Lunch?

So for weeks now, every time my fingers type the word "lung" when referring to Mom's health, they first type "lunch," then I have to go back and correct it. "Lunch" is an often-typed word in my line of work. I love lunch. Lunch is a pleasant thing. Until recently, I rarely, if ever, had the need to type out the word "lung." My fingers only just now do it correctly, and even so, I have to think very intentionally about it in order not to make the usual typo.

I have no idea what "lunch" cancer might look like, nor do I care to find out.

I do know that "lung" cancer is an awful, terrible thing. Lung cancer has taken the spirit out of my mom. Lung cancer has taken the smile from her face. Lung cancer is my most hated enemy right now.

We've been fighting with a bloated abdomen these past few weeks. We had first assumed it was related to the prednisone, which Mom was taking for pain and breathing both. However, when she stopped taking it, the bloating persisted. Yesterday, we went back to the oncologist for his opinion. Actually, we saw his PA since he's only in the office on Mondays. She confirmed that it was, indeed, fluid buildup, and to our dismay, suggested that it was likely a result of the spread of the cancer to another part of her abdomen. Not what we wanted to hear, but what I suspected. Because she is on Hospice, we won't be doing any scans to determine where it has moved, so we can only surmise. We leave the "healing" up to God, knowing that bodily healing is only possible on the "other side." But we can do things to keep her comfortable on this side. Today she goes for a simple procedure at Emory--draining of the abdominal cavity. We hope it will be much like the initial draining of her lung (I did it again...lunch), where she got immediate relief. At that time, they will decide whether or not to put in a permanent catheter like the one she already has for her right lung. For her sake, I hope this will not be deemed necessary, but if so, we will accept it and move on.

So to those of you who pray, please keep her...us...in yours. The combination of the discomfort, the difficulty breathing, and the cessation of the prednisone (which often causes extreme tiredness) have made for a rough few days at 2871. My sister Calli drove up yesterday and will take Mom for today's procedure while I go to Michael's awards day at school, then take Dad to a dental appointment. We anticipate that she will feel groggy most of today, and then hope for a much better day tomorrow once the abdominal pressure is relieved.

As the three of us...mother, daughter, and daughter...got in the car yesterday, I said, "Okay, let's just pretend now that we are going to a nice ladies' lunch, just the three of us. We're on our way to the Swan Coach House." They didn't really want to play along, but I liked the idea. We got there and were settled in the examining room a bit later, and I said, "Okay, now it's time for dessert. What will you have?" Mom resisted at first, saying didn't want any. I pushed. "Creme brulee," she said. "With raspberries and chocolate?" I asked. "Yes."

As we were checking out, I was taking Calli's dessert order and Mom said she wanted to change hers to Lemon Icebox Pie. Because she's my mom, I allowed it.

But I imagine on that "other side" she can have both Creme Brulee with raspberries and chocolate AND Lemon Icebox Pie. And that both will taste heavenly.