with mom’s neighbors, friends and family, I’ve come to the conclusion that mom believed she had cancer.
I don’t know if I mentioned this before, but a few years ago, she went in for a colonoscopy and they couldn’t complete the procedure because she had quite a few polyps. They followed up with one of the enema type tests and she was shown to be all clear.
Except, they never notified her. And my mother, bless her heart, would worry anything to death. I’m sure we’ve all known people like that. And she had herself convinced she had cancer of the colon “because her poop didn’t look right”. Well, trying to convince her that diet plays a huge part in what our stools look like, she believed the worst.
She did finally call Kaiser and got the news that she was fine, but somewhere, deep inside, she didn’t believe it. And that’s why she started to lose weight. Because people with cancer lose weight. Forget about the fact that people who don’t eat lose weight, her mind wasn’t working logically. And I believe, that’s when this all started.
I spoke with one of my uncles yesterday and he told me that mom had told him when she knew it was time to die, she’d go out on her own terms. She’d smoke and drink herself to death. And that’s pretty much the way it was.
She’d complained of stomach problems. She complained of her stools not looking right. I told her she needed to eat. She believed she had cancer. In her mind, eating would do nothing for her. In my mind, it would have done everything for her. But it was her mind. It wasn’t in my power to change it.
At least three of her neighbors mentioned suspicions of mom having had cancer. Because, that’s what she told them. She didn’t tell me, because she didn’t want me to worry. If she had told me, we’d have gone to the doctor for some followup discussions or even tests.
Hearing these things from others make me feel less guilty. Because I did do everything I could. Mom had her mind made up, she made a decision how to do it and she did it. We thought she would pull out of it. We seriously did. About three to four weeks into treatment, we thought she’d be going home. But something happened in her mind and she started to eat less and hide the food and then, quit eating altogether.
It was her choice and I better understand why now. It was the why that kept me awake. It was the why that had me in tears. Why did she do it?
I think I’m pretty clear on the why now.
I do have a ponderance, though. I asked Brian this morning at breakfast, okay, you think you have some sort of horrible disease and you find a way to end your life. Then, assuming there is a hereafter, you find out that you did not have a horrible disease, that you could have gotten better and had a good life. Do you kick yourself in the butt for eternity? Or just move on?
Which is what I have to do.
