Tag Archives: bad news

The C word again

Posted on by
10

I walked into the house, carrying a soda, a Gatorade, and a bag of new clothes, talking to Mike about school systems that suck and make parents of special needs children more stressed than they need to be. The bad news that I’d just heard weighed heavily on me, and all I could do was shake my head and rant about how ridiculous it was that a school does not understand special needs childrens’ problems.

We spent a few minutes saying hello to my mom and sister, and then my mom looked at me and motioned for me to sit down. In barely above a whisper, she said she had to tell me something. (She has a sinus infection too, which always means no voice for her.)

“Not more bad news,” I said, joking. Then I saw the look on her face, and I sat down.

“Noni found a lump on one of her lymph nodes, where she had the tumors removed from before,” Mom said. “She had a biopsy, and…”

I barely heard the rest, because I didn’t need to. “No,” I choked, and buried my face in my hands.

Not again, not again, not again.

My grandmother is a breast cancer survivor. Several years ago, when Popi was still healthy, was still working, she was diagnosed. She went into chemotherapy. It was hard, but she beat it. In fact, I barely remember the details of the day to day stuff, because I was so young, and they caught it so early. In my memory, it was over before it really began. I didn’t have time to be scared. I was too young to be scared.

Cancer has already taken away one of my grandparents. Even though there’s no reason to jump to conclusions here, I have already been fighting the fear that the people I love are slipping away. It’s been eight months since we lost Popi. In those eight months, the pain has not even slightly diminished. I have realized that it will never be any easier without him. Each event or holiday will always make me think, We’re doing this without Popi. (Hell, sometimes I even think, Oh cool, I’ll get to see Popi there. It’s like my brain is handicapped.)

Noni is going to have a scan to make sure the cancer isn’t anywhere else, so that they can get an idea of how far it has or hasn’t advanced. Then they will start treatment. All I can think of is that, in the beginning, things looked really optimistic for Popi. I’m trying not to think like that, but it’s nearly impossible not to. The fear of losing the remaining half of my NoniandPopi is crippling.

I hope my dad is okay. He’s never one to say much. He didn’t say much when we lost Popi, and he didn’t say much when we lost Brian (who was his best friend years ago). Then again, I haven’t said much (out loud) either.

I hope Biz Noni is okay, too. She’s eighty-seven. Noni is her daughter.

I can’t believe this is happening again.

Update on Konner: Waiting for an answer

Posted on by
15

I just got home a little while ago, and was going to write about Konner anyway, but a few of you on Twitter and Facebook have asked, and since it’s such a long story, it makes sense to write it up here rather than dealing with the character limits.

Sandy and Konner

Sandy and Konner

My best friend’s son Konner (my godson) was born with a kidney disease called hydronephrosis hydroureternephrosis. One of his kidneys was irreparably damaged because of this, and the other was starting to fail, too. I guess I never ended up writing about it, but his urologist at Yale, Dr. W, removed the bad kidney last year and said that the remaining kidney should heal and function at normal rate, but that there was a chance that it could begin to fail, too (because of the hydroureternephrosis). Konner seemed to have been recovering fine, and we all — doctors included — thought that he would continue to live a healthy life.

Earlier today, Sandy noticed that one of his testicles was pretty swollen, so she took him to the ER at St. Mary’s (local hospital) to have it checked out. While examining him and doing a catheter, the staff at St. Mary’s found that he has a large cloud of blood in his bladder, and a hernia (on his testicle, I think). They arranged to transfer him to Yale’s children’s hospital, since that’s where his urologist (Dr. Weiss) and other experts are. Admittedly, they don’t have that kind of expertise at St. Mary’s, so even though they said they didn’t know what was going on — whether it’s a UTI or a sign of kidney failure — and that it didn’t look good, I’m hoping that when Dr. Weiss sees him in the morning, things will look less grim. We do not want him to have to go on dialysis and wait for a donor match. We’re all hoping that it’s something much less major.

St. Mary’s did say that the hernia would have to be operated on and that the procedure would be relatively minor, but that they were much more concerned about the blood in his bladder. Sandy told me that when they did the catheter for a sample of his urine, nothing but blood came out, as if a vein had been cut open in someone’s arm or something.

So yeah. We are all pretty much freaked out right now. I had to go home because the visiting hours at Yale were over, but I would give anything to be there with Sandy right now. Luckily, Konner’s dad (Ryan) is awesome, so she isn’t alone.

I hope that Dr. Weiss and the team at Yale can come up with some answers tomorrow, and that those answers are much less scary than kidney failure. My little man has been through so much, and he’s only three. He’s definitely a fighter, though; he was all smiles and giggles while Mike and I were visiting at both St. Mary’s and Yale.

Please keep him in your thoughts. I’ll try to update as soon as I have more to tell, but if they’re still at Yale tomorrow I’ll probably be up there.

Chemo Round 1: Fight!

Posted on by
9

Today is Popi’s third dose of chemo, technically. On Sunday, he had to take six or so “horse sized” (in his words) chemo tablets. I guess they’re a sort of prep for the IV chemo, though I’m not entirely sure. Yesterday was his first IV dose. Noni said that he did really well. He didn’t even get nauseous. In fact, when he got back to his room, he was hungry and had something to eat.

Unfortunately, the doctors told him that when he comes home, he can’t come upstairs.

And I suppose that means it’s time for me to FINALLY explain my living situation, after all this time.

About five (maybe six) years ago, my parents, sister, and I lived in an apartment down the street from my grandparents. (We’ve actually always lived down the street, one way or another. We’ve always been lucky like that.) Without going into a super long explanation, we were unfairly evicted by our landlord (who later realized she was wrong and regretted the decision, but by then it was too late). Because we were given like zero time, we moved in with Noni and Popi, ideally for a couple of weeks until we could get another place.

Noni and Popi live in a three family home with my great-grandmother, Biz Noni, and Noni’s sister, my aunt Barbara. Biz Noni lives on the first floor, Aunt Barbara lives on the second floor, and my grandparents live on the third.

My parents moved in with Biz Noni, and Lauren and I moved in upstairs. We put most of our stuff into storage, because we were only supposed to be there for a few weeks.

Flash forward, five years later.

So, Noni, Popi, Lauren, Squirt (my cat), and I live on the third floor.

The doctors have told Popi that, because of the cancer in his hip and spine, he can’t make the stairs because they don’t want him to risk breaking anything. So, ideally, my grandparents will move downstairs and my parents will move upstairs.

EXCEPT.

These doctors clearly don’t know my grandfather. He wants to be upstairs for obvious reasons, and I can almost guarantee that when he gets home, he will still insist on coming up the stairs (three flights of them, to be exact.) I can hear him now: “I ain’t gonna break nothin’!” Then he’ll go up the stairs, no matter how long it takes him. And he won’t break nothin’, ’cause he’s Popi.

I’ve been all over the place with my emotions lately. They kind of progressed like this: shock, numb, pain, denial. Yesterday I couldn’t face the truth, stuffed everything down, and forced myself to go about my day — even though I just wanted to SCREAM. It wasn’t until last night, when I talked to Mike, that I let some of it out. Mostly I feel like a new bottle of Pepsi; twist my cap and all of the pressure will come out, but not until someone twists that cap. And right now, I’m not sure I want it to be twisted.

Mike and I got into a fight yesterday afternoon. When he got out of work, he called me and apologized, and that was when I was finally able to just let it out. I’ve been writing in a journal almost every day, because mostly I’m just a churning ocean of emotion (hey, that rhymed) inside, and I don’t know how to act or how to express how I’m feeling without looking like a crazy person.

I’ve been sorting through these emotions like the Sorting Hat — one at a time, thinking very hard about each. At least, when I write. Otherwise, I’ve just been focusing very hard on everything, while at the same time unable to concentrate. Does that make sense?

Today I am… I don’t know. I guess I’m pretty much just shoving it all away, not allowing myself to feel anything. Yesterday I floundered between anger and denial. Today I’m just.. nothing. I’m more concerned about the rest of my family than I am with myself. I’m concerned for my cousins, Vinny and Mindy, my sister Lauren, my mom, Dad, Noni, Biz Noni, Uncle Lonny, Aunt Wendy, and of course Popi. We’ve all become this ball lately, sort of clinging to each other and uniting. We’ve always been a tightly knit family, but physical distance has always kept most of us away from each other. Suddenly, to me anyway, that distance feels so far. I just want everyone with me.

Actually, I just want this to not be at all.

So today, while I go about my day, Popi is still at the VA hospital, getting his chemo.

I just want him to come home.

Prognosis

Posted on by
4

I’ve always taken the people I love for granted. When the thought of losing my grandparents — my Noni and Popi, and my Biz Noni — came up, I’d push the thought away. See, I grew up surrounded by these three, and they are still a strong presence in my life. (I live with them and see them all every day.) My grandparents and great-grandmother are an important part of me. Noni is 62, Popi is 70, and Biz Noni is 86.

“They’re all in decent health,” I’d tell myself. “No one’s going anywhere anytime soon. Stop being so morbid.”

The truth is, I’ve been jaded. Because a week ago today, I found out that my Popi has cancer. Before running additional tests, the doctors at the VA hospital said they thought it was stage three and that it was in his liver and maybe lungs.

I told myself, “That’s shitty, but he’ll be okay.” I just couldn’t think otherwise.

A week later, we are playing a new game. The stage three is actually stage four. The cancer is in his liver, lungs, most of his spine, and his left hip. They have diagnosed it as aggressive lung cancer, and have told us that they can just make him comfortable at this point, via Percocet and chemotherapy. The chemo will extend his prognosis; without the chemo, they were giving him a few weeks. I don’t want to say what the prognosis with the chemo is. I don’t want to think in numbers. I don’t want to think in time.

According to the (awesome) doctors at the VA, the cancer took root two months ago.

Two months.

It only took two months to spread that quickly.

Two fucking months.

I went to visit Popi again today. He looked good; still handsome, but very, very tired. He take a chemo tablet tomorrow morning, and starts his first round of aggressive chemo via IV on Monday. This particular kind of chemo could cause him hearing loss and kidney problems, as well as the usual nausea and possible hair loss (not that my Popi has a whole lot of hair left, anyway).

It still has not sunk in for me. It feels like this is happening to someone else. I cry, but the pain ebbs and turns to numbness and cold disbelief. I think, “No. Not my Popi.” I write pages and pages in my journal. I let Mike hold me tight. I let my mother, grandmother, and aunt hold me like I am a small child while I cry. I lay awake at night, unable to sleep. And still, it doesn’t sink in.

No. Not my Popi.

The C word

Posted on by
6

I slipped out the door and broke into the cold November air. I saw him, sitting in the Rav4 across the street. He sat perfectly still, smoking a cigarette and staring into the intersecting street ahead. For a moment I watched him, then forced myself to take the three short steps down and to walk across the street. As I walked around the front of the truck, I looked down at the ground, avoiding his eyes for fear of breaking down before I could even get the words out.

I slid into the truck and closed the passenger door behind me.

“What’s wrong?” He asked. “Is it Biz Noni?”

“No,” I said.

“Popi?”

I nodded, and the tears started sliding down my cheeks. I barely felt them. I thought I had exhausted my tear ducts but it appeared there was an unlimited supply.

“What is it?” He asked. Then: “Cancer?”

I nodded and lost it. I curled up in the seat and repeated what I had been told just hours earlier: “Liver. Lung. Third stage. Maybe bone.” Between sobs, I told him that the CAT-SCAN had shown a spot on his liver and a shadow on his lung. The doctors at the VA hospital were hoping that the shadow on his lung was just scar tissue from when he had pneumonia years ago, but had told my grandmother that it’s most likely cancer.

Noni and Popi found out Friday. Mom told Lauren and I Saturday night.

An MRI yesterday showed that the cancer is also in most of his spine, but not in the spinal cord. Noni said the PET-SCAN they did today will show everything and that they should get the results tomorrow.

I went to visit him earlier tonight with Mom and Dad. He looked good, and he was cracking jokes as usual, so there’s that. They were giving him morphine for the pain in his hip and legs, and are going to do physical therapy on his leg so that he can get around better when he comes home.

He’s probably not coming home until next week.

I can’t imagine Thanksgiving without him.

I can’t really wrap my head around the whole thing at all.