When life is really trying to teach you a lesson about gratitude and strength, it gives you the opportunity to take care of someone other than yourself. Some of us—parents with small children, for example—do it daily and routinely on auto-pilot. But how do we parent when our parent needs care? There are no manuals called What to Expect When You're Not Expecting ... This to Happen to Your Mom!, or ADHD: A Dad, His Denial.
My mom, Marriann, has been living with breast cancer with extreme bravery for more than 12 years. Like millions of others, she was drafted an unwilling soldier into a war she didn't choose to fight. The most recent (and hopefully last) recurrence requires her to take oral chemotherapy. Little did we know how it would kick my sweet 4-foot-11-inch, 95 pound, fiery Italian mama's butt.
My mom is intelligent and beautiful, and her motto is, "Leave everything better than you found it." She believes everything deserves a celebration. When I was child she painted a dime-sized red heart on my cheek every Valentine's day, which I wore proudly as if it were Marilyn Monroe's famous beauty mark. On St. Patrick's Day, my sandwich, much to my surprise in the school lunchroom, was either dyed bright green or cut into the shape of a shamrock.
Joy is part of the routine. As a grandmother of 13, referred to as "Granny Spice," she is our favorite Spice Girl. She even refers to her visible tumors in her best "Fergalicious" voice as, "my lumps, my lumps, my lovely lady lumps." I joke that she is just wearing her pearls on the inside.
Most of her "hot spots" decreased in size or disappeared completely during her last round of chemo, which ended in November. Now, five months later, they've returned. Her doctor says her uptake levels are low. Translation: persistent, but not aggressive. If my family had a coat of arms, I would hang a banner with pride; "The Gofonias: Persistent, Not Aggressive!" It would be embroidered on gorgeous satin and adorned with a lion, dragon or some fabulous mythical creature.
The new chemo is Chemo with a capital 'C'—Chemo on steroids! "Chemosabe" is her new nickname. The interesting thing about this chemo is that the patient is usually sickest during his or her week off. This week is her week off. Lucky for me that I get to be the mama!
Our week began with a visit to the oncologist because she was weak. Three hours and two liters of IV fluids later, she had a tiny bit of pep in her step. She had never been "sick" from treatment in 12 years. I joked with her that since she never had morning sickness with any of her five pregnancies, now was her time.
We met a new crowd of life-lovers in the Chemo Lounge including "Elvis," an adorable 80-year-old man from Atlanta with an accent as sweet as a Georgia peach. He had blue suede shoes on, so I nick-named him Elvis and he loved it. He had a smile on his face the entire time. He bragged how these were the best years of his life and how blessed he felt—lung cancer or not. We met others with colon, breast and brain cancer, men and women, young and old. They all spoke of God's presence in their life and their faith in Him. They also spoke about choosing life by choosing chemo.
I sat there everyday and mentally thanked each and every one of them from the bottom of my heart. These wounded soldiers with their scars and bald heads are the most inspiring and positive people I've ever met. The funny thing is, they do not complain! They are always "fine." Filled with utter shame, I think "If I don't have my latte before nine, I'm whining." Gratitude is their attitude—they just want to live. Before we leave, I imagine them all wrapped in a blanket of the most beautiful, soft and healing angel wings. "Heal them, heal them," I repeat in my mind, begging for them to receive some kind of relief.
Next phase of the day is getting Mom home and into bed. When I fold her tiny load of laundry she says, "I can do it, I'm fine." If I bring her soup, water, Gatorade, anything, she refuses it. "Take another sip of water," I plead. "I'm fine," she says.
I resign and get in bed with her and turn on "What Not to Wear." I finally get a little soup and Jell-O down her and then it's a waiting game ... Cramps? Vomit? Diarrhea? I decide to massage her as she moans in discomfort from the intense stomach cramps. My hands make my way down her tiny back, fingers maneuvering around the shrinking tumors along her shoulder blades. I mentally tell them, "Now you listen to me, Cancer—I know you like living here. I did it for nine months myself; it's a great place to grow. But you've got to go. Your lease is up and some new healthy cells are moving in. Oh, and by the way, don't let the door hit you on the way out!"
She finally sleeps. I continue to rub her beautiful new hair. It's white, soft and curly like a new spring lamb. My Dad loves it and is always rubbing her head as if it were Aladdin's lamp.
Four more days of this go by and the symptoms are only getting slightly better. At times she is stubborn and difficult. Taking deep breaths, I inhale and exhale, cultivating patience. She was a nurse back in the day, so of course she thinks she knows better than I. As humans, we tend to struggle when we can't control a situation. As women, we always want to fix things. Illness forces us to let go and learn that sometimes things really are out of our hands. We get angry, bargain, question. My mother always says, "Don't ask 'Why me? Why not me?'" She's right again; mothers usually are.
The way I see it, life throws curve balls at everyone. Yes, this is hard for us, but doesn't everybody struggle with something? What is life if we are not forced to grow through painful events? Blessings are what they are. My family has never been closer, more tender, or connected. We are stronger—yes, we are tired—but I thank God for the chance to grow as an adult and, in this case, take the best care of my deserving, selfless and sweet mom.
Alyssa Dinowitz is the founder and owner of Chewylou Designs, an Ariz. based clothing line. Many of the styles in the Chewylou Designs collection are inspired by her mother's ongoing battle with breast cancer. She is also a registered yoga teacher and founder of Athletes Yoga, LLC, a company specializing in injury prevention and rehabilitation for professional athletes. Both of Dinowitz' companies actively support non-profit charitable organizations including Susan G. Komen for the Cure.
