When "why" is not enough...

September 9, 2011: One week of trauma for my sweet Mumsy and the rest of us. I saw her very briefly this morning. She had a better night, as far as being able to rest, but setbacks are becoming the norm. We get to a high place, hoping for a little miracle to allow her relief from the tube down her throat and the heavy meds in her system, and then she slides a bit. We love to see her smile, but it's often followed by a grimace of pain or confusion. Her grandchildren's visits fill her with joy. She mouths "I love you" over and over and smiles as they hold her hand and kiss her forehead. There is a plan afoot to smuggle Diet Pepsi, M&Ms, and her little Chester-dog into her room somehow! (this will surely be accomplished when she is well enough...) We laugh and we cry, and we wonder how much more that little body can take. She sits on the side of her bed at least once a day for physical therapy, but just can't manage to keep her eyes open beyond a few seconds. It's a mystery to us, but we're trusting her doctors to keep exploring, adding, eliminating, and consulting everything that needs to happen to make her better. It's exhausting for all of us.

And then, just when you think there couldn't possibly be any more bad news left in the world, there is. My lump had melanoma in it. Dr. Bradley's face is sad as he delivers this news this morning at my post-op appointment. He knows about Mom. He and Mom have had many conversations about me and my Goliath. So, he gives me this verdict and immediately launches into what happens next. "We are back to Square One," he says. There is lab work to do, multiple scan appointments to make, doctors to visit, and surgery to schedule. Another neck dissection, this time on the left side. It's certainly not as extensive as the right side, as there are no tumors to remove, but it is a 3-hour surgery and an overnight hospital stay. I sit stunned. I wanted so much to hear good news in this week of trauma. I am in shock. I am scared for the scans and wonder what else could have grown in three short months. I dread another surgery, especially without my mom at my side. I don't want her to know. It would devastate her. I know other family will be there to support me, but I hate to shift their attention from her to me. I wish I was strong enough to do it myself - take myself to all the appointments and to the hospital and walk out with head held high. I feel puny and small and vulnerable.

I need today to grieve. I need today to cry buckets all by myself. I need today to gather myself together and put my MIRACLES & HOPE face back on. Tomorrow, I'll be better. Tomorrow, I'll have screamed myself hoarse, asking why, why, WHY? Tomorrow, I'll be able to face what has to be done because I've done it before. Tomorrow, I'll have already told God, "Remember when you said you wouldn't give us any trial that we couldn't bear? Well, I'm now one fingernail over the limit, so bring on the good news and joy." Tomorrow, I'll fill up my well of hope again and give ladles full to Mom. I will be okay, there is no doubt of that. Tomorrow...