My mother died of lung cancer in 2001. It was a really hard death for her, and for our family. She had chemo/radiation but it only delayed the progress of the disease. She lost the use of her hands first (in fact, pain in her hands and a sensation of cold in her hands was the first symptom for her) which made everything so difficult. Helplessness, anxiety, and anger were very strong emotions she experienced. She had a lot of trouble eating/sleeping, lost a lot of weight, became immobile. In and out of the local hospital, but a lot of time at home, too, with the help of home care workers and nurse liaisons. We were lucky enough to have a hospice ward at the local hospital–the hospital has now been closed, thank you Premier Campbell, I hope you rot. If the hospital had not been in my mother’s town, it would have been much more of a nightmare than it was, having to drive 45 minutes to get there. Anyway.
My mother experienced a lot of anxiety as the disease progressed, and it was very hard on the family. My father had been a long-time, under-the-radar alcoholic, and his own disease blossomed in a spectacularly ugly fashion as my mother got sicker and sicker. He took on too much care-giving, and then would lapse into alcoholic-induced, dunno what you’d call it–he’d go off and get drunk and stay drunk for days down in the basement. Sometimes a week or more. Luckily, my brother and I were able to come to the house and stay, and my mother’s family was wonderful.
If he had accepted more help, or allowed himself to utilise the breaks that caregivers/family members NEED, then maybe he wouldn’t have fallen apart so dramatically. And there were people to help.
Anyway. My mother’s diagnosis was in early summer 2000 and she died in February 2001. It seems really fast, in some ways, and in others, it was agonisingly slow. She knew all along that the prognosis was going to be fatal, but had a very hard time accepting it. She was 63; I don’t blame her. She was also, needless to say, a life-long heavy smoker.
She was on a lot of meds for nausea, anxiety, pain, digestion, and the meds all mixed together were really hard on her body, too.
She did not want to talk about her death. She would not consent to a DNR order. She still had hope even as she got sicker and sicker, and not being able to reconcile that with the reality of her deterioration was incredibly difficult on her. She was so scared, and she was so angry at dying, and probably so angry with herself for not being able to quit smoking.
We tried to do what she wanted. Be at home, see her sisters, watch CNN day and night, sleep when she wanted, eat a little lobster salad. My aunt procurred a substance usually smoked that in Canada is, I believe, either legal or not prosecuted when used to alleviate pain/nausea in terminally ill people, and I swear, it worked for my mother. My aunt made some homemade crackers with this substance included, and eating them seemed to both calm my mother and give her a little appetite.
It is hard to keep people comfortable with this disease. It is painful, and losing so much weight hurt my mother. Lying down hurt her; sitting up hurt her. Most of all, it was this helplessness, not being able to use her hands, which happened right at the start of the disease, and I don’t think it’s all that common. She hated, hated, hated, the helplessness of it.
Her world got small: the living room, the bedroom, and the hospital room, depending on where she was. Visitors were really important to her. Short visits, mind you, with news and talk of what the patient is interested in.
It was interesting to see how people were: friends that she’d only known for a couple of years (through her avid duplicate bridge playing) were amazing, and I tear up thinking about them. People who came and visited her, talked to her, brought some food or flowers, and anything that might have made her happy/more comfortable. People who may not have liked being around sickness/death, but came anyway, because they knew how much it meant to my mum to have people to see, to talk to.
And then some of my mother’s oldest friends: two in particular that I can think of, and one who lived not a block away. I didn’t see this woman once during my mother’s illness (she was away for part of the winter, but still… not once, and I was at my parents’ house for weeks at a time) and another one who didn’t visit and didn’t come to the funeral. I will never forget that, just as I will never forget the women who visited my mother in the hospital and at home, and who sat and talked with her, or just sat and kept her company, and let my mother doze off or not, but were just there. And my auntie Norma, for doing SO much.
Oh, boy, I’m off on a tangent. Anyway, don’t be surprised when you’re surprised at how people are around death, if it comes to that for your mother. And I hope that you have people like the ones that my mother was so lucky to have.
If your mum gets really sick and she is dying, and you are there for a long time with her, you will feel some emotions that you will hate yourself for. You might be angry at her, and angry at yourself, and be prepared for them. You will likely feel guilty about not being able to do enough, and not being able to make her better. Just do everything you can for her, WITHOUT destroying yourself. Take care of yourself.
Get a flu shot, and if you have any kind of sickness, stay back, because the cancer patient is going to be very vulnerable.
Hospice is a very good thing. As an agnostic, I really hope there’s a heaven, because some people, my mother’s friends, Auntie Norma and the hospice nurses (99.9 percent of them anyway) should get an express ride to the best place in the universe.
I don’t want this to sound horrible, as if I’m assuming your mother will succumb to cancer, and I’m sorry if this does, but this is how it was for us.
Take care, and I hope it is going to be okay for you and your family. It’s a hard thing. Stick together. Lean on each other. Don’t be afraid to cry.