We cannot direct the wind but we can adjust the sails.

This has been quite a crazy weekend for the Serrano-Mateos. Carmen was still retaining a good amount of fluid, so she stayed in the hospital for further observation. Saturday Tom and I hung out with Carmen as Jose had to go be on-call. Since she had been on her feet for a good part of the day she was tired and in pain from the fluid building up in her feet and lower legs. Tom and I massaged her feet, which definitely decreased the fluid and pain. She was pretty exhausted, but still managed to sit at her table to have a delicious dinner that Daniel made for her.

Daniel stayed the night with her, while Tom and I came back to Bethesda to celebrate Kim and Anya's birthday party. As terrible as it may sound, it was nice to have a night where I could be "normal" and hang out with my friends like any other 20ish year old. Not that I don't enjoy being with my mother, but all this has been very overwhelming and to have a night where I don't spend most of the night thinking about my mother's painful situation was a welcomed relief.

On Sunday they ran more tests, did some CT scans to verify if the stents were effectively keeping her vein open and facilitating circulation. The stents are fine, but the liver tumors have grown a visible amount since last week. We are still waiting to hear back from the antibody trial chemo. It may be possible for her to enter the trial as a "sympathy treatment"-- so not actually part of the study, but to try and see if it can help her out.

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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