Things have settled down. My mom is home from the hospital. The doctors say she won’t be here in six months. They cut out as much cancer as they could during the emergency surgery that saved her life, but it’s still there – in her other organs, still growing. We think she is going to refuse chemotherapy. She’s only 69. I’m not ready for this.
Also, I’m angry. I’m angry that she was so doctor-avoidant that she put off seeing one until the tumor growing in her uterus was the size of a 26-week fetus, had metastisized into her abdomen and lungs and bones. I’m angry she didn’t tell me anything at all – despite leaking bits and pieces to my sisters. I’m angry at myself for not noticing more, for not paying attention, for not seeing her more. I’m angry that my older sister and my dad decided to NOT tell me or my younger sister that she had been taken to the hospital on Thursday morning because her uterus had literally erupted, that she lost so much blood that she pretty much died and had to be resuscitated, that she was out of surgery and in ICU until Friday night. Yep, pretty angry about that still.