"Nothing with me is simple...

but I am STILL HERE!" - Carmen

Today was another crazy day for Carmen, you know to keep things interesting. The radiologists looked at the ultrasound, and based on that thought that perhaps it wasn't blood clots but the compression of the inferior vena cava instead. So they did a venogram to look at the veins to verify the presence of the blood clots. As it turned out, there were no blood clots, and the fluid retention was based on the compression of the lower vena cava.

The doctors put in 2 or 3 stents to reinforce the vein that was nearly completely compressed by the tumors, which took quite some time because of a minor hiccup. The second stent only half deployed, but was attached to the stent above it, and so they had to hold the top stent from above as they pulled the lower stent to fully open it. (To all my future doctor friends--I can't believe you are going to be doing crazy on the spot stuff like this. You guys are awesome!) Because Carmen was actually half conscious for this procedure she was somewhat nervous and concerned about the amount of time it was taking... but fortunately, everything turned out well, thanks to the expertise of the Hopkins doctors.

After the procedure Carmen had to stay laying down for most of the afternoon. So we stopped by in the early evening to see her. She was looking a lot better, and so happy to have the procedure finally done and a solution to her concerns of the fluid retention. After not being able to eat for most of the day she thoroughly enjoyed 2 peaches and half a Panera spinach artichoke sandwich. She was very exhausted from her long night (she could not sleep because she was worried about the procedure) and busy day. Shortly after eating she started drifting off to sleep with the help of the pain meds.

Comments

Carmen Mateo

My mother was first diagnosed with retroperitoneal liposarcoma in October of 2005. I had come home to see her in the hospital—during the removal of a cyst on her breast the doctors accidentally punctured her lung. It was during her stay at the hospital that they completed an MRI of her core (to verify the lung’s status) and found a large mysterious mass—a tumor. Though frightened by this news she was thankful for the discovery. Weeks went by as my parents spoke with other doctors and centers trying to figure out what this tumor was and what to do. Eventually she was diagnosed—liposarcoma, a rare type of cancerous tumor that manifests itself as a mass of fat. The irony of it—my mother the skinniest petite woman in the world, had a fat tumor. Right before Thanksgiving she went to Sloan Kettering to have surgery to remove the almost 8lb tumor. Being the strong woman that she is, she recovered quickly from the surgery and began her healing journey. It was years bef...

The feared M-word

Today I felt the pain of mortality stab me in the heart. I have always been optimistic of my mother’s condition, knowing that with optimism and hope we could battle her cancer and finally overcome her disease. These past few years since her diagnosis of retroperitoneal liposarcoma in October/September of 2005 have been a rollercoaster of highs and lows, getting through it all. I tried to be strong for my mother, show her the strength she has within, assure her that she is doing everything she can to heal herself, and that surely she is on her way to recovery. I thought that in believing in her and her strength that she would be able to overcome anything. With every returning tumor she was better equipped to heal her body, to teach her body to heal itself. I was there supporting her through her surgeries, her trial chemo treatments, always there letting her know that she was on the road to recovery. Today after finishing her second round of a trial chemo that seemed hopefull...

Some days there won't be a song in your heart.

Sing anyway. So the chemo trial is out of the picture. Whether it is because it is actually not possible to get Carmen in the trial, or because she does not want to go through the painful side effects of the chemo treatment that probably won't cure her disease, I do not know. All I know is that tomorrow (probably) she will be coming home for hospice care until nature takes its course. It is hard not to look back at all the things we could have done. I know this must be extremely hard for my mother, but we should not harp on things we can not change. It is also extremely hard for me to just accept that this is the reality of our situation, but we should have the strength and grace to support Carmen now in these difficult times. We have spent almost 6 years in this battle, where we have hoped for a miracle to fight what seems to be the inevitable now. I think the worst of this all, is the uncertainty. We simply do not know how things will go, it could be weeks or days. It seems ...

Nectar of Life

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