Cancer Needs An Ass-Kicking

February 15, 2014 at 5:59 pm (Personal Real Life) (, , , , )

Let’s talk about cancer, and about moms, and about moms who have cancer. Specifically, let’s talk about my mom.

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Last April, my mom started having some abdominal pains and bleeding, which might have been easy to explain if she hadn’t stopped that process a few years ago. (Ladies, if you notice anything weird going on with your lady-parts or lady-cycles, see a doctor. Better a false alarm than missing something. Actually, that goes for guys, too. True self-love is checking to make sure all your junk is healthy) A scan showed some shadows on an ovary and a mass behind the uterus. The cancer markers on her blood test were low, so there was a possibility that it was benign. If it was cancerous, they were pretty sure it was ovarian, slight chance it was uterine, and they were pretty sure they’d caught it early.

But, when they went in to remove the questionable bits, they found a very, very different story. They found cancer tissue across her ovaries and uterus, across her bowel, and through her lower abdominal cavity, including wrapping around a few blood vessels. They got out what they could, which necessitated losing some bowel, and sent it on to pathology. My mom’s surgery was near the end of the May; I spent the School Library Journal Day of Dialogue and most of my day at BEA waiting very impatiently for the path report. Not that I was going to be able to do anything from New York (or do anything, really), but not knowing was awful, because this was so clearly not what they were expecting. We’d been expecting the report for days, and every day that passed without a response just made it worse, because it had to mean that it was more complicated.

And it was. What they found was advanced cancer (Stage 4) originating in the appendix. Appendiceal cancer is rare; there have been less than two hundred documented cases since it was first diagnosed as a separate and distinct cancer in 1969. Because of its rarity, treatment options are…limited. Limited and still largely experimental, lobbing chemo agents at it and hoping it works. Chemo couldn’t start until she was fully recovered from surgery, which took a while, because it turns out when you lose portions of your bowel, it makes little things like eating a very chancy business.

My mom was, at this time, enrolled in an online graduate program to become a Nurse Practitioner. Grad school has been a dream near and dear to Mom’s heart for a long time. She was enrolled at UF when we first moved to Gainesville in 1990, but she got recalled to active duty during Desert Storm, and was gone for almost a year, and then becoming a single parent meant that grad school had to wait. And wait. And wait. When she finally got the chance to investigate online programs, we crossed our fingers. When she actually got to enroll, we were ecstatic. The program is hard. It’s meant to be done by professionals working full-time, but you would never know that based on the deluge of assignments and impossible class times. She worked herself to the bone while she was still working. Fortunately, she was eventually approved for a grant that allowed her to leave work and do school full-time. It meant things were tight, but it also meant school was doing well.

UNfortunately, once she started chemo, school got harder and harder to keep up. Chemotherapy essentially poisons your body; it’s why the side-effects are so terrible. You’re literally pumping toxic chemicals into your body in the hopes that it kills the cancer before it kills you. She grew extremely fatigued, couldn’t focus, got extreme sensitivity to cold from both taste and touch. She couldn’t walk barefoot in the kitchen without loosing sensation in her feet. She couldn’t pull things out of the fridge or freezer, couldn’t drink anything that was even cold, much less containing ice. Her potassium levels started tanking (which is, among other things, very bad for your heart). As tired as she was, she also suffered from insomnia. Nausea and vomiting came in waves, and the complications from the surgery meant she developed Short Gut Syndrome. She lost weight at a dangerous speed. And there were other side-effects. Eventually, it reached the point where she had to take a medical leave of absence from school, which was a devastating personal blow. She was later able to return to her old job, which was fortunately willing to be flexible with the hours and her needs, but school is such a deep and driving dream for her.

So why am I telling you this?

At the end of the month, my mom will be going into surgery again, a couple hours south of home. There’s a doc in DC that specializes in developing treatments for rare cancers. This protocol he’s developed, which other doctors also perform, is an aggressive combination of a long, intensive surgery and directly-applied chemotherapy. The side-effects of a direct-application chemo wash are significant, not to mention the incredible strain on the body that a long surgery produces. Provided all goes well, she’ll be in the Intensive Care Unit for several days, and then on the main surgical floor for two to three weeks (also provided all goes well). It’s an aggressive procedure, but it has a decent success rate, and if it does work, it has a significantly higher quality of life standard than continuing traditional chemo, which has thus far prevented new growth but not diminished old growth.

And we have no idea how much it’s going to cost.

Thank God, she has insurance through her job, but we don’t know how much it’s going to cover. We heard back from the office of the doc who’ll be doing the surgery, so we know things are covered on that end, but the hospital is a completely different story. Right now, her two-person household is a three-quarter income household, and once she goes down for surgery, she’s not going to be able to work until she’s fully recovered. She tried to make arrangements to work from home, and the doc was certainly willing to sign off on it, but the confidential nature of the work she does makes her employers unwilling to make the arrangements on their end. She has insurance, but no sick time. Some of her co-workers even tried to give her some of their sick time, but no dice. Her job will still be there when she gets back (and even that is a small miracle) but for the duration of her recovery, both in Daytona and here, there’ll be no income.

My mom was lucky enough to form an incredible study-group with some of her fellow Hoyas, and they support each other like you wouldn’t believe. Her phone is always going off with texts, and they moved from study-buddies into genuine friendships. When she had to take her medical leave, they kept her involved in classes by asking for her help editing papers, or helping them go over tests. When the rest of the group had to head to DC for an on-campus intensive for clinical skills, they printed out a picture of her from the previous OCI and Flat Stanley-ed her. They took ‘her’ along with them to clinicals, to meals, to drinks, to the hotel, out on walks, everywhere, and sent her pictures. They’ve committed themselves to helping her study when she comes back from medical leave, and if the procedure is successful and she’s able to join back in summer or fall semester, she’ll actually be able to walk at graduation with them next year.

And they’ve started a gofundme for her medical bills. Cancer is a debilitating disease–physically, mentally…and financially. It’s easy to say to ignore the money and focus on getting better, but that doesn’t work if the money ISN’T THERE. There’s only so much you can put on credit cards before you reach your limit, and all the well-wishes in the world don’t pay the rent.

I’m not really one to ask people for money, largely because I know better than most just how tight money can be. I live well below the poverty line, and am currently unemployed. The one advantage to that is that I can be down there with her at the hospital. But..I am asking. Politely, and with the complete understanding that money is tight, I am asking. If you can give anything to this fund to help my mother pay her medical bills and keep a roof over her head, even just a few dollars, THANK YOU. If you can’t give financially, you can still help by boosting the signal and sharing it with others, and THANK YOU. It’s funny, you’d think I’d be pretty good with words given the whole writing thing and all, but words really can’t express how grateful I will be for ANY help than can be given.

Again, here’s the link to help my mom hopefully kick cancer’s ass and still have her life to come back to when she recovers.

For any donation, for any share, for any signal boost, THANK YOU.

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6 Comments

  1. Michelle said,

    My mom also had appendix cancer, so I understand exactly what you are going through. Sending prayers for you and your family.

    • Dot Hutchison said,

      Thank you so much; all prayers and well-wishes are gratefully accepted. The emotional state is as much a part of the treatment as what the doctors can do.

  2. Kara said,

    Dot, Congrats on the book and thanks for sharing such a lovely note. Your mom rocks!

  3. Laurel Higman said,

    I hope everything went well with your mom’s surgery! I was wanting to send a card like you suggested but I can’t find the address for your mom’s room. Please let me know it when you have time. Again, I hope everything went smoothly and that your mom is healing quickly. Know that your mom and you are still in my prayers. Much peace to you two.

    • Dot Hutchison said,

      Laurel, thank you so much! By this point, she’ll likely be home before a card could get there (but I can pass one along when we get home!)

  4. Eleanor Waugh said,

    Hi Dot. We just learned of your mom’s cancer. Please tell her we’ll share with her old Sunday School friends & ask them to pray. We’ve often wondered what happened to you guys. Love & may God continue to bless your mom with healing.

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