Four Months - Only So Much

Our Family Photo from Thanksgiving 2011
Travis, Kassie, Dad, Mom, Uncle Wayne, Aunt Vickie, Max, Me, and Murphy

It has been four months since I said goodbye to my mom.

Actually, that’s not true -- we said our goodbyes before that, and I’ve been saying them ever since.

I think my goodbyes began on October 14^th of last year, the day after I had my gallbladder removed. My parents had gone to Chicago for chemotherapy at The Block Center, and then traveled to Lincoln so they could be with me after my surgery. My mom wasn’t doing very well – her liver was not recovering from the chemo, and she was starting to show signs of liver failure. Her skin had a yellow tinge, and she was very, very tired. The day after my surgery, my mom was too weak to go up the steps to our apartment, so my parents decided to go home so she could rest and be more comfortable.

I thought that was the last time I was ever going to see my mom. I was recovering from gallbladder surgery, which wasn’t super invasive as it was done entirely laparoscopically, but I was hurting, and I was very weak. I wanted to be with them, but I could barely do the steps, myself.

So, my parents left, and I said goodbye.

I look back and realize that that was such a huge moment for me. It was my first realization that my mom might not beat this disease. That she might not see my sister get married, or either of us have children. That we might never go shopping together again, or do all the things we’d planned to do “someday.” It isn’t that I gave up or lost faith – I saw a glimpse of how dire the situation was – something my mom had never let me see before.

Every birthday and holiday that followed became extra special and meaningful. We took family photos at Thanksgiving – that alone is something I will always be thankful for. I stopped going out as often when I was home, and instead stayed in to watch HGTV with my mom. I started thinking more seriously about the future, including things like children and my career.

Something else also happened during that time after my surgery – I felt a very abrupt change in my mom’s attitude. Again, I don’t believe for a second that she gave up or gave in, but she was so, so sick, and so, so tired. She’d made so many changes, so much progress, and gained so much time because of it, but now her liver was suffering due to all of the chemo and drugs that had been forced through it.

There is only so much a body can take.

This is the reality I denied for many, many weeks after she died. Why didn’t we find different doctors? She’d had no trouble in the past leaving doctors in favor of ones who shared her attitude and views, so why didn’t we do more? When she went for her final doctor appointment two days before she died, why didn’t they do anything for her then? When I begged the attending physician at Saint Luke’s to put in the catheter to drain the fluid that was building up inside her because her liver wasn’t doing its job anymore, why didn’t she do anything else for her? Why weren’t the doctors at the Block Center presenting us with new plans?

Now I know and believe that there is only so much a body can take. And by spending the past three years working WITH her body by feeding it the nutrients it needed and depriving the cancer of the toxins and sugars it needed to grow, she surpassed the expectations of all of her doctors.

Sometimes, though, I am just a greedy little girl who doesn’t care about any of that, and just wants her mom.

One of my daily rituals has become that “active mourning” exercise that I shared with you in my last entry. Once a day, I sit down somewhere quiet and look at photos of my mom with me, my sister, and my dad. Sometimes I cry, sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I feel better afterwards, and sometimes I feel worse. It all depends on how I woke up that day.

I think I’ve been waiting since last October to feel like my old self again, but I’m starting to think that is never going to happen. As my sister so aptly put it, “This is my life now.” 

There’s no going back. Only forward – and that is something I can try to do to honor my mom who was such a perfect example of moving forward when it was the hardest thing to do.

Mom and Dad, Thanksgiving 2011

My Mother's Strength (Part 1)

Mom and Dad dancing at my wedding, September 4, 2010

I have been wanting to write this since the beginning of this blog, but I am having a lot of trouble with it.

Why did I name this blog "My Mother's Strength?"

There are a lot of reasons, but one of the bigger ones is that I think so many people, including myself, can learn a lot from the way my mom dealt with her disease, and essentially, her life, as it became more and more a part of who she was.

Cancer doesn’t just grow in your body; it grows in your entire essence. When it metastasizes, like it did with my mom, it wasn’t just in her lung, bones, brain, and liver; it was in her soul. It became who she was. She was no longer Kristie, wife of Kyle, mother of twins, business owner, church member; she became Kristie, cancer patient, wife of Kyle, mother of twins, business owner, and church member.

I think at first, she fought the idea of cancer being part of her identity as much as she fought the actual disease. But eventually, she realized if she didn’t want to be defined by her illness, she needed to meet it most of the way.

After a friend of mine’s mother passed away when her triple negative breast cancer spread to her brain, my mom got really scared. Then she got mad. She found the drive to find another way. She knew chemo made her too sick to go on, and her doctor at KU was not receptive to alternative treatments (or positive thinking, for that matter), so she decided to look elsewhere.

She read books and read about cancer as a cellular process, not just a disease or a tumor to be removed. She learned the ways in which our bodies permit or even promote the growth of these cells, and decided to fight the cancer with everything she had – her entire life.

She learned about the Block Center for Integrative Cancer Treatment in Chicago, Illinois after reading a book written by the founder, Dr. Keith Block. After visiting their website and talking with her insurance company, my mom decided to go to the Block Center. This was a decision I will always be grateful for.

At the Block Center, she was treated with concern and respect, and everyone loved her. She was given supplements and vitamin infusions before, during, and after chemotherapy to help her body handle the dangerous toxins chemo drugs contain. She was told she needed to make drastic changes in order to live. She made them.

She began a vegan (except for certain fish), bleached and processed flours and sugar-free diet. It was maybe the hardest thing my mom ever did. However, it changed everything, and she lived.

She continued chemo for years, and fought the cancer hard. She started practicing Yoga, having laser therapy to deal with her uncomfortable and scary neuropathy, and even having her chakras aligned regularly. She started exercising daily and even worked with a personal trainer, and for the first time in her life, found control over her weight – something that had plagued her for her entire adult life.

And she prayed. And you prayed. And you sent positive thoughts and love. And she lived.

We had at least three more Christmases than we were supposed to. She was able to attend my wedding and see Kassie’s dreams come true with her career and meeting and getting engaged to Travis.

When people say that my mom “lost” her battle with cancer, I want to correct them – she lived longer and better than anyone ever expected or even dared to hope for. And because of that, she was able to inspire us and teach us what it really means to be strong.