2 weeks

The urge to blog again hit me as I was taking the stairs to Unit 5A while eating a triple chocolate ice cream sandwich: My way of grieving with food and losing weight - both 2 interesting journeys for future posts...

I've been in Regina at the General hospital for what seems like months. It's really only been 2 weeks. 2 WEEKS! Crazy how the world keeps ticking. 2 weeks since we discovered my mom had a brain tumor. 2 weeks since the MRI revealed it was large and smack in the middle of her brain. Inoperable. Untreatable. Unstoppable.
It's a GBM phase IV. The worst of the worst (as more than one doctor has put it) Cancer - the C word. A Beast that is quickly enveloping her entire brain with it's greedy tenticles. Unreal.

5 days since out consult with a dr. at the cancer clinic. 5 days since we officially decided to walk the palliative path. It's a path that we've been unofficially tiptoeing down ever since coming to 5A.

My mom is going to die.
Every letter in that sentence breaks my heart. I hate it. It's too soon. Too fast. I'm not ready.

Mom has only been sick for about 2 months now. It started with tiredness, headaches and some flu symptoms. She laid in pain for weeks - the headaches taking every bit of her. She appeared depressed, not caring about anything. all she wanted to do was lay still in bed and hope for her headache to go away. When on a palliative path (end of life - terminal - nothing can save you now) path, pain management is #1. Such a rellief that she'll never be in pain again.

I deal with everything that's happening by nursing. (shoulda been one - or maybe I was one in another life...) Catching & measuring puke, emptying catheder bads, showering my mom, all help me help her. I enjoy (OK...I don't mind) helping her to the toilet, changing her sheets and keeping the nurses on their toes with med quizzes.
I know she'd do the same for me in a millisecond. I'm at the hospital early, stay late and in her room most of the time. I avoid company though. When she gets visitors I make myself scarce. I can't handle their sad looks or their complients that I'm so strong - doing so amazing.
F.U. is what I want to say. but perhaps, not the best PR for friendly, well meaning visitors... I'm not strong - I'm not the only one who's ever done personal care on their parent.
Maybe I am doing amazing, but that's what scares me. When will I lose it? When will I bawl and break things and scream and cuddle into a ball of fried emotions???
The reality is there won't be thime for that. Not now and not once we're back home. Too much shit to do. House is a friggin disaster. Kids have been without me for 2 weeks. I start back to work Jan 10. and I need to give 3 three my all. Plus there is all the other everyday things to do - all without the woman who kept my ducks in a row.

I am terrified for life after Arlene.

I know God needs her for something and I need to trust his plan for everything - but frig! - I need her for EVERYTHING!
Part if of me wants to give God the "tall man" and say FU!
The other part of me wants to go to church everyday, pray and pray and search and search for a spriritual meaning for this.
Both seem pretty radical...