Mass Confusion

“I don’t care if we cure your kidney cancer.”

“I care that your kidney cancer doesn’t kill you.”

Those, the exact words of my mother’s radiologist.

After a wait that felt like forever, we finally got into the doctor’s office yesterday.

And that’s when we heard the news we didn’t want to hear.

My 81-year old mother has kidney cancer.

The meeting yesterday came nearly seven weeks after doctors found a mass on her right kidney during a cat scan.

Even with yesterday’s news, the doctors remain very optimistic that we still have options.

And that’s all any of us can ever hope for.

Options.

They explained that they have the option of burning off the tumor.

That’s called a Radio Frequency Ablation.

They have the option of freezing the tumor.

That’s called Cryoablation.

I think.

They can shoot alcohol directly into the tumor to wipe it out.

That’s called...

...shooting alcohol directly into the tumor.

They can take the entire kidney out.

That’s why we have two.

Or they can do nothing.

Come back in six months.

See if this thing has grown.

And go from there.

When we first arrived in the exam room the nurse practitioner came in to get things started.

She put on a brave smile and started talking.

She made a point to call the tumor a “mass”.

Except for the couple of times she called it a tumor.

Then she quickly corrected herself.

Calling it a mass.

When I asked a question about the kidney, she answered almost immediately.

She said something like, “pretend the kidney was a football and if you only treat the part with the laces, then....”

Football?

What page is that in the handbook?

-- If man asks question, quickly make sports reference.

After about 15 minutes, the doctor came in.

Considering she probably does this type of thing way too many times every day, there wasn’t a whole lot of foreplay.

There were no references to a “mass”.

Just tumor.

She whipped out the x-ray to show us where everything was.

She then told us based on where the mass, I mean tumor is located, some options are not a real option.

They’d rather not try to freeze the tumor.

Since it is close to some other body part.

And not too far from the spine.

The same goes for burning it off.

She said removing that kidney is still an option.

But not a good option.

Considering they are talking about an 81-year old patient.

So that left us with two.

Alcohol injection or nothing.

I must say considering the heavy news we had just been dealt, there was a whole lot of optimism in the room.

At least for me.

Hearing the doctor explain the facts the way she did made me feel encouraged about my mother’s future.

And very confident in the people who will be treating her.

Biology was not my best subject in college.

Either time I took it.

But when I’m not distracted by almost everything, I can be a pretty good listener.

Yesterday I heard every word they said.

I’m not sure the same can be said for my mom.

Long story short, she is scared.

And who wouldn’t be?

As I sat a foot away from her yesterday, I could feel her shake.

I could feel her pain.

I could feel her fear.

Nobody thinks that they are going to live forever.

But other than George Harrison, most of us are not ready to go.

And the good news is my mom is not going anywhere.

Not yet.

The doctors are going to talk again before suggesting the best plan for my mom.

Considering they don’t know how long this tumor has been there, leaving it alone might be the best thing to do.

I asked my mom if she would be comfortable with that.

I didn’t get much of an answer.

Fight On

My mom returned to her assisted living facility this week.

This came after a couple of weeks at a nursing home.

Which came after a couple of weeks in the hospital.

Thank you Medicare.

This revolving door is nothing new to mom.

She is bipolar.

And during her bipolar episodes -- which she has more frequently than any human deserves.

She becomes another person.

Sometimes it is “running, going, doing,” Mom.

Sometimes is “crawl into a hole” Mom.

The range is like when you spread your arms.

To show that the fish was "thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis big.”

Times nine million.

When these episodes happen, she usually needs a little help from the experts.

But even as she prepares to enter year #82.

She is still just taking it all in stride.

In fact, she has become quite good at dealing with whatever is on her plate.

And trying not to think too far ahead.

Definitely better than me.

Her most recent hospital visit was brought on by a lack of sleep.

Which turned into a depression.

Which caused her to shake.

Uncontrollably.

When I got the call that she was taken to the hospital, it was a call I had received before.

Many times before.

So many, I had grown numb to it.

Which is sad.

But unfortunately this trip was like no other.

During this latest trip, she said she had a bad tummy ache.

The nurses called it abdominal pain.

They did a series of tests to find the source of this abdominal pain.

And those tests showed....

...nothing.

At least nothing for the abdominal pain.

But they kept testing.

And eventually they found something.

Something not good.

The doctors called it a mass on my mom’s kidney.

My mom called it a cancerous tumor.

Either way.

Hearing this news scared me to ....

Well, you know.

The fear in my mother’s voice was unlike any I had heard before.

From her.

Or from anyone.

I usually try to break a stressful moment with humor.

But there was nothing funny here.

This was time for me to put on my grown up pants.

And in a hurry.

I have no experience dealing with this.

Thankfully.

So I relied on my heart.

And while I might’ve gone a little too cliche on her.

It felt right at the moment.

“Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves.”

“It won’t do any good to create a scenario that may not exist.”

“We need to find out all the facts first.”

I probably sounded more like Bill Clinton than her son.

But I kept searching for the magical sentence.

I don’t know if if I was doing more harm.

Or more good.

But at least I felt like she knew I was there.

Tumor is one of those words that only has one meaning.

Cancer is no different.

I don’t care what they call it.

It is scary.

Whether you are nearly 44.

Or nearly 82.

It is scary.

I told my mom I would talk to the doctors.

To find out more information.

Which I did.

And the information made me feel better.

A little better.

Of course the doctors were protective of every syllable. 

Their legal department wouldn’t have it any other way.

But the message was an optimistic one.

They said the mass was small.

“The size of two grapes.”

And they said they weren’t sure how long it had been there.

Meaning -- to me -- it might’ve been there for a long time.

And they said my mother was not the typical candidate for kidney cancer.

All good signs.

I think.

I had no idea what other questions to ask.

Other than “the” question.

Which I stayed away from.

But I kept asking questions.

And they kept giving answers.

And with every answer.

I felt better.

A little better.

I don’t know if freaking out is in the makeup of a doctor.

But none of the doctors I spoke with freaked out.

Which I took as another good sign.

They answered each question like they had answered it a thousand times.

Which they probably had.

At the end of these conversations.

I went back to my mom.

And brought her some more support.

And some more cliches.

Like dealing with this one day at a time.

Which is what we are going to do.