Last Thursday, my mom was brought to the emergency room on a stretcher by the oncology nurses.
I previously posted that she began having symptoms with her left side again two weekends ago. She didn't want to go to the hospital because she said she still felt fine. I called all her doctors and left messages all week, and none returned my calls.
All I did was cry all the time last week. My dad would sometimes sit with me, talk to me in ways that would sometimes help, and cry, too. At work, a boss gave me permission to work from home because I was that much of a mess and I didn't want to call in sick. (Because my coworker was already calling in sick, but that's another story.)
I would call Mom, and she would sound so off. She had an immunotherapy treatment on Thursday, August 7th, so I was like, "Okay, worst comes to worst, when she goes for her treatment, the nurses are going to realize and send her to the emergency room."
I called Mom on Wednesday to check-in. Her sister and one of Mom's stupid friends had made an appointment to bring Mom to a wig shop Thursday morning and would bring her to her treatment afterwards in the afternoon. Okay, sorted. Mom was really excited to get a proper wig and it felt mean to take that little bit of joy away from her.
But Mom sounded so unwell. Her boyfriend and her sister were there when I called, and she was too busy talking to them than to me on the phone. She's like that whenever I call her and someone else is there, but I wasn't having it. After a while, I hung up and called back just to get her--and their--attention. When she answered again, I told her that I was calling because she needed to tell the nurses about her symptoms tomorrow. She was just like "yeah yeah." I asked if she wanted me to go with her, and she said no, her sister and her friend would be there anyway.
Later that night, I called her sister. Sometimes she's more serious when I get her on her own. I reiterated that Mom needs to tell the nurses. My aunt said she was driving down with her own car tomorrow because she expected the friend to want to take off and do her own thing after the wig appointment (which she did) and she would go in with Mom and tell the nurses herself. She said Mom had called her that morning, and she sounded so unwell that my aunt was scared and that's why she stopped at Mom's house in the afternoon. I said the nurses needed to send her to the emergency room tomorrow. My aunt agreed. We didn't want to insult Mom by taking her out of her house, but she needed to be admitted in the hospital. She needed help, despite what she said.
All Thursday morning, I was panicking. I got hold of her family doctor's office and asked her secretary if she could ask the doctor to reach out to the oncologists because they're not getting back to me. The secretary said I should bring my mom to the ER if that's the case.
Okay. I devised a plan. It was around 9:30 am then. I was gonna take the rest of the day off sick, go to my mom's house, pack her an overnight bag, go back to Dad's, wait for my aunt's call, and, depending on how it goes, meet them at the hospital. I didn't want to freak out Mom by showing up after she told me not to. But this way, I'll save a lot of time having her things ready if need be. I called her boyfriend to know if he was still at her house. He said he was leaving soon, but Mom really wasn't okay that morning, she had trouble getting dressed, and she hadn't eaten. I told him my plan to go pack her a bag and meet them at the hospital.
Not even halfway to Mom's house, my aunt called. They had to cut the wig appointment short because Mom was feeling too nauseous. She said it was because the wig specialist kept spinning Mom's chair to show her the back of her head, but we all knew it was more than that. I could hear my aunt was driving. I asked if Mom was in the car with her. She said no, Mom was in their friend's car and she was following them to a restaurant. Now knowing my mom couldn't hear me, I told my aunt I was on my way to Mom's house to pack her a bag right now and I would meet them at the hospital for her appointment.
At Mom's house trying to find clothes and necessities, it felt like one of the last times I would be there. Should I bring the Power of Attorney? They probably have soap at the hospital, right?
When I was almost back at Dad's, my aunt called me again. She said all Mom ate was a couple of sweet potato fries from her plate; Mom hadn't ordered anything for herself. I said I was heading straight to the hospital now.
Ten minutes away, I got a text from Mom saying she was in the waiting room for her treatment. The treatment was at 2:15 pm and it was only 1 pm. Something about the text itself felt off, and later I found out my aunt had typed it. I replied, "Cool. Love you lots!" and sent my aunt a separate text saying I was almost there.
I caught every single green light. It felt like a sign.
I parked in the general parking lot and trekked all the way to the other side of the hospital to the oncology clinic. When I walked in, I saw my aunt's raised arm waving at me, and I joined them. I sat on Mom's right side; my aunt was sitting on her left side.
Mom had no reaction to my arrival. She was like a zombie. She was expressionless, gray, zoned-out, talked very slowly and gravelly. I kept my voice light and calm.
She said she told the receptionist her symptoms had started, and the receptionist said to tell the nurses instead because they have nothing to do with that. I hate the receptionists there. One in particular is so mean... anyway. I just said okay and we'll tell the nurses then, no biggie.
My aunt took a call from a friend and was busy chitchatting with her. I watched Mom discreetly. Her eyes would go up at the clock every so often. "Come on..." she would say. She was impatient for the treatment. Her left arm would find itself craddled against her stomach, looking disabled. Occasionally, she would press a hand against her chest or mouth. I asked if she felt okay, and she said yes. I asked if she felt sick, and she said no. Her feet and legs would dance a little like she does when she needs to use the bathroom. I asked if she needed to go. She said not now, she'll go once she's plugged in for her treatment.
A young nurse came out and called Mom's name. Time for her treatment. I didn't wait for Mom or even help her up. I made a beeline for the nurse. "She's not feeling well. She needs to go to the emergency room."
The nurse looked weirded out at first, but her expression turned to one of understanding. I don't remember what she said, but it was something about bringing Mom to the treatment room.
Mom reached us and put a hand to her mouth yet again.
"Do you want to go to the bathroom?" I asked calmly.
Mom nodded. She turned and went towards the washrooms in the waiting room. I followed her, one hand stretched out to catch her if needed, and I looked back at the nurse. She nodded and followed us.
Only the furthest washroom was open, and Mom only made it to the doorway before she threw up on the floor, then continued into the sink. The nurse and I were ripping and throwing paper towels on the floor to cover the vomit. Clear with bits of sweet potato fries. The nurse asked Mom if she was okay, and Mom said yes.
Another nurse happened to be nearby and asked if we needed help. I said yes.
Someone brought a chair that Mom didn't use. The first nurse and Mom stood next to it, talking. Mom had finished throwing up and wanted her treatment. Her sister had joined us in this hallway and was asking if Mom was pregnant. I ignored her.
Mom was standing there looking down like she was ashamed. She didn't look at anybody when she was answering questions. She just wanted her treatment and to go home.
A male nurse with the dumbest face, I swear to God, arrived on scene. He asked what was going on. I said, "She had an MRI done at the end of June, and they found three brain tumors. She was asymptomatic until this past weekend, but now she has problems with her left arm. Today is the first time she's throwing up."
He was in his forties for sure, tall, lanky, and was looking at me all confused, face contorted, tongue sticking out. A real punchable face. Him and another nurse said they were going to bring her in the treatment room to evaluate her and give her the treatment, and they left.
The original nurse that came out to get Mom returned. She told me I wasn't allowed to follow them in. I said we'll be in the waiting room. She guided Mom to the treatment room and weighed her like they always do before. My aunt and I watched from the end of the hall before going back to the waiting room. This is when I realized I had Mom's purse in my hand, but it's not like she needed her phone right now.
We sat there for a long time. We both thought this was... the end. My aunt said she hadn't noticed Mom was feeling nauseous. I said she had been busy talking on the phone and that's why she didn't see her constantly covering her mouth. My aunt asked if this was part of the process. I said I read up on everything, and nausea is a common symptom when it gets bad. She wanted to know what else I know. I told her not to tell Mom, but then I told her how it usually ends.
We couldn't believe they would still give Mom a treatment today. There was no way. They could not be this stupid. She needed to go to the emergency room STAT.
I noticed no other patients had been called in for a long while. The nurses must be busy with my mom. I shared this hypothesis with my aunt.
A different nurse eventually came out looking... not lost... unsure? "Um... is there a Sylvie?"
I jumped up and met her at the front of the room.
She said my mom wasn't doing well. No shit.
She pulled me aside into the hallway. There were probably twenty people in the waiting room, not a ton but still an audience. They didn't need another show.
The angel nurse said they were going to send her to the emergency room. They called her oncologist because he wasn't there that day, and he pulled up her last MRI and said it can't be that because the tumors weren't big enough to cause symptoms. They called in a different oncologist for him to have a look at her. They thought she had a stroke because the left side of her mouth was extremely droopy, her left arm was strange, she was sitting and still drooping down to the left in the chair, and her pupils weren't reacting to light. I knew it wasn't a stroke but because the tumors were growing, but I didn't argue, let them do their thing. Do they not realize it's been a month since the scan, though? Do they not realize how quickly tumors can grow?
They were gonna send her to the ER on a stretcher and they would do an emergency MRI. The nurse said they were just waiting for the ER doctor to tell them where exactly to send her. And she said I could go wait in the treatment room with my mom. I pointed to my aunt and said she's her sister; the nurse allowed her in, too.
Mom was zombie-like in a big chair. I took note of the blood pressure reading and said nothing as to not worry my mom.
Aunt: "Holy shit, whoever was sitting in your chair before had a high blood pressure."
Me, whispering: "Can you shut up?"
My aunt laughed and slapped me playfully. Then she kept getting calls and stepping outside to take them, so that was fine by me.
I stood next to Mom quietly. She wondered what time she would get her treatment. I said they would reschedule this one because it's best she gets checked. She asked again a little while later. I repeated.
The nice nurse came back to recheck her vitals, shone a light in her eyes, and went back to her station looking concerned.
The stretcher eventually arrived--pushed by the dumb male nurse. While they were getting Mom in it, the nice nurse was whispering to another nurse that would accompany us and writing on a Post-it. I tried to hear and see but couldn't. They said they were bringing her to "Trauma" and they would direct us from there.
We followed a backroad to the ER. Once arrived in Trauma (which turned out to be the back room of the ER where ambulances come in), it was like a medical TV drama. The place was packed, patients every where, doctors and nurses going back and forth, very noisy. The nurse with the Post-it was talking to a man who looked like the head ER doctor. She turned to me and said, "The daughter might be able to fill-in the blanks." I approached and said what I knew.
Nurse with Post-it: "[Name]! Do you have a room?"
The nurse going by stopped and looked at us, discouraged, and held up her index finger. One room left.
Someone asked if my mom could be in a wheelchair to make it easier to go through the busy hallway. I said yes and she can walk a little. They moved her into a wheelchair and wheeled her into an exam room at the front of the ER. Mom, her sister, and I were alone in there for a while. Someone came in with a bracelet and a form for her to sign to admit her in the ER.
At 3:50 pm, Mom looked queasy again, held a hand to her mouth. I stood up, grabbed the trash bin with incredible reflex, if I do say so myself, and brought it to her. She began throwing up again. My aunt asked again if she was pregnant; I shot her a look. I rubbed Mom's back.
The ER doctor came in to ask something (I don't remember what), said the shift change was happening so another doctor would come see her, was completely unfazed at Mom throwing up, and left.
I don't know if Mom was crying or if the tear was because she was throwing up, but she had a tear on one cheek. She said she didn't want the MRI. She wanted her treatment and to go home. I said she needed to get checked and she would get her treatment another day. She then said she didn't want the MRI because it's so tight in there and what if she throws up. I said they wouldn't put her in the MRI if she was still throwing up and they would wait until she feels better to do the MRI.
Aunt was still babbling and saying maybe all of this is just a bug, not cancer, and now that she's thrown up, that'll be it and she'll be good as new. I'm sure I gave her another look. Aunt said Mom looked better now anyway, and it was true; that was the last time she threw up.
Around 4:15 pm, her sister said she had to go because she was going to be late for her pedicure appointment. She left.
A while went by, then someone brought Mom for a CT scan (not MRI). That's when I called Dad to let him know what was going on, since I was alone.
Another while went by, and we saw a doctor. She confirmed the tumors had grown quite a bit and there was a lot of inflammation. She was asking Mom about her symptoms but also putting words in my mom's mouth. The doctors are so busy and are rushing too much... They were going to give her anti-inflammatories in an IV first as a boost, then pills for anti-inflammation and anti-seizures. She was trying to page the on-call neurologist, but he wasn't answering yet. He needed to prescribe the dosage.
More waiting. They announced the doctor had a phone call, so I knew that was the neurologist calling back.
I don't know at what point I told Mom that I had packed her a bag, but it was when she wondered aloud when she would get to go home and said she was looking forward to her first drive in my new Jeep. I said that if (when) they admitted her, she didn't need to worry because I had went to her house and packed her an overnight bag. She still didn't think it was necessary.
Waiting. Doctor came in and said what they were going to prescribe. IV would arrive soon. She was going to keep Mom overnight for observation but wouldn't admit her into the hospital yet because it's too much of a hassle. All right... I moved Mom from the wheelchair onto the stretcher in the room for her to sleep.
I went outside to get Mom's bag and brought it in. The ER waiting room was packed and I felt all eyes on me. I called Dad to tell him I was going to spend the night with her, that the ER doctor said they wouldn't kick me out.
When the guy came to remove her IV drip, I asked if we'd be staying in this ER exam room for the night. He said most likely, but they would probably look at moving us further in the back.
Around 10:30 pm, an excellent male nurse came in and said he was moving my mom to a quieter space in Trauma for observation for the night. He asked her questions about why she was here, and I shut up once I realized (too late) that he already knew and was testing her. He asked where she was from, and it turns out he knows his sister and her husband really well. He was really nice and funny and deadpan and smart. We were next to the nurses' station all night, and I overheard him all night.
I had stolen a blanket for myself and planned to try to sleep in the little uncomfortable chair next to my mom's bed. At midnight, the excellent male nurse popped in and told me to go home and sleep, that I was burning the candle at both ends. I refused. It's an hour's drive to and from the hospital and who knows when the doctors would see my mom tomorrow, I couldn't miss them.
I know I slept a few minutes every hour because I kept waking up, but I saw every hour pass by. My first all-nighter in a long time. Mom's wires kept detaching and making her machine beep, and I kept reattaching them all night. Mom was snoring, so she was fine and missing everything that was going on in the ER. The nurses were constantly running around. Everything was beeping. Everything was loud. Someone was hemorraging, a woman came in for appendicitis but was actually in labor and didn't know she was pregnant, another woman was just very drunk and the nurses yelled at the paramedics for bringing her to the hospital instead of jail.
At 6:30 am, the excellent male nurse came to wake up Mom before the shift change. He went up to the side of her bed and merely said, "What do you have to say?"
He asked if she slept well. She said she thought so. He pointed at me and said, "She didn't sleep well." Hey, how about you don't tell her that?
Around 8 am, a different nurse came to say she would be her nurse for the day (and we never saw her again). She went over my mom's file, and we straightened everything out about her symptoms. The nurse said this changed a lot for them and what they needed to do. Yeah, well. Mom would get an MRI soon and then a doctor would come see her.
Around 10 am, someone came to get her for the MRI and said it would take about an hour. I took that opportunity to go get some food and call Dad. When I returned, Mom's things were gone and a different nurse said they needed this area and were moving her back to an exam room in the ER. I headed back over there... someone else was in the exam room. When Mom returned from her MRI, we had to stay in the hallway for a while until the exam room was free, then they wheeled Mom on her stretcher into the exam room.
It must have been almost 1 pm... Mom was eating the sandwich I got, and Mom's chemo oncologist and his nurse passed by in the hallway. Dumb-dumb me just thought, "Oh, I know them." I think it was the nurse who happened to look in and told the oncologist we were there. They were there to see Mom. They were very serious.
They asked Mom how she was feeling, and she said she was feeling better. The nurse kept saying Mom was very lucky I was there. I felt embarrassed. They asked if Mom was on meds and if the doctor had come in today yet. They said they were going to check the MRI and get back to us later.
Little while later, the two returned. The chemo oncologist said in his thick Spanish accent that the brain tumors were "worse" (coulda used a different word) and he was going to talk to the radiation oncologist on Monday about coming up with a treatment plan. In the meantime, it was best they admit Mom into the hospital for the weekend to get her meds stabilized.
Mom was disappointed about not going home yet. I told her I had packed enough clothes for the whole weekend just in case and this was best because this is the place to be and they can look after her.
I called her boyfriend. He was coming down to visit. I called her sister ("She's going to need more clothes." "I packed enough for the whole weekend." "Oh... you're kind of smart"). She would visit Saturday. I called my dad. I texted my brother and his wife. I had been texting them frantically Thursday afternoon because I thought this was it and he needed to know... if he wanted the chance to see her, he needed to know...
Her boyfriend joined us for a little bit and kept encouraging her to go to sleep because she was sleepy. While she slept, he told me he was gonna go home two hours away and would maybe come back tomorrow or Sunday. I said he didn't have to and I would be here.
I finally left to go to bed at around 10 pm. I told Mom I would be back at noon. I showered immediately when I got to Dad's. My ankles and calves were swollen, I got a nosebleed in the shower. A severe cramp in my thigh woke me up in the middle of the night. And I started my period in the morning. I can never try to sleep in a hard plastic chair ever again.
Dad woke me at 11:30 am. Crap, I overslept, I was supposed to be back on the road by now. I made it back to the hospital at 1 pm. Mom was still in the exam room, finishing her lunch. They had not found a real hospital room for her yet. The hospital is too overwhelmed.
I unfortunately missed the doctor's visit that morning. Mom said the doctor said she would be back Sunday morning. I made a note to get there early the next morning. The doctor had just re-explained they need to control the inflammation and would have appointments with the oncologists and neurosurgeon in the next couple weeks. The doctor had went through a questionnaire with her and asked Mom if she wants to be resussitated if anything happened. Mom said, "Yes, I have more biking to do." The doctor laughed and said that was cute. Mom repeated that to everyone. That and how she felt better just hearing that the oncologists had a plan.
My aunt came to visit for a few hours. Not very long because she needed to go to Costco. She had brought a coffee for Mom and herself. Her boyfriend called, and they talked for a while. I left around 9:30 pm, and I felt so guilty for leaving.
I returned to the ER Sunday morning at 8. The door to her room was closed, and one of the nurses recognized me and approached me.
Me: "She's still sleeping?"
Nice nurse: "No, I woke her up earlier. She's okay but says she didn't sleep well. She says she takes sleeping pills at home?"
Me: "Yes, I packed them in her bag, but she only has one left and I told her to ask you before taking it just in case you need to know?"
Nice nurse: "Okay, I told her to tell the doctor when she does her rounds later. The doctor could write a prescription, then we could give her one tonight. But she looks a lot better than when I first saw her the other day! Her left arm is a lot better! Um, she talked about going home, though..."
Me: "I would be more comfortable if she stayed. Especially if her oncologists are supposed to meet tomorrow..."
Nice nurse: "I know! Instead of sending her home and then having to come all the way back tomorrow... that's what I think, too. But look, she should get a room tonight. Oncology patients, they usually move them quickly."
The ER nurses were all really kind and amazing, I need to say.
I pushed the door open and said hi to my mom. We talked a little bit, but she seemed tired and I told her to go back to sleep. I shut the door, sat in the chair in the corner, and scrolled on my phone to pass the time. The nice nurse came in with her morning meds, then breakfast, then... who was her doctor but my old family doctor, the one who quit her practice two years ago to work in a hair transplant clinic instead.
She was so awkward in front of me. Eventually, I told Mom she used to be my family doctor because I knew she couldn't say it, and she relaxed a little. She told me I look a lot like my mom. I know, everyone says that. She wanted to catch me up on everything, but I told her I had been here since Thursday and I missed her Saturday morning because I had left to sleep.
But she pretty much just came to check in and say physio would evaluate my mom's left side on Monday to make sure she'd be okay at home because she technically lives alone. So not going home yet.
Her boyfriend came to visit, and we went outside for a bit. We had gone outside on Saturday, too, and Mom got all mixed up when it came to going back to her room, so I didn't want her wandering off alone. He left at 3 pm. She told me I could go, too, but I felt too guilty. I did end up leaving around 4 pm and told her I would call her after supper. Just as I was leaving, they moved her into a different ER room, smaller and in a quieter section. I got her settled in, and she said she was going to sleep. I texted her when I got to Dad's, and her reply was a little more coherent.
All last week, I had been sobbing and bawling my eyes out, and now I realized I hadn't cried since she had been in the ER. It's so easy to pretend I'm fine in front of her. Truth is I was exhausted. I thought I was losing her this whole time. But she was getting a little better. But for how long until we're back here...
Dad's house was a bigger mess. I hadn't been there to do anything. Poochie missed me a lot, wouldn't leave my bed.
I was back at the hospital early Monday morning. I went to Information and asked for my mom's room. The employee writes the room number on a little square, then I can show that to the ER triage and they can buzz me in. But Mom had been moved into a room! On the fourth floor? The employee gave me clear instructions on how to get there. I was still confused, but once I found my way, the instructions couldn't have been clearer.
I walked around the entire wing before I found room #2. And my mom. Brushing her teeth in her private bathroom. It was actually a nice room. With a real bed for her. It had a big chair in the corner that I definitely could have slept in. She said they moved her in the night between 3 and 4 am. Geez...
She got breakfast, then ergotherapists and a physiotherapist and my old family doctor took turns to come to see her and clear her. Monday was the day: Mom was finally gonna go home. It took a long time for the discharge, but she was finally free around 2 pm. Off we went.
I stopped at her pharmacy to pick up her prescriptions: all the same meds as the last two years/brain tumors.
Her boyfriend was at her house cooking supper. I organized her meds, did a load of laundry, got her settled. And I left.
Her boyfriend is staying with her for now but won't always be able to. I'll have to go when he can't. Dad says to take advantage of when he can be there, accept the break for myself, and let her be.
I videocall her twice a day. She looks and sounds better.
I had already asked for Tuesday as a sick day because I needed to rest and just in case something happens. Yesterday before noon, I said I would take today as a sick day, too. I didn't clean as much as I wanted yesterday and went to bed instead, told myself I would wash the dishes later.
I was still sleeping when Dad got back from work yesterday. Later, I was just laying in bed and heard Dad load the dishwasher. I knew he would put the new pan in the dishwasher, and I didn't want him to because it destroys our pans. I jumped out of bed and took the pan out. Dad started yelling that someone had to do something about the dishes. I tried to say that the pan shouldn't go into the dishwasher and I was going to wash these later but I was tired. He interrupted me and said dishes can't stay in the sink for three days, and I screamed that I was only here today and I was tired. He raged, pushed me, and shook me against the stove, hitting the back of my head against the range hood and hitting my forehead hard and repeatedly with his finger. I was in shock. I only remembered I was still holding the pan and could have swung it at him once he released me. He was screaming that he is sick of me screaming at him--"Because you don't listen to me!" I yelled here--and bossing him around and HE is the father here and I can leave. I quietly went to my room. We haven't spoken since.
I have a cut and bruise on my forehead where he was repeatedly hitting me with his finger.
I don't know how tonight is going to go.
Mom got a call this morning that she has an appointment with the radiation oncologist tomorrow morning about starting whole-brain radiation. So we'll know tomorrow. I probably won't go to work Friday either?
And no, I can't move full-time at my mom's house.
What's more, on Monday, I got the call that my building permit for my house has been approved. Dad has been organizing things to start building in September. He's in charge of all that and I need him to do all that... He's been stressed about Mom and everything, too, but it doesn't make it okay.
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