My mother was diagnosed with breast cancer two years ago—not the “good” breast cancer, if there is such a thing. She tested positive for the BRAC2 gene mutation and has triple negative breast cancer. It’s aggressive and vicious and I know she won’t be one of the women at the Race for the Cure in October, holding a handful of white balloons to commemorate each year since diagnosis.
There was the first mastectomy, then the second. Her hair fell out, but she was alive and in remission ... for three months and then the cancer came back in her bones and liver. There was time waiting to see if she could get into a clinical trial of a parp inhibitor drug. The clinical drug trials are a lottery for a chance at life. It is a cruel system to play with the hope and desperation of people who want to grasp at any possible chance to live. Eventually, she was enrolled in the trial but it was not the magic we had hoped for.
As my mom became sicker and sicker, our roles blurred. Suddenly, I was not just her daughter. I was mothering her as well as my own child. I was dealing with tears, hurt feelings, fears, and anger. When my own child comes to me and there is a problem I can’t fix for her, there are my own feelings of helplessness. When my mother comes to me with problems I can’t fix, it hurts just as much.
Pain: The cancer in her bones causes pain that medicine isn’t touching. It affects and knots the muscles around the areas. I can’t touch her, can’t offer massage because the chemo affected her platelets so much she bruises from touch.
Side effects: Radiation on the bone cancer burnt her colon. Nothing stays long in her digestive tract. Her blood counts are way down. Low red blood cells mean she can’t bring in enough oxygen, low white blood cells mean she can’t fight off infection, and low platelets mean she bruises and bleeds easily.
Anger: Chemotherapy can affect serotonin levels in the brain, causing depression and anger. Up until now, my mother has refused treatment with an antidepressant. The entire family is in “duck and cover” mode because we don’t know what to expect from her moods day to day. If she were my daughter I would tell her she did not have a choice and stand over her to make sure she took her medication. It leaves me in a helpless position; responsibilities of a parent but with none of the authority.
Diet: I’m a certified health coach and have researched and spoken about what to eat when you have cancer. What you can do to help when you have cancer. My mother ignores me—she is like a rebellious teenager, eating processed foods and refined sugars and I can’t do anything about it. I can make nourishing soups but can’t force her to eat them. I can make healthy whole food dinners (and it is expected) but am completely ignored as she ingests packs of butterscotch Krimpets. Welcome to Frustration Land. I seem to have frequent flyer passes for this destination.
The journey continues, step by step, and I am trying to feel my way into this different hybrid role while holding on to my sanity, my job, and my responsibilities as a mother to my child. I hate pink ribbons. Pink is officially banned from the home. I’m working on a new ribbon—maybe something a little edgier, black and red. Something to say “Cancer Sucks.” It sucks for the person who has it and the people around them. Underneath it all, I really miss my mom.
