Watching your loved one fight cancer is a nightmare of a rollercoaster you can’t get off of. My mom’s 18-month battle felt like a lifetime. The details of it play on loop inside my mind.
The weekend in September of 2022, when she told me she felt like she had a lump in her throat and knew something was wrong. Mom, go get it checked out. The beginning of November when she got the call it was lung cancer in a lymph node. How? It had just been 8 months since she had watched her husband and my stepdad die from the same cancer. I reassured her that her story wasn’t his as I tried to convince myself of the same. It was only one spot but inoperable. See? It wasn’t widespread like Gaylon’s. This is good. She’ll get treatment, follow up with immunotherapy and pray it doesn’t come back for a long time. Treatment was finished, though it came with the grueling side effects of chemo. Isolation besides a few close friends that spent their days in the trenches with her. But it’d be worth it, right? Then the post-treatment scan that showed the mass could still be there. The consultation with MD Anderson. Her cancer was not curable, but they had a goal to extend her life as much as possible. They’d stay ahead of the cancer as long as they could, and they didn’t stop until they had to. After one treatment, immunotherapy was no longer an option. Well, there goes the one chance at significant longevity. She’d spend the next several months in and out of tests and procedures with new spots appearing, lung complications, and hospital stays. Sounds like a lot, huh? Was it worth it? She thought so. Every poke, prod and new procedure bought her more time. More time to live and more time to love and she made sure to make every moment count. She loved living, and I don’t mean just being alive. Really living. She found happiness in the small things and held on to her joy as long as possible. Her doctor had never encountered a patient with stage IV cancer jumping waves in the ocean the day before an appointment.
The defeat and disappointment that filled her face when she heard the news she couldn’t continue with treatment. I knew it was coming because just a few weeks prior, I had gotten a personal call from her doctor saying they didn't think she would make it out of the hospital. This is the beginning of the end. Then the hardest part. The end. The agonizing cycle of emotions that filtered through her-irritation, confusion, fear, pain, and sadness. The life that was barely hanging on in her eyes and the rattle of her shallow breaths that will haunt for years. The desperation you feel of just needing more time, knowing it’ll never be enough, sits with the heavy feeling of heartbreak for wanting it to be over so she was no longer suffering. Grief did not start at her death, but well before when it became obvious the cancer would take her life, and it will continue on after, with the life lived without her.
As I mentioned above, my mother sought treatment at MD Anderson after a scan following her first round of treatment in Waco. I can undoubtedly tell you that decision added precious time to her life. Her medical team took her fight on as their fight. They even had a group chat about her. Her oncologist, Dr. Singhi, started his first visit with a fist bump and ended our last one with a long embrace. For the second time that month, he had to tell my mom he could no longer give her treatment because it would kill her. When he saw her hesitancy, he shared his personal story about his grandfather dying in the ICU from the same cancer and not wanting that ending for her. He wanted her home with family. MDA is filled with wonderful doctors and nurses that I could go on and on about. She had social workers that worked with her on financial aid including many of her nights in hotels. The things that made her treatment there possible. She even made friends with the front staff attendants who were always cheerful and helpful. I held back the tears on our last visit when they called out “we’ll see you next time, Ms. Threadgill!”
My momma loved flowers and plants and would’ve loved the church adorned with them for her celebration of life. But they will eventually die, just as she did. We can’t change her outcome, but we can work towards changing the path for so many other lives affected by cancer. We’d be honored if you considered a donation to MD Anderson in remembrance of my mom and her fight with cancer. 100% of your contribution goes to cancer patients by supporting innovative patient care, research, education and prevention programs.
Together, we are Making Cancer History®
https://mdanderson.donordrive.com/campaign/paulathreadgill