and a new one begins.
Last night, we learned that my mother does indeed have cancer again. This time, it’s ovarian cancer, but that’s really as much as we know. We don’t yet know the type or the severity. But we do know that she will have to have a couple of rounds of chemo before they operate to remove her ovaries and any abdominal lining they think they need to once they get in there. Then she’ll probably have to have more chemo. She’ll find out more in the coming days.
It really hasn’t sunk in — I was more happy last night to learn that she’d finally gone to the emergency room for her kidney-stone-induced nausea and dehydration on the way home from the oncologoist — but it scares me that she’s talking in terms of just wanting to make it to one last Christmas or to see her first great grandchild born in June. She said that kind of thing the last two times, but it still worries me that she thinks less “I’m going to survive” and more “Hope I live just to xx goal”. Don’t get me wrong. Goals are good. I just hope she doesn’t think she’s done fighting once those goals have passed.
[Added much later: Ultimately, my mother did only make it to her goal to see her first great grandchild born. Once the due date passed in late June 2010, she started going sharply downhill, and she only lasted about a month after the baby was born. Funny, my attitude about the whole thing changed radically between when I’d originally written this post and when she finally died. Once she had her stroke and the chemo stopped, there was no “survive”. There was only a clock counting down.]