Watching my mother die of breast cancer

“Mom, the doctor just gave me the latest test results.” I sat on her hospital bed and held her hand as three tubes set into the wall above her head drew a fetid brown concoction from her body. “Your breast cancer is back!” She laid her head on the pillow, emotionally, not wanting to hurt her son, the messenger.

Watching someone die is a very unpleasant experience. Being tied to your dying mother for four weeks by a 20-foot cable connected to doorbells gives new meaning to “umbilical cord.”

Several days after breaking the news, the doctor told me there wasn’t much else he could do for her and released her by ambulance to her garden apartment in New Jersey, where I took up residence for the next four weeks. She lost the strength to speak or move while strapped to the tubes in her body, so I installed a doorbell next to her bed that connected to a wire that ran across the floor, across the room, and out onto the balcony, where it meandered. . she climbed onto the leg of my chair and connected to a flashing red light that sounded like an alarm clock alert. There was only one setting: LOUD. At first the doorbell felt me ​​fly into her room, until I realized she was just doing it to keep me alert. She couldn’t speak, so she gestured toward the glass of water, the tissues, or the chamber pot.

Television, radio, or any loud noise were out of the question. My wife was not able to come down from our apartment in New York City until the weekend. In need of friends and companions, I invited a case of red wine and a case of cigars to join me on my daily death vigil.

Just a few years earlier, I sat on the edge of another hospital bed and comforted my 46-year-old sister, Patricia, who was dying of cancer. An hour after leaving the hospital, the doctor called me to tell me that she had passed away. (God, I trust that you have forgiven me for all the things I said to you that night).

On a crisp, crisp, sunny day in September 1999, I was on my way to the Pierre Hotel in Manhattan to interview Nancy Brinker*, founder/president of the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation, named for her sister who passed away. . she from breast cancer at age 36.

Nancy just got out of Central Casting. Tall, attractive, intelligent, determined and very charming. She was in town to kick off the “Race for the Cure,” one of the most successful fundraisers in the country. We sat at a desk in her suite, and as my tape recorder played, I asked her several mundane, routine questions. I felt that I was missing a wonderful opportunity. As she got up to leave for a luncheon in her honor, hosted by Hillary Rodham Clinton at the Waldorf Astoria, I caught up with her at the door and asked one more question: “If I had one wish for something to happen in the first 10 years of the new millennium, what would it be?”

“Wow that’s interesting.” We went back to the desk and the tape recorder. “I want us to find the CAUSE of cancer!”

There are more than 100 types of cancer, so we still have a lot of work to do. However, breast cancer is a particularly horrible disease, with its hidden secrets, taunting us to defeat it.

My mother was a product of the Great Depression and had some ingrained habits that still prevail, like hiding money. When my wife and I would visit my mother for Thanksgiving and St. Patrick’s Day, she would leave a note with clues to finding $20 bills that she had hidden all over the house. Only when she got home would she call her and tell her where the note containing all the clues was. When my wife first heard about this game, she said, “Michael, that’s so cruel!” My mom loved it! She would sometimes call me the next day to tell me that she had stayed up most of the night because there was still a $20 bill that she couldn’t find.

My mother was deteriorating rapidly. It was not a pleasant place to see a woman so active and alive. Driving, taking trips to Branson, Mo. for her newfound love of country music.

I had to undertake a very unpleasant task. I called a cousin whom my mother adored and asked Rita to help me. I explained to her that she was afraid that my mother might have hidden money in the house and that she should ask for me.

With hand signals, he led us to the chest of hope in the corner. Inside was a note that had a series of clues, leading to envelopes, box keys, and puzzles. After a day and a half of following leads that led to loose boards, picture frames, and fake backgrounds, we had uncovered over $33,000.00 in cash. I didn’t have the courage, so I asked Rita to ask my mother if we had found everything. She left the room with tears streaming down her face, “Your mother said to tell you it’s for her funeral.”

During those four weeks that I sat on the terrace, jumping on the doorbell while the ashes of the cigarette flew in my face, I remembered past times; I remember her yelling at the police detectives telling them that her holy son couldn’t have done that; yelling at Mickey Mantle to look up and say hi to his kid (he did), he got me into the best schools possible; (he had a way with authority figures); paying for Mrs. Murphy’s broken window; and a very strict code on how to treat girls. (The nuns at my Catholic high school were pretty good at this, too!) My mom was also a huge Susan B. Anthony fan. I never knew who this person was. I assumed she was a movie star.

Breast cancer is a horrible disease, I thought as I drove my mother’s car to the county seat to present her death certificate. I put on his favorite Garth Brooks cassette and sang along. It started to rain very hard. Grateful, I pulled the car to the side of the road, as I was crying too much to continue driving safely. (God, I trust you will forgive me for the things I said to you that night)

So how do you react to someone’s illness?

Your girl comes screaming into the house, blood running down her knee, tears streaming down her face. How many seconds does it take you to jump off the couch? Her dog or cat comes howling and limping into the room, like a thorn in her paw. How long does it take you to jump off the couch? A loved one walks into the room and tells you that they have breast cancer… I trust that I did the best I could.

I can’t even imagine or pretend to know what mental anguish a woman has to endure when told she has breast cancer.

We have a little over 2 years until Nancy Brinker’s wish comes true. Maybe we can all look under our mattresses and find a dollar or two and send it to our favorite breast cancer charity. And may God be with every woman and family that is going through this trial.

October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. In 2007 in the US, an estimated 200,000 women will be diagnosed with breast cancer.