Mom was in the hospital with what was thought to be congenital heart failure. By Wednesday she was looking good, but the swelling in her right arm had not gone down. She and I talked about this latest trip to the hospital, just a few days after the last, but that everything should be alright. Her spirits were good.

On Friday I spoke to a doctor who told me it was a blood clot in her right arm that was the trouble. Blood thinners should help, but they wanted to be conservative since her platelets were low as a consequence of her chemo.

I called to check on Mom Saturday around 1 PM and heard that she was in ICU.

This was a shock. While she has issues she was dealing with, her Doctor sounded confident with me on Friday.

I ran to ICU and got there around 2PM.

It turns out, around 6AM Mom was having difficulty breathing, they did a CAT scan and found another blood clot, this one in her right lung. They asked her if it was okay to temporarily be intubated. Mom has been in this situation before, and so she said yes.

By the time I arrived, Mom was looking like she had on other ICU trips, drugged, but stable. I held her hand as the doctor on staff told me what they would like to proceed with. Mom became agitated, possibly hearing me and the doctor discuss these things, possibly just because she was snapping out of her medication. They gave her morphine (which they had done countless times before on other trips to ICU) and she calmed down. The doctor and I talked for around 2 more minutes before her stats went haywire and alarms started ringing. I remember one doctor asking this doctor if she needed help and she said yes, get everyone. Someone pulled me away and asked me to go to the waiting room.

I was there for 10-15 minutes when they called me. They told me there was no heart beat, that they were keeping her alive at that point with CPR. They asked if I wanted to be in the room with her.

Within seconds of my arriving one doctor said he felt a faint pulse and I grabbed mom’s feet and demanded to her that she stay. The staff worked for 15 or so more minutes, with me present, but she was gone.

A nurse told me it was like she had waited for me to arrive, and then decided to let go.

I’m coming out of the daze of the day and am waking up with a million questions and what-ifs. I don’t know how many of them are coming from my head, and how many from my heart.

Thank you everyone for your support, your thoughts and prayers.

On Friday the results of Mom’s second biopsy came back and confirmed the worst – that Mom had lung cancer – specifically, small cell lung cancer – a particularly nasty form of cancer that spreads unpredictably and fast.

They immediately scheduled a deep body scan to see how far it has spread while Mom agreed to undergo Chemotherapy which started on Saturday, just in case there was a chance to get ahead of this thing.

I should be hearing from her oncologist today about the results of the deep body scan. Mom told me the results were good on Sunday, that the cancer has not spread past her left lung. But what that actually means I don’t know until I speak with him.

Mom is in this place mentally that is hard to comprehend – she’s both clear headed and serene. In her own words she’s “ready to fight, because I have to – but if God is ready to take me – I’m am ready to go”. And I believe her.

Maybe she just isn’t facing the reality of this so far.

Maybe she’s just ready to die.

Or maybe her belief in what-will-be-will-be is stronger than I had ever imagined.

I hope I’ve picked some of that up from her. My core belief that you have no control of the hand you are dealt – and that it’s best not to to get caught up in the contents of that hand – how fair the cards are – or how often you’ve been given a set of cards that have low odds of success – because you do have control over how you play your hand. It’s how you play your hand, no matter how good or bad, that counts.

At least that’s what I tell myself when times are good.

Right now I don’t feel that way at all.

And I’m afraid that she might be playing ‘strong’ for me and Dante’s benefit.

Yesterday I told her that if she is, she should stop. That we can handle this together. She swore she wasn’t. I tried to discern the truth, but her eyes have such a child like innocence about them (an innocence that makes NO SENSE in the face of what she’s seen in her life) that I couldn’t.

Following the deep body scan results and talk with the oncologist will come difficult discussions.

My Mom has had a few bouts of ICU worthy pneumonia over the past year. Last week she felt some chest pain, thinking it was a possible heart attack she went to the emergency room.

Turns out they found two large masses in her left lung and her lymph nodes are swollen. The doctors gave me an 85% chance that it’s cancer and in an advanced state. Her first bronchial biopsy was inconclusive so they are proceeding with a second today and then another test if necessary. So far her symptoms are no different than those she’s been experiencing with her COPD for the last few years.

She’s in amazing spirits. She’s 74 and has seen much hardship in her life. Recently she told me that these past few years have been her best. I’m proud of her.

I’m not doing so well. But that’s to be expected I guess. There’s still a chance that this is nothing more than a bad infection. A false positive. But the doctors seem to think that’s not likely.

I’m always trying to look for the bright side of things, that sliver of light down the tunnel, and there are a few – Emma has grown into an awesome toddler, she’s almost two! My herniated disk hasn’t troubled me as much since my last injection (over a week now of decreased pain). beta.comcast.net is rolling along, the feedback has been great. And Richelle has been supportive dealing with it all.

I know this is just part of the cycle of life. I can rationalize it a million ways. I know on an intellectual level I’m not alone. Especially with two brothers. But still, it’s hard not to be sad that a small dream of mine, that Emma get to really know Mom, is looking less and less likely. And when Mom goes, so goes the last of our ancestors. A door closes on our roots and our own origins. I hope I’ve been a good son.