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Deterioration.


I guess I never thought that it could happen so quickly.

Her tumors have expanded her stomach, compressing her entire abdomen area, causing her a lot of pain and nausea during digestion. This quick deterioration, which my dad mainly noticed this past week, is the reason for their early departure from PR and their appointment at Johns Hopkins today. Today she will get countless labs done- verifying her liver, kidney and other vital organ functions as well as CAT scans and MRIs to identify the lesions on her liver. What we hope for today is that her organs are functioning well, such that the surgery team recommends removal of the tumors. Yes, another risky surgery—what my mother tried to avoid this year by turning to yet another trial chemo treatment. But at this point, seems to be the only temporary salvation. If not then what? If not, then we are faced with the beginning of the end. Making her comfortable—feeding her through IVs to avoid the pains of digestion and keeping her pain under control.

My father, the rock. After putting my mom to sleep last night, we stayed up talking about what is to come. He is so strong and good at not being scared, I wish I was more like him sometimes. He was objective about everything—the details of her symptoms, the possible reasons for them, the undeniable future. He sat there behind his sad eyes and told me that he did not think that Carmen had years of life left in her, that we have to start acknowledging what may happen. I asked him how he was, to which he responded, “I’ve been with her since I was 18…”

I believe today we will have good news, in that the surgeons will see a reason for surgery, and we can continue on her path to recovery. Though I am full of hope, it is hard to not be overwhelmed by today—by what today may mean for the future of my mother and family.

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