Mom, Part 2

So the biopsy came back positive.  It was cancer.  Because there was so much growth over 6 months, the oncologist recommended a radical mastectomy.

But first, Mom needed to move her father from his nursing home to one closer to her.  Grandma had passed away in January and Grandpa wasn't (and still isn't) doing too well.  At the time it seemed to Mom and her brothers that she would be the logical primary go-to person to make decisions regarding Grandpa's care. This meant moving him to a home closer to my parents.

First week of September was move-out time for Grandpa.  I live 500 miles away from where Mom and Dad's house (and the future nursing home) is, but only a 1.5 hour drive from Grandpa's former residence.  So it was easy for my husband, the baby, and me to make our way down to see Mom and Grandpa before they began their trek down to Southern California.

We met up at Starbucks.  Mom's surgery wasn't scheduled until the next week, so this would be the last time I would see her before treatment began.  The weather was warm, but not oppressively so.  My aunt and uncle were there, and they cooed over the baby, watching him stand holding on to the table (at 5 months old!).  My mom made her approving remarks and held him as much as an active, curious baby will let anyone hold him.

We avoided the C word.  Mom mentioned the blanket she was knitting for the baby, asked how work was going, asked how things were between me and my husband.  She and my aunt exchanged reminisces of my siblings and I when we were infants.  But we avoided talking about cancer.

Until Mom decided that she needed to buy me a coffee.

We were standing in line and I was studiously avoiding staring at my own mother's chest.  I didn't even know which breast the lump was in.  I tried not imagining her lopsided.  I made a show of making faces at my son - babies are really useful that way - when Mom brought it up.

I don't remember what exactly she said, but she was talking about her treatment plans.  What to do about losing her hair during chemotherapy, needing to stay occupied when recovering from the mastectomy, and how she didn't plan on mourning the loss of her breast.

I found out after she passed that that last part was a lie.

We visited for a little while longer, and then it was time to go get Grandpa and hit the road.  I gave Mom a hug, she kissed the baby, and I reaffirmed that I would be coming down for a short visit right after surgery.

She was so upbeat, so confident that this would be just a minor setback.  I went home feeling reassured.  She looked the same, talked the same.  She was Mom, but with an unwelcome guest hitching a ride with her; a guest that would soon be evicted so we could all get on with our lives.