Not my usual post...
I need to vent.
I need to write in here without masking it with some silly book review or update on fantasy baseball.
The truth of the matter is, I am about to lose my grandmother, and I'm not handling it very well.
A little backstory:
Around my graduation, so about a month ago, my mother told me that my grandma had "something in her head" that was noticed after a fall she took a few days before going to the doctor. It was one of those situations that we chose not to think about so much, so that we didn't worry "about nothing."
A week or so later my mother calls me and we get into a fight about something or another, when she tells me that my grandma really isn't doing so well, and she doesn't know whats wrong.
This is the first time I cry about it.
A few days after that my mom goes to my grandma's house to pick her up, and finds her on the floor. She calls 911 and they bring her to the hospital. They don't know whats going on and start running tests.
Brain cancer.
She has surgery to remove the tumor, which was pressing on the area of the brain that affects motor skills, hence the falling down. Grandma seems to be recovering well, my mom says that my grandmother is in better shape than she is, very calm and serene. They send her to a sort of nursing home for physical therapy, so she can get back into the shape she needs to be in to go back to living in her own home.
Complications.
Grandma goes back to the hospital, again, the doctors aren't really sure what the matter with her is. and my parents feel that she's not getting the sort of attention and care she needs at the nursing home, prefers her in the hospital, where doctors are more readily available.
They meet with oncologists.
They have run tests and it has become apparent that the cancer in my grandma's brain spread there from somewhere else in the body.
The lungs.
**Let me just interject here: this is the second family member in four months that I am losing because of smoking. If you don't fucking quit, I'll kill you now and just get it over with. Vous comprenez?**
And it has metasticized, which for the love of God I cannot spell, but I know it means thats pretty much all she wrote as far as the cancer goes: there is no getting rid of it. The prognosis carries mixed feelings:
4 to 6 months without treatment.
8 months to a year and a half with treatment.
My dad says "You never know, she could be around to see you get your PhD!" The dual optimism (for my grandmother's recovery and my eventually obtaining a PhD) is moving. Still.
The doctors want to start radiation, to get whatever bad cells might still exist in her brain out. They say they can do some good, but they don't want to be too aggressive with treatment, because she is eighty years old and there, of course, are quality-of-life issues here.
This gives us (at least me) a sense of hope, because I mean, why bother with radiation if she didn't have a better-than-decent chance of having some good quality time left? Right?
So I book a flight home, for 4th of July weekend. Start making plans for Petco Park and barbecue with csh82 at my grandma's house. I start to get excited that I will see her when the physical therapy has kicked in and shes back living at home, plus its some quality time before I go to London.
The next day my sister calls me. My parents had gone to the nursing home to pick up my grandma for her radiation therapy, to discover that she isn't there. The nurses inform them that she had to be taken to the emergency room because they "think she had a seizure." Trying really hard to be strong I assume its some part of the treatment that they can stop. I call my mom at the emergency room, who is quickly losing control of her emotions, understandably.
So I sit at work waiting for news, then at home. Then I decide to just call.
She had two more seizures that afternoon, reports my sister.
At this point I am obvioulsy distraught, but still trying so hard to hang on and not lose it and bawl. I am successful. Things are looking bad, very bad.
Yesterday comes the big news. They're giving up. Its not hard to see that this is the right decision because the treatment is doing far more harm than good. She's wiped out, exhausted. She knows who everyone is, but is so tired that shes not totally in touch.
"She should be gone in a month, most likely less."
I decide not to go to the Red Sox game as planned, and Kurt invites me over for dinner so I don't have to be alone, which I greatly appreciate.
Then, stupid me starts to cry on the T. The first time since I heard there "might be something wrong."
I panic and realize I am not ready to deal. I get ahold of Dave, tell him to go ahead and get me a ticket after all, so that I can prolong reality for that much longer. Dinner was a ball, I got to see suburbanlegend (looking buff and bronzed) and read trashy magazines, the game is fun, I have little besides baseball and celebrity gossip on my mind.
But it all catches up with you.
As soon as I step on the bus home I'm crying again, trying to keep it quiet. Its not until I get home that I start absolutely howling, crying my damn eyes out into a towel, so that I won't disturb my neighbors, because thats how loud I am. Andrew consoles me in person, Adam calls me and does the same on the phone, rdg, jasondrogers, and daflashyone do the same online.
My mom can't talk to me for very long on the phone, because she starts to cry. My sister sounds dejected. I can't get a good read on my father, but my best guess is he's doing his best not to sound as sad as he is.
This is my maternal grandmother, so it isn't the same side of the family as my grandfather who passed in February, which is good in a sense, because a whole side of the family doesn't have to suffer two blows so quickly.
My sister and I do.
A while back, my grandparents moved from Northridge to stay with us while their house, a mile down the street from ours, was being built. We inherited a dog, who has also passed on, Dodger, named for the Brooklyn (where my grandfather was a cop) and Los Angeles (near where they eventually lived and raised my mother) Dodgers, in whatever year they won the World Series.
He was a really sweet dog. Who, interestingly enough, also suffered terribly before we finally had to let him go.
Grandma lived near the lake in San Marcos, in a cute house with a whole lot of blue, her (and my mother's) favorite color. She liked geckos that would run around in her well-manicured garden.
She really likes Michelob.
11 years and a week ago we lost my maternal grandfather to cancer, which isn't helping the emotions right now for my mother. It is a lot to deal with and I wish I could be there.
I can't stop from feeling horrible for living all the way out here. I am missing important things and just feel like the most horrendous person on earth, and I really cannot deal with it. I've been good for these past couple of weeks, not crying, masking my feelings, trying to smile through it.
But I really don't want to do that anymore. I am really at the point in all of this now where I cannot find solace in anything, because everytime I try to, something else bad happens. I feel terrible that this has to happen. Why do all of my grandparents who die have to get cancer and have a terrible time of it? Can't one just go in peace, for God's sake? It isn't fair.
Anyway, my mother told me that it seems like I'll be coming home sooner than planned, so as of now I'm awaiting word. I hope to get back to San Diego before she goes, I really hope for that. I've been on the phone with JetBlue about my options, chances are any day I could be heading to Logan to try standby.
"I'd have a bag packed." My dad said.
Goodbye Grandma. We love you.
I need to write in here without masking it with some silly book review or update on fantasy baseball.
The truth of the matter is, I am about to lose my grandmother, and I'm not handling it very well.
A little backstory:
Around my graduation, so about a month ago, my mother told me that my grandma had "something in her head" that was noticed after a fall she took a few days before going to the doctor. It was one of those situations that we chose not to think about so much, so that we didn't worry "about nothing."
A week or so later my mother calls me and we get into a fight about something or another, when she tells me that my grandma really isn't doing so well, and she doesn't know whats wrong.
This is the first time I cry about it.
A few days after that my mom goes to my grandma's house to pick her up, and finds her on the floor. She calls 911 and they bring her to the hospital. They don't know whats going on and start running tests.
Brain cancer.
She has surgery to remove the tumor, which was pressing on the area of the brain that affects motor skills, hence the falling down. Grandma seems to be recovering well, my mom says that my grandmother is in better shape than she is, very calm and serene. They send her to a sort of nursing home for physical therapy, so she can get back into the shape she needs to be in to go back to living in her own home.
Complications.
Grandma goes back to the hospital, again, the doctors aren't really sure what the matter with her is. and my parents feel that she's not getting the sort of attention and care she needs at the nursing home, prefers her in the hospital, where doctors are more readily available.
They meet with oncologists.
They have run tests and it has become apparent that the cancer in my grandma's brain spread there from somewhere else in the body.
The lungs.
**Let me just interject here: this is the second family member in four months that I am losing because of smoking. If you don't fucking quit, I'll kill you now and just get it over with. Vous comprenez?**
And it has metasticized, which for the love of God I cannot spell, but I know it means thats pretty much all she wrote as far as the cancer goes: there is no getting rid of it. The prognosis carries mixed feelings:
4 to 6 months without treatment.
8 months to a year and a half with treatment.
My dad says "You never know, she could be around to see you get your PhD!" The dual optimism (for my grandmother's recovery and my eventually obtaining a PhD) is moving. Still.
The doctors want to start radiation, to get whatever bad cells might still exist in her brain out. They say they can do some good, but they don't want to be too aggressive with treatment, because she is eighty years old and there, of course, are quality-of-life issues here.
This gives us (at least me) a sense of hope, because I mean, why bother with radiation if she didn't have a better-than-decent chance of having some good quality time left? Right?
So I book a flight home, for 4th of July weekend. Start making plans for Petco Park and barbecue with csh82 at my grandma's house. I start to get excited that I will see her when the physical therapy has kicked in and shes back living at home, plus its some quality time before I go to London.
The next day my sister calls me. My parents had gone to the nursing home to pick up my grandma for her radiation therapy, to discover that she isn't there. The nurses inform them that she had to be taken to the emergency room because they "think she had a seizure." Trying really hard to be strong I assume its some part of the treatment that they can stop. I call my mom at the emergency room, who is quickly losing control of her emotions, understandably.
So I sit at work waiting for news, then at home. Then I decide to just call.
She had two more seizures that afternoon, reports my sister.
At this point I am obvioulsy distraught, but still trying so hard to hang on and not lose it and bawl. I am successful. Things are looking bad, very bad.
Yesterday comes the big news. They're giving up. Its not hard to see that this is the right decision because the treatment is doing far more harm than good. She's wiped out, exhausted. She knows who everyone is, but is so tired that shes not totally in touch.
"She should be gone in a month, most likely less."
I decide not to go to the Red Sox game as planned, and Kurt invites me over for dinner so I don't have to be alone, which I greatly appreciate.
Then, stupid me starts to cry on the T. The first time since I heard there "might be something wrong."
I panic and realize I am not ready to deal. I get ahold of Dave, tell him to go ahead and get me a ticket after all, so that I can prolong reality for that much longer. Dinner was a ball, I got to see suburbanlegend (looking buff and bronzed) and read trashy magazines, the game is fun, I have little besides baseball and celebrity gossip on my mind.
But it all catches up with you.
As soon as I step on the bus home I'm crying again, trying to keep it quiet. Its not until I get home that I start absolutely howling, crying my damn eyes out into a towel, so that I won't disturb my neighbors, because thats how loud I am. Andrew consoles me in person, Adam calls me and does the same on the phone, rdg, jasondrogers, and daflashyone do the same online.
My mom can't talk to me for very long on the phone, because she starts to cry. My sister sounds dejected. I can't get a good read on my father, but my best guess is he's doing his best not to sound as sad as he is.
This is my maternal grandmother, so it isn't the same side of the family as my grandfather who passed in February, which is good in a sense, because a whole side of the family doesn't have to suffer two blows so quickly.
My sister and I do.
A while back, my grandparents moved from Northridge to stay with us while their house, a mile down the street from ours, was being built. We inherited a dog, who has also passed on, Dodger, named for the Brooklyn (where my grandfather was a cop) and Los Angeles (near where they eventually lived and raised my mother) Dodgers, in whatever year they won the World Series.
He was a really sweet dog. Who, interestingly enough, also suffered terribly before we finally had to let him go.
Grandma lived near the lake in San Marcos, in a cute house with a whole lot of blue, her (and my mother's) favorite color. She liked geckos that would run around in her well-manicured garden.
She really likes Michelob.
11 years and a week ago we lost my maternal grandfather to cancer, which isn't helping the emotions right now for my mother. It is a lot to deal with and I wish I could be there.
I can't stop from feeling horrible for living all the way out here. I am missing important things and just feel like the most horrendous person on earth, and I really cannot deal with it. I've been good for these past couple of weeks, not crying, masking my feelings, trying to smile through it.
But I really don't want to do that anymore. I am really at the point in all of this now where I cannot find solace in anything, because everytime I try to, something else bad happens. I feel terrible that this has to happen. Why do all of my grandparents who die have to get cancer and have a terrible time of it? Can't one just go in peace, for God's sake? It isn't fair.
Anyway, my mother told me that it seems like I'll be coming home sooner than planned, so as of now I'm awaiting word. I hope to get back to San Diego before she goes, I really hope for that. I've been on the phone with JetBlue about my options, chances are any day I could be heading to Logan to try standby.
"I'd have a bag packed." My dad said.
Goodbye Grandma. We love you.