It’s my mother’s birthday month and she’s been sick for all of it.
She’s been a walking miracle these past two years. On January 31st, 2020; my mom was diagnosed with stage 4 Melanoma, and ever since she hit every doctor with shock and awe when they saw her living in such radiant health. The hand of God on her makes unbelievers doubt their unbelief, there must be a greater “something” because the fact she’s alive is impossible.
Months of joy and happiness passed and suddenly she started getting headaches: on August 1st her vision started to blur, letters started blending on paper and she needed to “rest.” When she realized it was dangerous to drive she told dad. “Weird to get such horrible migraines for someone who never had them the past 48 years.”
Saturday, August 13th: her brain felt as though it was splitting in two. I left for a birthday party thinking it was the flu and that she’d wake up back to being mom, but she didn’t.
Tuesday, August 16th; dad calls me at work. “I’m taking mom to the doctor, she’s in so much pain I don’t know what to do.” My brother helped her out of the truck and she threw up in the front yard. The pain was so strong she couldn’t keep food or water down. As soon as I picked up the phone my peace left me and I knew I needed to do something. I didn’t know what was wrong with mom but it was something to take seriously. A song played inside of me for hours, “I love you Lord, and I lift my voice, to worship you…”
The drive home felt the longest it ever has. Mom was on the couch, her face buried in pillows with my little brother sitting by her side holding a cup of ice cubes. She couldn’t speak in anything but a whisper and most of it was inaudible. She couldn’t remember how to tell me what day it was and we had to take an hour break on the walk to the bathroom that was only 20 steps away. The $200 migraine shot started to kick in and as the swelling in her brain went down she started talking normally again and felt relief.
Wednesday, August 17th; today was up and down. It would get so bad she’d collapse onto the floor, then she’d sit up on the couch and eat lunch. She would forget how to leave the bathroom, she’d lay on the floor for hours, then she’d call grandpa and clean the kitchen. It was a rollercoaster and we couldn’t help but notice each time she’d go down it was deeper and each high was losing its height; she was running out of momentum. I looked into my big brother’s eyes and all I saw was fear.
“Do you think we need to take mom to the ER,” my brother asks me. My dad was furious that my brother asked this question. He had already stated that “mom didn’t need to go to the hospital, doctors mess up and kill people.” His biggest statement was, “I’m the husband and the one in charge, listen to someone who has more wisdom and experience. The only reason mom would need an MRI is if you believe there’s something in her brain. We are standing in faith that mom’s cancer isn’t affecting her and if you say she needs an MRI then you aren’t standing with us.” My brother replied, “I’m not saying I don’t have faith.” “Then that’s the end of it,” dad said. I looked at my brother, both of us raging with anger toward dad. What kind of “faith” is that? I said, “We’re just going to wait around and let it get worse? Pretend that this isn’t happening to her and that it’s a migraine? (At this point mom was on her last high and able to lay in bed with her eyes open). My little brother left mom’s bedroom crying because dad raised his voice at us after that. It’s always my opinions that get him worked up.
My brother and I were right and that night we saw mom hit her lowest. 6:00a.m my little brother came to my bedroom with red eyes, “mom didn’t sleep last night, I was giving her ice cubes every 30 seconds to try and help her and it isn’t,” he looked exhausted. “We are fixing this today Samuel, I promise,” I told him. I didn’t hear her screaming in the night but my brothers did; a few hours later we were at the ER. Mom wasn’t mom anymore, she was moaning in pain and couldn’t move a single muscle in her body, she was a breathing corpse. It took three people to get her out of the car. I held her on my lap in the packed waiting room and it felt like my soul was shaking inside of me. Mom went silent and I put my hand on her back to make sure she was still breathing. It took every ounce of me not to break down, I saw my family’s stressed faces in the chairs next to me and my little brother holding his water bottle for her with his little bloodshot eyes. She was dehydrated but she needed more than water, she needed another miracle. “Just hold on mom, don’t let go. They’re going to give you pain meds, hold on these last few minutes. You’ve gone through so much, you can hold on a little longer. Please, mom, fight it,” I whispered in her ears.
She has Melanoma? The doctor says with sinking eyes. They gave her pain meds to take the edge off and I see mom relax. I could have cried from the happiness of seeing her sleep on that ugly plastic rolling bed. They wheeled her back for a CAT scan, then an MRI. “I’m scared of what I’m going to find,” the doctor says. Dad sat across from me more stressed than I’ve ever seen him and yet I felt surrounded by peace now that she was in the hospital getting help. Dad put his hand on mom, “no mistakes, no misdiagnosis, Father protect her,” he prayed.
“There is a tumor the size of a golf ball pushing on the back of her brain. Her brain is swelling inside her skull and that’s why she’s in so much pain. I’m not a brain surgeon and couldn’t tell you for sure but it looks inoperable to me. The best we can do for her now is make her comfortable,” the RN told us. My dad soaked in every word and would have fallen over if I tapped him. I left the room and sat next to Solomon in the waiting room. I looked at the ground with tears filling my eyes, not completely shocked but still not grasping what I just heard. I knew If I were to say anything I would have a breakdown so I just said, “How’s your day?” “How’s MY day?” He said. “Yeah,” I said. “You want to get out of here?” he said. “Yeah, let’s go.” We walked down to a park by the hospital and sat by the swings, tears started falling down my face now. “Oh Kate, don’t let your mind think things they shouldn’t,” he told me. He read Job to me and the first chapter of Acts, and his tears came from thankfulness and remembering how good our God is. He has never failed us, not once have we called on Him where He didn’t answer. At times like these, it is important to remember.
DR. Matthew Johnson tried talking to mom and she wouldn’t respond. The IV was hooked up and the pain became tolerable to where she could open her eyes again. “Do you know what year it is?” The doctor asked. “The first? No, that’s not right, I don’t know,” mom said. She couldn’t answer any of his questions. “We need to operate immediately,” the brain surgeon said, “or we’re going to lose her and she’s not going to be mom anymore. She’ll keep slipping until there’s nothing left.
The ambulance came for mom and we moved hospitals for the surgery. It went late into the night and our family filled the waiting room.
We all sat and watched mom resting in that hospital bed after her successful surgery and realized how close we were to losing her. I was so thankful for the consistent sound of the heart monitor, the beeping machines she was hooked up to, and all of the freaky looking tubes and cords sticking out of her. How could I ever be sad when our God is so good to us?
The ICU started to feel like home to us. My brothers consumed way too much hospital snacks and apple juices, the nurses became good friends of ours and we knew our way around that hospital. I got used to the weird smells and sounds, watched lots of Disney princess movies in multiple waiting rooms and enjoyed getting my visitor stickers every time I had to come back in. The People at Mercy were so sweet but I hope we never see them again.
This explains why I haven’t posted. 🙂 All is well with me and my family now, thanks for reading. I’ll keep you posted on her treatments and the miracles God continues to do for us. -Elaina
Elaine Kate 