The True Beginning of the Story

The Country Club
and an Irish Party, 15 March 2014

I was sick in early February, and then I fell in late February of this year. I landed on the back of my head first, and the rest of my body followed. No broken bones and no brain bleed, but it took a few weeks for me to feel "right" again. I've never hit my head that hard, and I'm lucky--I hear--that I didn't damage anything.

During that time, I realized my mother's journey began in March of 2013, so I took it easy and gathered Facebook memories and stories I had created about her journey every day, missing only one day. Finally, today I found the true beginning of the story, where mom was admitted to the hospital with jaundice and was unable to digest food. To be clear, that was 15 March 2013. I was still in Kentucky at the time, but I had threatened her earlier in the year (it may have been the end of 2012, actually) that I would come to Virginia if she didn't stop losing weight. She didn't want me. But, a hospital visit? I had to make plans.

I had already heard from someone that morning that she had a blockage in her bile duct, which explained the jaundice. She wasn't in pain, but she had been very tired. And, a blockage also explained that she wasn't able to digest food. For some reason, the doctors at the hospital decided to cut into her to examine her bile duct. I guess they felt they couldn't see anything with a CAT scan? I didn't receive an answer to that question. This was a Friday, and we weren't expecting pathology reports back until Monday.

Cora, my daughter, was available, so we planned to drive to Virginia the next day for a few days to see what we could learn. Mom hadn't seen Cora in ages, so we figured that her visit might lift her spirits and help her get over the fact that I would also be in the room. My mother could be antagonistic with me if I was simply breathing the same air.

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One year later, on 15 March 2014, I managed to get two hours away from my parents and go out with two distant cousins to celebrate St. Patrick's day. We had a great time, and it was good for me to get out of the house. I could never relax, though. Every time I tried to leave, my mother would blow a stent, suddenly have a 104° fever, or throw up everything she had eaten that day. I never did get far or for too long, so that night was a pleasant one for me.

It's good to be writing this story again. Sometimes it's difficult, because my memories are still so fresh about so many details. But, I also feel I'm putting some things to bed, and that feels liberating.

Interventional Radiology Tests My Patience, 2014

I took a few days off from writing this history about mom and her cancer, because sometimes the memories can be overwhelming. Additionally, little happened on the 21st. On the 22nd of January in 2014, I wrote, "I've only been pissed off twice with mom's treatment over the past year and both times my ire has been directed with the sub-par IR (Interventional Radiology) at this hospital."

I hope, sincerely, that much has changed at my mother's hospital's IR since 2014. I know the man in charge either quit or was let go before June of 2014, because mom told me he was no longer there. IR as a practice was first introduced in the 1960s, but became a medical specialty in 2012, just two years before mom experienced their treatments. The departments conducts angiography, angioplasty, embolization, stent placement, needle biopsy, foreign body removal, and more. While IR became a medical specialty in this century, they introducted biliary and genitourinary system interventions, and should have been very skilled with those process by 2014.

That said, my mother had to return to the IR just two weeks after her hospital stay to replace her biliary catheter because someone in IR did not suture her correctly. As a result, mom developed a fever and was in "pain". When she returned from the hospital, she was exhausted. The next day, 23 January 2014, I wrote, "Mom sleeps. Mom's been sleeping for hours. Mom's twitching in ther sleep. She's been sleeping in the easy-boy chair, and I can't get her to wake up enough to get her to bed. I keep watching her chest to see if she's breathing. I may have to sleep on the couch, because I can't bring myself to go to bed, either."

She woke at 1 a.m. and said, "I've got to go to bed." She took herself back to the bedroom, where she fell asleep again immediately. She had been awake for a total of four hours that day. 

The comments from friends regarding my anger were in empathy, and many responses focused on the anger they felt when their loved ones were shortchanged by any given department within hospital systems. When I expand these entries for my published journal, I'll include some quotes that hit home for me. I had worried at times that I shouldn't be making our private lives public, but my parents didn't mind as long as I directed my writing at friends, and not to the world in general at the time.

Now that time is over. They're both gone. I have learned, through this process, that sharing is what cements us as a society. We need to know that we're not alone.

Note for illustration: This is a graphic image of the digestive system showing the bile duct, which is in the public domain. It is one of the graphics used in the article on Cholangiocarcinoma at Wikipedia. If the cancer cannot be removed and is pressing on or within the bile duct, the patient requires a bile duct stent (aka biliary stent) made of either plastic or metal. That stent holds the bile duct open so bile can continue to flow into the bowels. See more at Cancer Council, NSW, "Inserting a Stent".