3 Years and a Lifetime

3 years ago today, my mother passed away from ovarian cancer which had metastasized to her liver.

Mom, sporting the haircut she always wanted, thanks to a new wig!

This is her abbreviated story.

She was originally diagnosed with cancer in January 2010 and had a full hysterectomy along with a section of her small intestine removed. While her surgery was intense, she made a full recovery and went into remission for 3 years. A year after her initial surgery, she suffered a perforation in her small intestine, and had to have surgery for the repair - fortunately this time, recovery did not involve chemo, but it was still slow and painful.  She learned that her cancer had come back in fall 2013, around the time that her mother died - in fact, I remember Mom and Dad talking about Grandmother's funeral being abbreviated so that Mom could get back to the east coast for tests. The biopsies showed that the new spots on her liver were, in fact, the same cancer as before. More rounds of chemo with limited results, and a year later she was gone. She was 54 when she died.

There are obviously a lot more details to share, and for today, I'll stick with just my memories from when she was first diagnosed with cancer. Before I go any further, for all you ladies out there - ovarian and uterine cancers are silent killers.  When things "aren't right" with your lady parts, GET IT CHECKED OUT. Typically by the time these two cancers are diagnose, they're already at advanced stages, and it is often too late to do anything about it.

I still remember the day in 2010 that my dad called me at work to tell me I needed to come home. I was supposed to call Mom every Sunday, and since we'd just come back from the Gator Bowl in Jacksonville (Michigan lost to Mississippi State), I had gotten a little lax in my phone calls. I thought it was odd that Dad was calling and texting me during the day, so I called him back after my meeting. I think it was a Wednesday. He told me Mom had cancer, she's having surgery on Friday...and the prognosis was not great. Mom didn't want me to know, and he felt it was my choice whether or not to fly out. Danielle was flying out Friday morning.

I remember talking to my supervisor - I was in an experimental open concept office setting (my company has since adopted this setting for its whole campus) and I remember crying in a huddle room while I told him I needed to fly out the next day.  I'd bring my laptop and work remotely so he would barely notice I was gone.  My supervisor at the time was like a big teddy bear and gave lots of hugs, so he hugged me and told me to log on if I felt I needed to but not to worry about it and go be with my family.

At this point, I was so thankful for all the international travel my company had sent me on in the previous year.  I booked a round trip ticket using 25,000 frequent flier miles - had I purchased the ticket outright, it would have been over $1,200. Nowadays that figure probably wouldn't make me blink -- but at that time, I wouldn't say I was "struggling" financially but a $1,200 plane ticket would have meant tightening the belt for a month or two.

I flew out Thursday morning. I had planned to arrive in Providence, RI that evening, and my parents would pick me up from the hotel at 5am the next morning on their way to the hospital for mom's pre-op. Of course it was January and there were flight delays, so I ended up arriving in Providence at midnight, got about 4 hours of sleep, and then it was time to go. I didn't sleep much anyway.

I intentionally didn't read about the statistics for ovarian cancer survival rates. I didn't want to know. I also didn't keep tabs on what medicines she was taking or what kind of chemo the doctor chose. My sister had way more scientific and technical savvy than me, so I let her worry about those things. Danielle told me that I didn't see how bad Mom was over Christmas - and that she was probably filled to the brim with painkillers to get through the Gator Bowl trip. I had no idea, she seemed so vibrant and lively while we were there.

Surgery was horrible. I don't remember how long it actually was, but it seemed like forever. Dad went to pick up Danielle from the airport, and lunch came and went. I want to we waited 6 or 7 hours, and the surgeon told us there was at least one point where he thought Mom wasn't going to make it. The good news was that he was fairly certain he'd gotten all the tumor. I don't really remember the rest of the weekend, only that I was relieved and so thankful that she made it and that I worried for her recovery.

I DO remember 2010 was a difficult and chaotic year for me.  My two best friends got married, my sister graduated from college, and I trained for and rode in my first MS150 charity ride - 180 miles on a bicycled over the course of 2 days. Between all this, trying to visit my mom often to keep up her morale and travelling to Calgary once or twice a month for work, I think I was on an airplane 5 or 6 times each month. I know that I got to United Gold status taking only domestic flights, which is saying something. I learned my limit for work and personal travel, for sure - I often woke up unsure of what city I was in!

Flash forward to now, I'm most thankful that mom's health held pretty steady then deteriorated quickly in the last 4-6 weeks of her life. She traveled all over the country in her last year, and got to see all her dearest friends. I suspect she was in more pain than she let on during all this, but I'll never know for sure. I'm also fairly certain she knew she was dying but didn't really let on how bad any of it was - she wrote letters to my father, sister, and I. I wish she had been more authentic with us, but I understand where she was coming from.

After seeing how difficult mom's recovery was from 2 abdominal surgeries, I was very leery of a C-Section with Baby L. Thankfully I didn't need one. I know that a CS is not nearly as invasive as the surgeries my mother had, and I have much more core strength for recovery than she did, and I'm still thankful that I was able to deliver Baby L (mostly) naturally.

I sometimes wonder how my life would be different if Mom were still alive.  Would have I have met G? Would we have gotten married on a beautiful day in Connecticut, or maybe it would have been in Houston? I know Baby L would have a different name (though what that would be, I have no idea). I'm fairly certain I wouldn't be living in the Middle East if Mom were alive, unless she was in remission again. I wouldn't have wanted to be that far if she was alive and still sick. She would have tried to come to Houston for her grandbaby's birth, and hypothetically, we all would have been stuck/stranded in Hurricane Harvey. Would I be as happy as I am now? Mom once said she would gladly take all her pain and suffering if it meant I could be happy. Sometimes I feel an immense sense of loss because of that - did my happiness cost me my mother? I try not to spend much time in that frame of mind, since I know it's not particularly healthy.

Instead, I look forward to the future. We'll be visiting my dad and stepmother for Baby L's first birthday, and it'll be a great time for us to take her 1-year old portraits with the family. G's parents are also planning on joining us, so it should be tons of fun. She'll also get to meet her grandmother and namesake!

I'm so excited to take Baby L to my mother's grave site - and I know my stepmother has been taking care of it, so it will look much more green than this!

 Mom, I love you, thank you so much for everything you've given me. Thank you for looking after me every day, and thank you for looking after my family and beautiful daughter.

Someday soon, I'll be able to ride a carousel with my daughter, just like my mother did with me.