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| My Mom and Dad - A good marriage, a good life |
THIS WEEK when my Mom went to get her hair cut, she took Dad with her. Her mission was to meet the enemy head-on. His mission was to choose the blade that would be used.
Mom's enemy is the cancer that makes it necessary for her to have the chemotherapy that caused the hair loss that prompted her decision to shave her head. She tells me that she finds this option less stressful than constantly finding the clumps of hair in her brush or comb or fingers. She never knew what to expect when she would put her hands up to her head. Cancer does that. It leaves you faced with the realization that you cannot take the usual for granted. Some people are devastated by the news that they have cancer. If my Mom was devastated, she didn't show it. She's had cancer before. She knew it would be a tough road ahead of her. "I've already lived longer than I thought I would," she said, while telling me about her feelings. "If I get five, seven more years, that's a pretty good life. I've had a pretty good life." My Mom's a peach.
I think the thing that is more upsetting to her than knowing she has cancer, is the knowledge that she loses control over certain things in her life. For someone who likes control, this disease puts her at a distinct disadvantage. From day to day, her symptoms change as the disease or the various "cures" for the disease attack her body. And for someone who doesn't like being told what to do, she is being told what tests she will have, what treatments will be done to her, what side-affects she should expect. And because the chemo and radiation wreak havoc with her digestive system, she is told what foods she should and shouldn't eat. It's not only the doctors telling her about the foods; it's me and Dad, too. I've watched my Mom defy some of this advice and I've watched her pay a heavy price for it. Often, I've been a bit of a nag, although a well-meaning one, when I see her about to put something in her mouth that I'm fairly certain will make her bowels explode. I've sent her emails with links to articles about good nutrition while undergoing radiation and chemotherapy. But that's more about my lack of control. I hate seeing my Mom in pain and that's my way to help alleviate it.
What I'm starting to realize, though, is that she doesn't really need a well intending nag. She needs to exact her own control over the situation as she sees fit. She hasn't lost her mind, just her health for the time being. And although I will "scrutinize" her sanity if she looks like she's trying to kill herself with a spicy, fiber-filled meal with a salad on the side, until such time, I'm going to try to back off from the advice that I know she already knows. That's my contribution to her "control fund".
So far her "control fund" consists of:
1. Choosing what she wants to eat
2. Choosing to drive herself to her daily radiation treatment if she wants to
3. Choosing whether she wants to do some housework or take a nap
4. Choosing to shave her hair off instead of watching it fall out
I know as the treatments go on she may need my help around her house. For now she says she doesn't want it. I wonder if this is because she really feels good enough to do what she's doing, or if it's more a noble gesture by not asking her daughter to care for her. Of course there is a third option. She's seen the way I keep house.
For now, I'm leaving the decisions up to her. I call her most every day, I visit a few times a week. I occasionally cook food to bring to her house, including rice pudding for her stomach. And I'm making an attempt to stop nagging.
She and Dad are getting through this together. Yes there are bad days. But now they both have "happy pills" to relieve some of the anxiety and stress. And pills or no pills they'll get through this because they have a good marriage. They know that ultimately they can count on each other. They show me that like a good marriage, a good life isn't necessarily what's been served on your plate, but how well you can dress it up and enjoy every single mouthful.
Bon Appetit Mom, I love you.
