Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Goodbye to Moffitt

It was October 22nd. We all sat in the small room of Mom's oncologist at the Moffitt Cancer Center, awaiting her last test results. She had undergone chemotherapy, and just completed an intense round of radiation on her brain as well as her hip and pelvic area. We knew when the cancer had first returned that it had returned with a vengence. It came back very aggressive and spread quickly. Our guts told us the news would probably not be good that day, but we were still optimistic, hoping. Maybe they would suggest another round of chemo? Maybe there was s new drug they wanted her to try? Maybe...........? But the room was somber and quiet as he entered with the news. He sat down on his stool as usual, but did not turn on the light for the screen to show us the new scans. There was no need. The cancer had spread even more rapdily than they seemed to believe possible. Her C.A. # was through the roof.....he was even reluctant to tell us what it was. He proceeded to tell us that he did not reccommend any further treatments, and that there was nothing more they could do, and that we should call Hospice. The appointment was short but not sweet. He tried to remain very distant and matter-of-factly as he apologized for the bad news. He did not want to get too personal. Despite all this, Mom still hugged him, as she drew out a soft side in him that he was trying to protect. After the embrace, I almost thought he seemed a little choked up. At least that's what I like to think. Then, we said our goodbyes to Dr. Strausberg and Moffitt Cancer Center. A place where we had been for so many visits and so many months, that we thought we did not want to ever have to go to again, but today, did not want to leave. It had been our representation of hope, and now.... our hope was gone. It was a long quiet walk to our car that day. There was nothing else to say.

1 comment:

  1. Reminder that hope is fragile, but we know where our confidence is.