thought for today

Cancer, Sepsis, and Missing My Sweet Mom

My sweet Mother – smart, stoic, nurturing, but less than patient with her own illness - was diagnosed with stomach cancer on April 18.

She died on July 24.

But she didn’t die of stomach cancer. She died of a staph infection that entered her bloodstream while she was in the hospital for diagnosis and tests, and to insert a feeding tube.

She received a PICC line, a way of putting nourishment right into the bloodstream and by-passing her diseased stomach.

A negligent nurse went from a patient with staph in his nose to my mother. The nurse was wearing gloves to protect herself, but didn’t change them to protect Mom. She infected the plastic tubing that went directly to a vein in Mom’s chest.

Mom endured two months of treatment for the blood disease, one month of chemo, then the staph came back and killed her.

Mom had a lot of reasons to be angry. Her doctor was too busy to take her stomach problems seriously. Her chiropractor was the one who finally said she had to see a specialist. She forgave the doctor easily and said she had been a good doctor for most of their time together.

She didn’t waste time being angry at the doctor, she spent that energy being grateful to the chiropractor. Because of him she was diagnosed before the cancer spread. A laparoscopy showed one small spot on the outer layer of the stomach, but none in the surrounding tissue or lymph nodes. A PET scan of the rest of her body was also clear. The cancer was only in her stomach and could be surgically removed after chemotherapy. The prognosis was good.

Then the staph hit, complicated by yeast, also from dirty hands. My sister and I were with her in the hospital when the blood disease manifested. She had a high fever and was confused and disoriented. The nurses said, “Well, she IS 77.” I said, “Maybe so, but her mind is clearer than mine. Something is wrong.” I spent a sleepless night watching the fever get higher and higher. I finally went to the desk and said, “You get her some help or I will put her in a wheel chair and take her to the first floor emergency room!” The nurse called a doctor at home and got some stronger medications.

Staph and yeast were diagnosed the next day and treatment began. Her mind cleared. Her fever came down. Two months of different treatments followed.

The doctors never used the term staph with us. They only told us about the yeast. It was the next trip to the hospital we discovered she had the staph. We went to a different hospital because we had lost faith in the first one. The new hospital posted signs warning of the staph. I asked the doctor, a blessed man from India who told the truth, “How did it happen?” He said, “Dirty hands. This staph and yeast live on the hands.”

I went to the first hospital and requested a look at her records. The staph was clearly there in the lab results but never mentioned in the doctor logs. I realized they were protecting themselves and the hospital from a lawsuit.

Once again, Mom let it go. She said she didn’t have the energy to be angry. Just fix the problem. We still thought they could.

While I was looking at the hospital records I found an entry by one of the doctors, “What a pleasant woman.” I cried. I knew what he was thinking, “What a shame.”

I have some personal guilt. I keep saying to Mom, “I wish I had been smarter.” I know she is saying, “It wouldn’t have mattered. It was going to happen.”

I know so much about natural cures and energy healing. No matter how much I pushed, Mom said, “Wait until the doctors release me, then you can do your natural stuff.” My mother was not only of sound mind, she was bull-headed about doing it her way. She trusted the doctors.

She took a probiotic and vitamin C to please me. She refused anything else.

She allowed Directional Healing. She said, “Yes, tell them to hit it hard and heavy.” Our healing group began doing remote healings for her. She also went to one of my friends as often as her schedule of doctors permitted for an in office treatment. She was on a couple of church prayer lists.

I had my own decision to make. I could let anger eat up my health and delay the real work of grieving, or I could do as Mom did and let it go. Letting go is hard, especially when someone is so clearly guilty. I read somewhere, “There is no such thing as righteous anger.” At the time a lot of things made me angry. As I get older, and more tired from fighting those never ending battles, I realize it is true. You can only set right what you can, and let the rest go.

I can never set this right in my own human mind. I will want to crucify a negligent nurse, an inept doctor, other doctors who covered up, and host of other people who made big and small decisions along the way, including myself for not being smarter.

Or, I can look at it from a spiritual viewpoint. If Mom had been meant to live, she had all the spiritual help she could get. She was open to it, and accepted it. It wasn’t meant to be. I can grieve, but anger only spends precious energy that I sorely need now.

I am grateful that I still have my Dad, at least for a while.

I am grateful to that chiropractor who tried to get help for her.

I am grateful that I spent every day, but one, with Mom after she became ill. I put her first, and had precious time with her.

We talked a lot. We had a pedicure together—something she had never done before and loved.

I saw her fears, her tears, and her love for Dad and her family.

I saw her constantly reach for the strength to keep doing what she could, and put aside the useless worry that robbed her energy.

In the hospital the day she died, they told her the infection was back, I saw one tear trickle down her face, and knew that she knew it was the end.

I tried to rally her for another fight. I couldn’t give her up. They pushed me from the room. The next time I saw her she was unconscious. She remained tight, fighting, for half a day, then relaxed and slowly let the body go. My sister, and husband and I sang to her as her heartbeat went away.

To My Sweet Mother, Thank You, and May the Blessings Be.