Yesterday on the 90-minute drive to Sarah’s appointment, she and I were reminiscing about other procedure/surgeries she’s had over the years—and there have certainly been a good number of them.
As we got closer to the doctor’s office, however, I noticed that she was getting quieter and quieter. I asked what was on her mind and she replied, “Oh, it’s just sort of hard for me to get back into thinking about having an I.V. again and going back to that old part of my life. I was hoping I had left it all behind.”
When we got out of the van to walk into the building, we hugged for a moment and I noticed she had tears in her eyes. (Which of course, immediately brought tears to MY eyes.)
The only thing I could comfort myself with as I hugged her was that I would be able to be with her as they placed the I.V. and prepared her for the procedure–just like I had so many times before.
Because through the years, it always been my comfort to be her comfort.
Of course, there was that time when the comforting was reciprocated following my mastectomy. Sarah is a very good comforter.
Yesterday as I sat quietly with Sarah in the waiting room thinking back to those difficult days we had gone through together, the nurse came out and called her name. Sarah and I had both stood up together when the nurse said, “I’m sorry, only Sarah is allowed to go; she’ll be in the back with us for about two hours.”
I looked at Sarah and she looked at me and I could almost hear the winds of change blowing through that room.
Sarah was eighteen. She was an adult. And even though I knew that in some facilities, a second person is allowed in the back during prep, those were the rules of this particular place.
And so I leaned over and gave Sarah a hug, packed full of all the love and support I could put into it. The nurse smiled and said to me, “We’ll take very good care of her.”
And then they were gone.
I made sure they had my cell number and then wandered disconsolately outside. What was I going to do with myself for two hours? All I could think about was Sarah dealing with her first IV alone and being prepped for her first procedure alone.
I knew that sitting in the car in the parking lot for two hours would drive me bananas so I drove over to a nearby Goodwill thinking to myself, “When the going gets tough, the tough go shopping.”
Which is fine and good as far as sayings go but the shopping didn’t help me a whole lot because I found that it’s hard to look through racks of clothes when there are tears obscuring one’s vision. I wandered around from rack to rack in a daze, my thoughts never far from Sarah and what she was going through.
I finally managed to find a couple treasures and then drove back to sit in the doctor’s parking lot again, waiting, waiting, waiting.
At long last, I was called to go back to be with Sarah. I have to admit that I just about knocked over half a dozen people in my hurry to get through the door and down the hall.
What a joy to finally be led into the room and see this sight.
She was fine! She was smiling! She had done it!
There were a few tear streaks on her face and she was understandably wobbly and weak, but my little grown up girl had done it!
Turns out she’d had a great time chatting it up with everyone–from the doctor to the nurses to the anesthesiologist. Each person I saw commented on how sweet she was and how much they had enjoyed talking with her. (In fact, she told one of the nurses about this blog, so if you are reading here today let must just say, “Hi! You did a great job taking care of my baby yesterday!”)
I was thankful for the chance to do my mommy thing and help Sarah get dressed and get her ready to see the doctor for the post-procedure consultation. During our time with him, he also mentioned to me what a sweetheart Sarah was and hugged us both at the end of our conversation.
And then it was on to the highlight of the whole day—lunch. A turkey flat bread sandwich from Subway was just the thing for my girl who hadn’t had any solid food in almost two days.
Later at dinner, Sarah was recounting to Steve all the adventures of the day and we started talking again about the fact that I wasn’t allowed to go to the back with her.
Sarah said, “You know, Mom, I’ve always been so thankful for every single time you were with me through the years and it’s meant so much to me. But I think it was good for me to do this one by myself because as I get older, I won’t always be able to have you with me.”
Such wise words. Such true words. Such sweetly spoken words. Such sad, end-of-an-era words.
The little cancer warrior with whom I have been through so much was looking forward and not back. She’d been through the I’Vs and the tests and the surgeries and the painful procedures. She knew the drill.
Oh, how she knew the drill.
And she knew she was old enough and strong enough and brave enough to start facing some of those hard times on her own. And I knew that she was right.
But in my heart, I will always see the two of us like this.
Joined at the heart. Comforted in each others’ presence. With love in our tears.
Yes, those of us who have colon cancer in the family (my dad so died) and those of us who have cancer survivors ( I have a child who also survived childhood cancer) all have more of a risk of future cancers, and these tests and others are important. There is always a part of he mind and the eye towards the signs as early detection can be crucial. We consider ourselves fortunate that we are at this point. So many things for which these survivors are at higher risk for having! I’m glad Sarah is being carefully watched and doing as she should in all of this. I’m sorry that she should be doing so.
Cath,
I agree–cancer survivors (and their families) have a built in radar that most people don’t have. Sometimes I wish I didn’t have it and I could relax a bit more but as you said, it’s important to always be on watch since early detection is vital.
What a touching post. I’m always amazed how mature Sarah is for her age.
My mom has always followed me for procedures as well. When I was hospitalized once in my early 20’s, she was still following me everywhere, including the prep room for a scope. She told the nurse “she may be 21, but she is still my baby!”. And to be honest, I was glad she remained close by… there’s nothing like having your mom next to you in difficult times! Unfortunately, she wasn’t there when I was in the hospital for 8 days after delivering my baby, but my hubby was there, and it was equally comforting! She did drive the 7h it takes to come here to see me/watch over me (twice in a week!), and I was very grateful for her presence 🙂
Renee,
You’ve been blessed with a great mom! Anyone who drives 7 hours twice a week is wonderful–I know you’re so grateful for her.
What happy news Becky; I am so glad this was discovered early for Sarah. I prayed for her throughout Friday and I am so glad she is doing okay and recuperating after the procedure. She really is one of the most incredibly brave, spunky, and positive souls I’ve been blessed to “meet.” (I feel like I know you all after so many years of reading your blog, even though we’ve never met in person!).I want to tell you what an encouragement it was to me to read this post- i am inspired by Sarah’s optimism and courage. It’s the end of a long day right now for me and I’ve been feeling somewhat weary of both body and spirit. However what an encouraging remind that life is wonderful and marvelous and I have a choice how to react to life’s challenges.
Jenna,
So glad Sarah’s experience was an encouragement to you. Sometimes at the end of a long day that’s all we need–the boost of hearing someone’s story! Hoping you feel better today.
Tears here, too, …. also filled with love.
Mrs. Pam,
Tears of love are the best kind!
I totally relate to everything in this post! I would love to read Sarah’s perspective some day. I have had thirty-seven surgeries in my lifetime. (My last surgery was in January 1999.) I remember a few times when my mom was not allowed in pre-op. That was very rare. I always held her hand up until I was 18. When I turned 18, I decided to be a big girl. 🙂 But I always had have a hug from her before I went to the operating room! We had some interesting conversations while waiting for me to go to surgery. 🙂
Kristi,
That’s a LOT of surgeries! I know you and your mom would have preferred for your “quality time” to have happened somewhere other than a pre op area but I imagine you made some wonderful memories in those moments. And yes, that last hug is so important for daughter AND mom!
My mom was sooo strong in those moments! Miss my mom a lot!
rejoicing with you all….good news!
Thanks Millie! Great seeing y’all!
Thanks,Millie,
Sure enjoyed spending time with you and Ferrell this week. You all are good company!
Sarah you are amazing and so brave. You handled it like a pro. So glad the polyps were caught early and you will be ok.
Michele,
Thankful for early-caught polyps, as well!
So heartwarming & touching. Thanks for sharing your heart & feelings.
Kay,
Sharing our experiences as a family is made a whole lot easier by the caring hearts of the wonderful folks who read this blog!
So proud of our little lady!
Steve,
Very proud!
Wow. It’s so sad to re-visit Sarah’s medical past through those pictures. They bring tears to my eyes. She has persevered though and she has defied the odds. Sarah is a miracle and such a beautiful and brave young woman!! Prayers for good test results! And hugs from Nebraska too. 🙂
LeeAnne,
Yes, I agree those old pictures bring back some sad memories. She went through SOOO much hardship but has come out stronger–and still smiling!
Sarah (Becky & Steve) I’m so thankful that all went well w/ your test! You, like me, are “those people” that like to “stir the pot:” you know give these medical professionals something to scratch their heads about. Hopefully, Nathan will get the same good report and next year things will be clear and you can spread the tests further apart. I’m impressed that you went back, by yourself, after prepping yourself for Mom to go back w/ you. I’ll be 44 (UGH, did I just type that) in August and most of the time my Dad (and sometimes my aunt too) will accompany me back to the “preoperative/procedure” area. One hospital (my out of state one) enforces it strictly and I deal w/ it unhappily, I must admit. I think my issues stem from my reaction to anesthesia. While I don’t recall what happens in the few hours post surgery/procedures my family does as do the doctors. I’ve been told that I freak the most seasoned professionals out. After 20 years (March, 2014) an anesthesiologist told me it was a form of delirium. Great! But knowing that it’s going to happen, I freak out before we even start. Anyway, I’m so glad you did so well and the results were favorable. You truly do have an angel perched upon your shoulder not too mention an entire extended family around the globe thinking good thoughts all the time. Love, Jodi
PS. Becky, now that your heart rate has returned to normal along w/your blood pressure
go have copious quantities of chocolate for the next 72 hours (AT LEAST).
Jodi,
Well, it’s nice that an anesthesiologist finally figured out what’s going on with you in your post-operative challenges! I can only imagine how comforting it is for you to have family members you love and trust to be with you through all of that.
So painful to see those images of the cancer journey. So healing to see her today. What a wise, beautiful, brave creature, you are, Sarah. The world is blessed by you. We are lucky. Prayers continue for the best ever results. I hope you have a wonderful weekend and spring is all around you in Manteo.
Mary,
That cancer journey was a long, tough road. So thankful to be so far on the other side of it. Spring is a little slow in coming to Manteo but we got up to the mid 60’s today, so we’re working on it!