A losing battle worth fighting

I’ve briefly glossed over before on this blog that my mother has stage 4 breast cancer. She was diagnosed five years ago and the doctors weren’t sure she’d last this long. To her credit, she proved them wrong using the same persistence and stubbornness that has driven me crazy for 23 years. 

Her doctors found several new tumors in her chest back in November. That’s part of the reason I left San Francisco to move back home.

Two weeks ago her doctors found some more. This time they are around her heart.

The chances of successful treatment are slim and none. Normal radiation treatment is too dangerous to use so close to the heart. My mother’s doctors are considering open heart surgery, but it is unknown how successful that will prove.

By their estimate, she might hold on for another few years. But the bottom line is this will kill her. Her cancer will win.

Somehow my mother seems to be handling this better than I. I’ve spent the last five years preparing for this moment, and now that it is finally approaching I’m still not ready.

I’m not an emotional man, or at least not an expressive one. I’m all bottled up inside. I cried, however, when I got this news. I openly wept. This was worse than any physical pain I’ve ever endured, more heart wrenching than any single moment in my life. My mother has just a few years left, all the while enduring a slow painful death, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

I still haven’t fully recovered. Some days are worse than others, but overall it’s almost like I’m numb – like I’m in shock. I definitely haven’t fully processed it all.

I started this blog because I needed something to reignite my passion for writing. Jobless, moneyless, and questioning what I want to do next, this blog was meant to provide some relief for myself and hopefully a few friends and family. I’ve tried to keep it light and entertaining as I do with everything in life.

But I’m not always that person. I have finally reached my breaking point. Right now I really need an outlet to express myself, so bear with me as I use this blog for something a little heavier.

My mother is a tremendous inspiration to me. Problem is she will never believe that. We fight like nobody’s business. She constantly pokes and prods into my life, like any mother does, until I reach a breaking point and snap back at her, which can lead to pretty ugly verbal barrages on both sides.

Still, I love her and look up to her. Maybe she doesn't always believe that, but I can make the rest of you believe.

She has endured incurable disease and more financial stress than you can shake a stick at, but through it all she perseveres. My mother has managed to raise three children, build her dream house, and just started her own small jewelry design business while dealing with more physical and emotional pain in the last five years than I hope to go through my whole life. And all while the economy collapsed around us, pulling my family down the drain with it.

Along the way she’s made extremely stupid, ridiculous decisions. Before and since her diagnosis, my mother has thrown money away like it grows on trees; trying to live above our means. But she’s only human. So while the unaffordable house, multiple TVs, and more pets than we can handle drive me insane, I still love her because without her I'd have nothing. Technically, I wouldn't even exist. I wouldn't be here to write this blog post (I guess I can still be a little light and entertaining).

My mother is a strong woman. Stubborn, nosy, controlling, and wasteful – yes. She’s not a saint; she doesn’t have to be. She’s just my mother. The woman who raised me, fed me, clothed me, and took me back in after my post-college plans fell apart.

She continues to teach me how to suffer and endure through life’s hard times. Even in her weak moments, when she breaks and can’t handle anymore, she is eventually able to shore up her strength of will and move on.

If she can force the smile or put on the game face, then I guess I can too.