It was September 2005 when my mother was diagnosed with cancer on the base of her tongue. It was Labor Day 2005, to be exact. We got the call confirming what we hoped wasn’t true, that the biopsy was cancer, squamous cell carcinoma. And like that, in an instant, we were all flung into the world of cancer. Any of you who have been there, or are there, know what I am talking about. Suddenly you have immediate appointments with several doctors who recommend several scans. This insane whirlwind led me the first of two binders I made for my mom during her battle with cancer.
At our first appointment with the surgical oncologist I realized we were about to get a bomb of information dropped on us, blood results, scan results, doctors numbers, emergency doctors numbers, pamphlets on cancer, side effects, depression, nausea. I get nauseated just thinking about it all!
At the time, I realized that we needed to take care of all of this information, mainly her appointments, doctors’ numbers, medication lists, scan results and blood counts. I could tell my mom and dad were too overwhelmed to keep track of it all, so I created a binder that would hold all these documents. This medical binder ended up helping us all. I remember a frantic search through the binder when I needed a doctor’s number when my mother was too wiped out to direct me. The binder went with my mom to all her appointments. When friends helped out by taking her to appointments they were able to find information for the doctors. I still have the binder somewhere, a history of rough times past.
After, one of our first appointments with my mother’s radiation oncologist the other binder was born. My mother, father and I met with Dr. Quon about a week after her diagnosis. It seemed like we were in his office for hours. Dr. Quon spent a very long time describing all the things that were going to happen to her because of the radiation to her neck, redness, sores in her mouth, muscle damage, thick saliva; the list went on and on and he didn’t hold back. When he left the room, my mom and I looked at each other and wondered out loud, “who in their right mind would go through with this?” Of course, we both knew the answer, a lot of people like my mom, who had a lot of reasons to live. That night I went home and started working on a Reasons to Keep Going book. This is part of a letter I wrote to my mom and put in the first page of the book:
“We wondered who would willingly go through with everything that he said would happen to you. I know that some days we will wonder why we should keep going, so I put together this book to remind us why. Mainly to remind you why you should keep going. I know you know why you are proceeding bravely though all this torture, but I thought it might help to remind you how important you are to me and everyone that knows you. For every week of treatment I will add to this book, and I hope that in some way it will help you though this hard time we are passing through. I believe, I know, it is temporary and in a couple of months you will be yourself again and we will all rejoice and celebrate together. It will be a BIG celebration.”
I added to the book weekly and her friends sent in pictures, poems, and notes. It is a beautiful collection of photos and goals for when treatment ended and she got better.
My beloved mom died December 26, 2010. BUT, she did get better for a while and during that time we did some big living, and checked off some of those dreams we had collected in the book for when she was better. I carry those memories with me forever.
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