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troof_therryContent warning for nonfic cancer/drugs/mental illness.
*****
At the beginning of April, my mom had a seizure and spent three days in the hospital. It was her first symptom, and maybe her only symptom so far, of four tumors in her brain caused by stage 4 lung cancer.
My dad and older sister are very dependent on her due to their own health issues, so learning that she had lost her ability to drive for the next six months and might not live even five more years in spite of her consistently being one of my healthiest family members was a big shock. But Mom took it all in stride, burying whatever negativity she had about the diagnosis to comfort all of us and assuage doubts that she could make it through this. The doctor said she could live a couple more years with treatment, but she kept saying she hoped to live to 99.
Even so, I hopped on a plane and flew out, since my family lives together a couple of states away, hoping to be a support for her and drive her around. Honestly, I was hoping I could take her off to fascinating places that she had always wanted to go. Maybe we could stay overnight somewhere and really experience the travel that Mom craves. She wasn't able to do that while my dad was mostly unable to walk. I knew I wasn't going to be able to take her to Europe, but if we could still experience something, maybe it would help embolden her spirit.
I'll be honest, there was a part of me that felt like I was on a mission to render some sort of care to her. And maybe I did--she was happy to see me and delighted that I was willing to listen to her reminisce on so many different stories.
I have been exceptionally naïve. I am not even the slightest bit prepared for this.
Within the first three days of being in her house, she talked at me for about 20 hours without slowing down. I thought maybe her need to get her story out was so strong--she mostly talked about family members like my great grandparents, and our Scottish roots--that it was just flowing out. The topic of her conversation gradually shifted, however, to my dad and how messed up he is.
For reference, my mom and dad never fought while I was growing up. As an adult, I learned that that is because one of them (my mom) had decided not to have any battles and just went with the path of least resistance every time. So my dad always got his way and took any critique, no matter how small, as an insult. Whatever power and control that afforded my dad over time, he has lost it now.
We found out that Mom's primary drug to help with brain swelling, a steroid, was having a significant impact on how she was perceiving herself and the rest of the world. She became euphoric, believing herself to be one of the smartest people alive, heaping thoughts into stream-of-consciousness ramblings that she believed were profound, and describing cancer as a gift from God that would enable her to do the kind of interventions on my dad that she had always told herself she couldn't do. She almost stopped sleeping altogether, only an hour to three hours a night, but never showed any signs of slowing down or regretting lack of sleep.
For all of Dad's issues, and he has plenty, I did not expect her to start verbally abusing him over things like his weight, his mental acuity, and how much weaker he has gotten over the last ten years. My mother, who valued being kind and loving over almost any other virtues, has become like a different person, spitting curses and crowing over her ability to get my dad to acquiesce to counselling by faking crying. The person I came to support turned out to be antagonistic to those around her; she's now someone we have to tread lightly around even though she can explode at my dad and sister without provocation.
Within the two weeks I was living in their house, I watched my mom gradually drift further into mania. I had no idea what was happening and sternly proposed all kinds of possibilities like brain damage. I wanted to be helpful, but I also wanted to have the right answers to satisfy some weird ego in me. Ultimately, I'm kind of a shithead with a puffed up sense of what I know and too many opinions--pretty far from the "devoted son on a mission" that I felt I was a few weeks ago.
What I really didn't expect was everything. We haven't even started the part where the cancer wreaks havoc--this is a result of the first drug she was given to combat the possibility of seizures. And the way she has started behaving, too much for the scope of a single story I share with internet strangers, may be permanent given how long she's had to use steroids for. Worse, phasing out the steroids could lead to brain inflammation, meaning more seizures and so many other possible complications.
Now that I've returned to my own home, I've gone back to observing and trying to console my dad and older sister as they live through whatever happens next. We are all still chasing a fix that gives my mom years more to live without dismantling any more of who she has been.
*****
At the beginning of April, my mom had a seizure and spent three days in the hospital. It was her first symptom, and maybe her only symptom so far, of four tumors in her brain caused by stage 4 lung cancer.
My dad and older sister are very dependent on her due to their own health issues, so learning that she had lost her ability to drive for the next six months and might not live even five more years in spite of her consistently being one of my healthiest family members was a big shock. But Mom took it all in stride, burying whatever negativity she had about the diagnosis to comfort all of us and assuage doubts that she could make it through this. The doctor said she could live a couple more years with treatment, but she kept saying she hoped to live to 99.
Even so, I hopped on a plane and flew out, since my family lives together a couple of states away, hoping to be a support for her and drive her around. Honestly, I was hoping I could take her off to fascinating places that she had always wanted to go. Maybe we could stay overnight somewhere and really experience the travel that Mom craves. She wasn't able to do that while my dad was mostly unable to walk. I knew I wasn't going to be able to take her to Europe, but if we could still experience something, maybe it would help embolden her spirit.
I'll be honest, there was a part of me that felt like I was on a mission to render some sort of care to her. And maybe I did--she was happy to see me and delighted that I was willing to listen to her reminisce on so many different stories.
I have been exceptionally naïve. I am not even the slightest bit prepared for this.
Within the first three days of being in her house, she talked at me for about 20 hours without slowing down. I thought maybe her need to get her story out was so strong--she mostly talked about family members like my great grandparents, and our Scottish roots--that it was just flowing out. The topic of her conversation gradually shifted, however, to my dad and how messed up he is.
For reference, my mom and dad never fought while I was growing up. As an adult, I learned that that is because one of them (my mom) had decided not to have any battles and just went with the path of least resistance every time. So my dad always got his way and took any critique, no matter how small, as an insult. Whatever power and control that afforded my dad over time, he has lost it now.
We found out that Mom's primary drug to help with brain swelling, a steroid, was having a significant impact on how she was perceiving herself and the rest of the world. She became euphoric, believing herself to be one of the smartest people alive, heaping thoughts into stream-of-consciousness ramblings that she believed were profound, and describing cancer as a gift from God that would enable her to do the kind of interventions on my dad that she had always told herself she couldn't do. She almost stopped sleeping altogether, only an hour to three hours a night, but never showed any signs of slowing down or regretting lack of sleep.
For all of Dad's issues, and he has plenty, I did not expect her to start verbally abusing him over things like his weight, his mental acuity, and how much weaker he has gotten over the last ten years. My mother, who valued being kind and loving over almost any other virtues, has become like a different person, spitting curses and crowing over her ability to get my dad to acquiesce to counselling by faking crying. The person I came to support turned out to be antagonistic to those around her; she's now someone we have to tread lightly around even though she can explode at my dad and sister without provocation.
Within the two weeks I was living in their house, I watched my mom gradually drift further into mania. I had no idea what was happening and sternly proposed all kinds of possibilities like brain damage. I wanted to be helpful, but I also wanted to have the right answers to satisfy some weird ego in me. Ultimately, I'm kind of a shithead with a puffed up sense of what I know and too many opinions--pretty far from the "devoted son on a mission" that I felt I was a few weeks ago.
What I really didn't expect was everything. We haven't even started the part where the cancer wreaks havoc--this is a result of the first drug she was given to combat the possibility of seizures. And the way she has started behaving, too much for the scope of a single story I share with internet strangers, may be permanent given how long she's had to use steroids for. Worse, phasing out the steroids could lead to brain inflammation, meaning more seizures and so many other possible complications.
Now that I've returned to my own home, I've gone back to observing and trying to console my dad and older sister as they live through whatever happens next. We are all still chasing a fix that gives my mom years more to live without dismantling any more of who she has been.
no subject
Date: 2022-05-01 11:04 pm (UTC)I'm glad my mum didn't have to take any drugs that completely upended her personality like this though. I think that would've been even harder for me to watch. In this case, I think I might've been like you, thinking it was brain damage, probably caused by the tumors, and freaking out over that. There's a part of me that still blames my mum's cancer on the fact she kept so much of her emotional trauma bottled up inside her instead of talking about it. I think in difficult times like this, our brains just try to grasp for whatever answers they can find to try and make sense of it all.
I hope things improve in your family, though.
no subject
Date: 2022-05-02 06:24 pm (UTC)