audrey's middle school graduation a few days after the diagnosis.  For some reason Mom and I were talking in the bathroom, and she looked me in the eye and told me that the cancer, according to her doctor, was inoperable, since it was already in several organs, and therefore incurable. Chemo might slow it down, nothing more.  She told me this without any evidence of fear or even self-pity.  I marveled at that.  I remember an email from Dad right before the diagnosis, saying "we are at peace with the outcome either way, for it's in God's hands."  Really?  I thought when I read it.  And yet that peace seemed to pervade Mom's battle with cancer, along with the continued absence of fear or self-pity.  (Here's a photo from the "chemo" period of Mom enjoying a game of Clue with Natalie, Ryan, and Frank.)

I went online to find out more information about gall bladder cancer:  rare, 3-6 months life expectancy after diagnosis, extremely low survival rates.  Even lower than lung cancer.  Ugh.  Also found out that there are only four stages of cancer.  I was hoping for a few more.  A research paper located by a doctor/friend found that one month of Mom's chemo program extended the life of patients with this kind of cancer, on the average, by two months.  Mom powered through 5 months of chemo, and lived 8 months total, but one of those months was before treatment, so I can't chalk it up to any effects of medicine.

Rev. Bill Bierling called Mom "the perfect parishioner" at her memorial service.  She was also a really, really good patient.  In early January I asked her how she was dealing with things mentally.  "Well, I keep pretty busy just taking all these medicines," she deflected.  That was not an exaggeration.  There seemed to be a pill for everything ...