The Facts of Life

I’ve never met Tony Robbins.

I definitely don’t have a degree in motivational speaking.

When it comes to pumping things up, I usually use an air compressor.

My first experience with a psychiatrist was the Bob Newhart show.

I was sitting on my own couch.

My first pep talk came courtesy of Animal House.

“Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor?”

“Germans?”

“Forget it, he’s rolling.”

But when it comes to my mom.

And her current battle with kidney cancer.

My job is pretty clear.

Keep her moving forward.

Any way you can.

We talk every day.

Or so.

And our conversations are pretty predictable.

“Hi.”

“How are you?”

“Good, how are the kids?”

“Good.   You sound good.   How are you feeling?”

“So so.”

That might not be exactly word for word, but it’s pretty darn close.

Our conversation usually moves on from that point, but it always stays on topic.

The topic of cancer.

From the moment she found out there was a mass on her kidney.

Two months ago.

That’s been the only thing on her mind.

And can you blame her?

Thankfully I have never been on the other side of the conversation when the doctor says you have cancer.

But she was.

Last week.

I’ve also never dealt with 1/900th of what my mom has dealt with in her life.

She has.

And she’s survived.

Every time.

Maybe that’s why I feel so optimistic about her survival in this battle too.

Well that and that fact that every single doctor I’ve spoken to is optimistic.

And that’s a good thing -- although it’s not always in their makeup to make you feel good.

Just the facts.

Exhibit A -- Me.

Circa 1994.

One month after I got married, I suffered a major eye injury playing floor hockey without a face shield.

I’m not the smartest bulb in the picnic basket.

17 years later, I can still remember the doctor walking into the emergency room and saying...

“You may never see again with that eye.”

Slow down Marcus Welby.

You ever heard of foreplay?

Fortunately a month later, when the swelling went down, the eye sight came back.

Well, most of it.

If both eyes are open, the right compensates for the left and I can see perfectly fine.

And as long as I wear protective glasses, I should live a long and miserable life.

As for my mom, she has already lived a long life.

81 years and counting.

And she has seen her share of misery.

Raised in the 30’s without a father.

The 1930's.

She lost a child to a terrible accident when the child was five.

She saw her first son battle cancer when he was in his 20’s.

Thankfully he won.

That same son suffered a brain aneurism when he was in his 40’s.

Thankfully he won that too.

And all along the way she has battled her own issues with a bipolar disorder.

And more importantly how it is perceived.

This latest news of cancer....

Take a number.

But even with all of her experience in dealing, or not dealing, with heartbreak.

My mom keeps going.

Like the bunny.

That’s probably why this time has me a little concerned.

This latest battle is wearing her down.

And the battle hasn’t even started yet.

A few days ago we spoke about the decision of what to do with this tumor.

The doctors gave us a few options.

But they only felt comfortable with two of them.

Try to remove the tumor with a shot of straight alcohol.

Really?

I tried that in college, it doesn’t work.

Option II -- do nothing.

Well nothing until the next cat-scan shows if the tumor is still growing.

That next cat-scan is supposed to be in four months.

Four LONG months.

Clearly the stress is already getting to her.

And the thought of sitting for four months.

Waiting.

Might be too much for any one to take.

Even her. 

The truth is the doctors don’t know how long this thing has been there.

And neither do we.

And that’s what I told my mom.

I’m trying to keep it as real as I can with her.

Always, serving up an extra shot of optimism.

I told her that doing nothing, at this point, might make the most sense.

Wait a few months.

See if it has grown.

If it hasn’t, HOORAY.

If it has, we go for the alcohol injection.

And deal with it then.

But this is only IF she can live and enjoy her life during those four months.

If the stress is too much to handle, it could do more damage than the tumor.

I definitely realize that the last 73 words makes this all seem very simple.

And I most definitely realize that we are talking about my only mom here.

And I absolutely most definitely realize what is at stake here.

But the more we can keep the emotion out of this.

And just deal with the facts, like Joe Friday.

The better off we will be.

Maybe those doctors are onto something.