No matter what you've gone through in life, nothing quite prepares you for receiving devastating health news about yourself, a family member, or a close friend or colleague.
In the months leading up to my mom's colon cancer diagnosis in October 2022, the thought that the health issues she had been experiencing for roughly a year and a half could be cancer crossed my mind, but like a lot of people, I focused more on the possibility that it was something else that perhaps was easily treatable or manageable.
I wasn't in denial that it could be cancer - we were doing doctor appointments that summer to try and nail down what the issue was - but to make myself, and her, feel better about it, our mindset was that we'd soon finally get the answers we needed and hopefully could take care of the problem soon thereafter.
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Needless to say, though I had considered that cancer was a possibility, I was not prepared to hear the words "colon cancer" spoken to my mom after her colonoscopy had been completed.
She wasn't prepared either, which I instantly knew when I looked into her eyes and saw the tears forming.
As crushed as we both were and uncertain about what the future held, I vowed in that moment to be my mom's eyes, ears, and sometimes her voice, too, going forward as it related to her health and the decisions made about it, in part because my mom was still processing the loss of my dad in a different way than I was, and her emotional state was overwhelmed.
My emotional state was overwhelmed, too, but I did my best to push past it and listen to what the doctor said that day about the next steps, all while I had it in my mind that, though we had found out what her health issue was that we had also just entered into the unknown in terms of what was in store, and if there was even a chance that it was beatable.
This month marks the three-year anniversary of her tumor being removed. She's come such a long way, going through surgeries, chemo treatments, and all the follow-up appointments - including labwork every few months and CT scans once a year.
On Wednesday, she's due for another round of labwork, just to check and see if her numbers look good and are where they need to be. Usually, the closer we get to these appointments, the more nervous and anxious I get.
So far, every post-chemo appointment she's had related to her original diagnosis has given us encouraging news and reasons to be hopeful. But waiting for the number and/or results to come in can be agonizing.
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Some of them come in while she's still at the doctor's office. But others, including a very important one - the CEA number - usually don't come in until later. The bloodwork is tested, and the results are released automatically through an online portal. Most often, I see the CEA number before even the doctor has, because I'm checking for it periodically.
It has sometimes come in late in the evening on the same day of her appointments, and other times it's come in first thing the next morning.
But when I see a notification that the CEA number has come in, it weighs heavily on me, and I have to take several breaths before I open it, all the while praying it's a good number and that I'll have some good news for mom.
Her medical oncologist has previously told her that the CEA test is not a perfect test, but that the number being within a certain range, as it has been in past tests, supports his belief that her cancer is in remission.
Needless to say, we're praying mom gets good numbers all around from the upcoming labwork, including and especially the CEA, because if the results end up being cause for concern, we would again be in uncharted waters, and I don't know what we'd do.
Any thoughts, prayers, and encouragement are certainly welcome.
RELATED: To check out my previous Caregiver's Diary entries, please click here. Thank you!
