My mother’s surgery goes without a hitch. I make jokes throughout the surgical check-in process (it’s my coping mechanism when I’m nervous, you should see me with immigration agents or cops!). My mother is a bit embarrassed, but understands that I’m nerve-wracked too. They let me accompany her as she changes into her hospital gown, puts all her valuables into a plastic bag, and the nurses go over her vitals. It’s time to wheel her into surgery and the nurse tells me, “This is a good time for hugs.” I panic for a moment, as if she’s implying this is the last hug I’ll ever give my mother. I wait for many hours, and am so relieved when the surgery is over and I can hold her hand, look into her eyes. She spends the next five days at the hospital, and is so happy to get back to the comfort of her home.
One day, as I’m visiting my mom in the hospital, I get an unexpected call. The prior week, I received a free mammogram and they want me to return for a diagnostic mammogram. There are several panicked phone calls about coverage and my lack of health insurance. It seems unimaginable that my mom has colon cancer and now I could have breast cancer (and be uninsured)! I take several deep breaths, plaster a smile on my face and re-enter my mother’s hospital room. No need to worry her about anything. I find comfort from my friends who all tell me they frequently have follow up from mammograms. The last year has been about staying present, and I try not to skip ahead to the mastectomy. A few weeks later, I return for my mammogram and when I get the cancer-free results jump up and down and whoop with joy. All the women in the waiting room are wearing identical smocks and quietly smile at my reaction, probably hoping for the same outcome. Once I’m alone in the dressing room, I collapse with relief and cry. It’s exhausting being strong and positive all the time, and I just need to relish in the real fear that I had for myself and that I have for my mother.
A few weeks pass, and it’s time to meet with the oncologist to review her pathology results and treatment options. I surround myself with love and support, and we cram four people into the exam room, my mom, my friend who was a social worker, my uncle who is a nurse and me. They tell my mom she needs chemotherapy and I feel like I’ve been socked in the stomach. A protective wall goes up and I’m skeptical to their advice, suddenly dubious of the entire medical industry. Six months of chemotherapy called modified FOLFOX 6, it sounds like a bad science fiction character. As we leave the hospital my friend quietly asks me, “Why wouldn’t you want her to get the chemotherapy?” And she’s right. In the end, it’s not up to me either. My mom wants the chemotherapy. She’s almost perky about the entire thing. She wants to kill cancer forever, and alleviate any fear of recurrences. I’m the one who feels scared and sad, and it’s not even my disease!
It takes me less than 24 hours to decide to stay in Seattle for her treatment. At first, I toy with the idea of returning to Southeast Asia for the first few months. The chemotherapy is cumulative, and the side effects are supposed to be harder in the final months. I try to imagine myself lying on a beach in Vietnam while my mom is undergoing chemotherapy and I know I would get an ulcer from the stress and worry. I tell my mom that I’m going to stay and she simply thanks me. She never asked me to stay, and when she doesn’t try to get me to leave, I realize how much she needs me to be here. Later, she tells me I shouldn’t work and should relax, start writing my book and we will buy a desk for my room. The next day, she gives me a hard drive for my laptop, convinced my writing will overflow the memory-ha!
Up until this news, I had every intention of returning to Vietnam at Thanksgiving to travel, volunteer, and then settle down in an apartment in Danang, adopt a child, write a book and start consulting. I was on a path. I had a new life waiting for me. This sudden shift feels like I’m putting my life on hold. But then I realize nothing is on hold. I am still living every single day of my life. I love Seattle. I’m so lucky to have the flexibility to be able to stay in Seattle to help my mom. This time with her is really a gift, since we haven’t lived together since I was 14 years old.
Sucking the Marrow from Life 
Annie, my – so many changes! Ups and downs….ah, life! Have had a few myself. I would love to catch up with you one day when you have settled in. I’m still near Columbia City and would meet at the bakery….you choose.
Best,
Susan
Susan, I am having way more ups than downs – I’d say 90 percent on the positive. Let’s connect soon.
Much love Annie. Moving back in with my mother during her illness was an amazing time for me. I was also on my path after travelling and such. And I was feeling like my life was on hold.
My mother and I never got along and something during the caretaking broke through something we couldnt have done any other time in our lives.
Keep me posted and keep writing.
Aley, I’m following in your footsteps. Including maybe to the Hawaii-Vietnam Fellowship! xo
Anne – This post brings tears to my eyes. I lost my mother to cancer when I was only 11. I’m so glad the surgery went well and that her prognosis seems good. What a gift you are giving to each other to have this time together. I agree with your mom, start writing your book. There is an old saying, “Man plans, God laughs.” I’ll keep you both in prayer as this new chapter unfolds.
Best,
Kimberly
Kimberly, Thank you, my journey has been so unexpected the past year. Every part has been just delightful. So many more adventures on the horizon, including a wonderful day tomorrow and exciting things tomorrow. Hope to see you at Native Americans in Philanthropy conference in Tulalip in April 2010!
Hello lovely Annie,
Oh how I enjoy reading the vivid accounts of your extraordinary life. So real and so honest. I can’t wait to read your book! (Books?)
I cared for my dad for two years in his home back here in Australia. He also had cancer but the circumstances were different as it was found very late. My mum had cancer, too, 13 years ago, and it took her at a young age …. also found late thanks to an original misdiagnosis. I miss them both so much. Indeed, I had quite the meltdown this past weekend over the losses.
I have such acceptance, though, that illness and the passing of our parents is a natural part of life. Eventually, of course, you will lose your own mother, but not now and not in the near future. They have found her disease early and she lives in one of the top cities in the world for treatment — what a blessing! And she has you there to support her…. I’m sure that means more to her than anything she can convey. I know it did to my dad.
I, too, felt my life was on hold and in many ways it was. However, “my” life also was handed back to me and I’m trying to grab it with gusto and, most importantly, live it with far more compassion than ever before, thanks to the experience. I also have so much peace knowing I had some great time with my dad and it sustains me when I hurt.
In other words, my dear, you are doing exactly the “right” thing by being by your mom’s side. And don’t kid yourself … it’s a very special act of selflessness and it brings many rewards. Many, many people do not do the same when the opportunity arises.
Just be present … nothing else is required.
Love to you,
Susan
Susan, thank you for your support and sharing your stories. I’ve been home in Seattle for two months and no regrets at all! I haven’t lived with my mom since I was 14, so this is a special time. The first round of chemotherapy started last week and went really well. Only 11 more treatments to go! Hope you make it to Seattle, or I will be in Australia in the coming years.
Anne – Your mother is lucky to have your strength, good energy and presence. Thank you for sharing your experience with us and forcing us to all pause to remember what is important in this precious thing called life. So good to see you on Saturday and I’m looking forward to our coffee soon. Much love, Jill
Jill, there is so much to be thankful for in life. So good for us to pause and remember what’s important. See you soon!
I was so confused about what to buy, but this makes it unaedstdnrable.
I’m shocked that I found this info so easily.
my whole family is inspired by your stories,
we are thinking of moving to Vietnam from New Jerseyto start a new life and build a mosque.
Dear Annie,you’re a sensible,loving daughter,who,in the course of living live have encountered an enduring moment to go through.you are doing the right thing and will never regret it and your mom is strenghened by it. Thanks for sharing your feelings,since that also contributes to many others to cope better with life’s problems. You have many years ahead to fulfill your dreams.You are blessed with a wonderful family and many friends who love you dearly.count your blessings and the best,always.many hugs.
Ramon, thank you so much for your very kind comments. I’m so lucky to have made friends like you around the world! xo