Life in Overdrive


Whoever said that life began at 40 has not been a witness to my life the past decade. Many women describe a phenomenon of not feeling like a grown up, but I lost that luxury when I turned 30. Now that I think about it the birthdays that end in 0's have always been turning points for me. At 10 I started my menstrual cycle and biologically "became a woman". At 20 I became engaged and lost my virginity, thus consummating my physical womanhood. At 30 my mother was diagnosed with cancer and began the slow descent into serious illness. This is when my emotional womanhood began.

For 2 years I watched the woman who raised me grow weaker and weaker, after each surgery and chemotherapy or radiation cycle. I will never be able to erase the image of the strong, elegant lady who wore her hair as a halo of glory when I was a teenager. I loved my mother's long, lustrous golden curls. I will also never be able to erase the images burned in my heart when she came to me, scissors in hand and asked me to cut those curls before they fell out. For 2 hours she sat on a stool in her bathroom as I snipped and combed clumps of already shedding hair from her beautiful head. I filled her ample sized waste basket 4 times to the rim with those golden curls and tucked one in my pocket, as the tears streamed down my face. In the end she had a pixie cut resembling the fineness of a toddler's tendrils where her sumptuous mane had once been, but not once did she shed a tear. Weak and frail from the ravages of this disease, I had never seen her so beautiful. In that instant her strength and overwhelming faith was luminescent. Although it broke my heart to see her hair fall out, even in her time of need my mother gave me a treasure by opening herself to me in this way.

Day after the hair cut she asked me to help her locate a wig. Feeling protective of the woman who had held me in her arms and finally able to fight back in some way against this disease, I began researching our area for the perfect source. My beautician, who is also a cancer survivor, suggested someone and assisted in gaining an immediate appointment. My mother insisted that she was strong enough to look on the way home from a chemo session. This was one of her first sessions with the others only resulting in mild nausea and fatigue. We were met at the wig salon by a woman who was less than touched by an angel. Perhaps she had another appointment or was concerned that my mother would be ill on her pristine furnishings, but her hurried pace did nothing to soothe my mother's frazzled nerves. Pulling the woman aside I attempted to explain the situation and that this was my mother's first experience, which resulted in only minimal cooperation. The woman then insisted that my mother's head circumference was large and only 2 wigs were available in this side. I saw my mother's eyes swell with tears as she asked for the restroom and proceeded to become violently ill. When my mother was able to compose herself and felt she could walk to the car. We left without acknowledging the woman's invitation that we should make another appointment when my mother was feeling better. This woman even had the gall to call my mother a few days later and leaving a message on my mother's answering machine asking my mother to please call to schedule an appointment. Once again the protectiveness that my mother had shown me as a child resulted in me returning the call and telling the shop manager that this woman was never to call my mother again. I also shared the incident with my hairdresser who is no longer referring individuals to this resource.

This bout of treatment would leave my mother ill for several days, although she would not always let me know the extent of her discomfort. Fortunately my father is a nurse and was able to care for her, but he was recovering from surgery 6 months earlier for colon cancer. Luckily he did not require chemotherapy or radiation, but our family's faith would be tested over the next decade many times to extents beyond belief. Just when my faith would falter the kindness of human beings would touch my heart. My church reached out to my parents, even though they were members elsewhere, and sent meals to them. A coworker reached out to me in my fear and held my hand when I needed a confidant. Although we were worlds apart she would call me just to see how my mother was or to get me away from the situation for an hour or two.

Finally, although my mother did not have breast cancer we were linked with the local breast cancer boutique that sold wigs and other needs for the comfort and beauty of those undergoing and surviving cancer treatments. At the boutique my mother was treated like a queen and I could relax. Finally someone was addressing the fears that my mother had not even shared with me. Should her eyebrows fall out yes they did have paste on brows. It had never entered my mind that this would be the case. In the brow drawer were also the most beautiful real hair eyelashes. Along with wigs and hair were hats and a lovely woman my mother's age who shared her story with my mother. A story of hope and the triumph of being cancer free for 10 years, my mother left the boutique with 2 wigs, a calendar for support group meetings, and the phone number of a new friend. Within minutes she fell asleep in the car, but this sleep was different than the sleep she had experienced the past months. She seemed peaceful and once I saw a smile cross her lips when I glanced over. This day was a foreshadowing of the triumph my mother would have over this round with the dragon.

During this time our family would suffer another blow. Most rely on family to cope in times of need. Science may have examined the healing power of maternal touch or at the least its impact on pain, but my mother was not afforded this comfort in her struggle. Shortly after my mother's diagnosis, her own mother rapidly descended into arthritic demise and dementia resulting in her need for institutionalized care. Living hundreds of miles away, my mother was not able to participate in the arrangements for her mother's care, and out of the selfless love I so admire she admonished the family from informing my grandparents of her own physical condition. My grandparents were only told that travel was not possible due to my father's need for checkups, thus removing the additional stressor that would descend more fully on my grandfather's shoulders as his one true love drifted from this world. As a gift from God my mother regained her health and strength to visit in the last months of her mother's life affording her the opportunity to say goodbye to the woman who had nurtured her. My mother hid her grief and pain at the loss of her mother, but I can only wonder as to how often she cried out to her for help as I do now combating my own intolerable pain. How often did she long for Nanna's arms around her in the middle of the night?

My mother grieved in solitude and silence for her mother, except to reach out for my husband who had also lost his mother - oddly to cancer. Until this time my mother and husband had a slightly distant relationship. Now my mother appeared to appreciate the pain my husband had endured losing his mother and strangely allowed only him to view her own heartache. The bond they formed through the pain would carry us all over many years. Often when she would protect my father and I through her own struggles she would honestly confide in my husband allowing her needs to be met.

After 3 years my mother appeared to have entered remission. The radiation treatments had damaged her lungs leaving her permanently disabled, but at least she would be with us. She would not be the same woman who met the disease cancer years before, but our family would not be the same either. My father had already been declared to be in remission, so this day was a day of celebrating God's grace and glory.

My husband and I decided to resume attempts to have a third child to celebrate the gift of life. This too would be a long road with many unexpected turns.




To be continued...

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