heebie-geebie

On Friday my parents told me that there is a tumor in my mom's esophagus.  This is probably a death sentence, although we'll get more details throughout this week. Most likely it is esophageal cancer, which is generally symptomless until it's metastacized.  It's one of the bad ones, with 5 year survival rate of 5-20%, depending on which website you look at.

I've somehow concluded definitively in my head that mom has about three years left. I've been quite a mess this weekend. I'm always someone who cries easily, but holy shit, can I cry a lot or what. I've had that childish headachey feeling of having cried too much pretty much nonstop since we talked on Friday.

The only thing that actually consoles me is telling myself that I can call home as much as I want.  So I've called home several times, just to say "I'm really sad and scared" and then sit there with a lump in my throat while mom keeps the conversation alive. She might be sick of this by now; we've long since run out of idle topics to chit-chat about. But whatever, that's the type of imposition moms are perfect for.

Also on Friday, Hawaiian Punch hollered bloody murder all afternoon.  From getting her vaccinations.  Since she had good reason, it was easy to just bounce and soothe her continuously.  Plus it was kind of like she was letting out the howling anguish that the four-year-old inside me was also feeling.

Anyway, we'll find out the degree of metastasis today or tomorrow, and we'll find out whether the original tumor is operable on Thursday. Mom has said that for the first round of treatments, she'll give it everything she's got and pull out all the stops, and then she does not want a second round of treatments. Quality of life over incremental quantity of life.  I can respect that and understand it, but I kind of hate it, irrationally. She's being very zen about the whole thing, saying she can only deal with the news in bite-size pieces, and so she's letting it in gradually, and mostly taking note of how much she enjoys each day.  Dad is analyzing the hell out of it, which is exactly what I want to do as well - read the tea leaves from every possible angle.  He is a pathologist, actually, so he says things like, "If the slides are ready on Monday, I'll just look at them myself" and "I know a guy who's an expert in colon cancer, which has a similar treatment strategy, so I'll pick his brain on Tuesday".

I'm very worried about Dad. He and Mom are like intricate puzzle pieces that have melded into a single, inextricable mess. He can't cook dinner without her, she can't turn on a computer without him.  One of my biggest fears has always been how to comfort the remaining parent after the other one dies. This is the kind of tortured hyper-analysis I've been doing.

One thing that strikes me as an additional layer of tragedy is if Grandma outlives Mom.  For Grandma, she would have to watch her child die. For Mom, she would never get to live out from under Grandma's thumb. The whole thing is horrible.