What a difference a day makes.
I wrote on Tuesday about the fear of the unknown as it relates to caring for a loved one who has challenging medical issues, and how each doctor appointment - especially those with her medical oncologist - is fraught with worry over what we might be told about the state of her health.
Mom was diagnosed with colon cancer in October 2022, roughly a month after she turned 79. It was an especially bitter pill for both her and me to swallow so soon after losing my dad, and amid the normal aches and pains that increase as one gets older, especially when your 50s and 60s hit.
Now, by the grace of God, she's 82, having gone through multiple surgeries, three months of chemo, and the periodic check-ups and CT scans to make sure everything still looks good and that there is nothing that would be a cause for concern.
READ MORE (VIP): Caregiver's Diary Part 58: The Fear of the Unknown
Though her medical oncologist has told her that the longer she's in remission, the less likely the chance for recurrence, I get more anxious with each follow-up, worrying that this will be "the one." That's primarily due to the stories you hear of former cancer patients who, for several years, went NED (no evidence of disease) before finding out, indeed, there was evidence of it.
What would happen if that ended up being mom's scenario, after all she'd gone through? Would she opt for treatment, or would she decide to opt out of it? Those are things that are too difficult for me to contemplate, but I have told her that in the event such a situation presented itself, I would respect her decision. I can't ask her to do any more than she already has.
But we're praying, of course, that she'll never have to make that choice, and praying that she has won the battle against what we call "the 'c' word."
Her Wednesday appointment went well (thank you immensely for the thoughts and prayers - we felt them!), with some of the results from her lab work coming in before we left the office. The one number we were waiting on the most, however, is the one that comes in last, usually the night of the appointment or the morning after.
Mom periodically asked me about her CEA number on Wednesday night, wondering if it was on the online portal just yet. At the time we went to bed, it wasn't, so I assured her I'd check first thing Thursday morning when I got up.
DIVE DEEPER (VIP): Caregiver's Diary Part 3: The Role Reversals
Around 5:30 a.m., I woke up for a bathroom visit. As per the norm, the house was quiet and peaceful. Mom was sleeping soundly. But before I got out of bed, I grabbed my phone and logged on to the portal.
There was a new notification: "New Carcinoembryonic Antigen test result available."
Hoo boy. There it was.
I always have to take several deep breaths with my eyes closed before I can open the result. Because I'm the first one outside of whoever processed her lab work to see it, and whatever the number is, I'm the first one who is going to have to tell her about it.
"No matter what time of night it is, if you check and the number is there, please wake me up and tell me," she's instructed me many times before.
I think it probably took me a full five minutes before I could open the result. At long last, I did.
It read 0.8.
I closed my eyes briefly again.
Thank you, Jesus. It was a good number. A blessing.
After wiping the water out of my eyes and composing myself, I jumped up and went to tell Mom.
She reached up and we both hugged each other tightly. Another hurdle jumped. An early Thanksgiving blessing. We could both breathe a sigh of relief for a little while longer.
RELATED: To check out my previous Caregiver's Diary entries, please click here. Thank you!
