I can feel everything

We are very close to the bone marrow transplant up at Cleveland Clinic. This is such a bundle of mixed emotions, not just for me, but for all of us. We know that if she doesn't get a transplant, the outcome will be grim, so the transplant is her only hope for success, but on the other hand, the transplant opens her up to all kinds of problems and risks, all of which make me sick to even think about. I don't want to her saving grace to be her demise. We have begun the 3 week countdown.

She had to go up to the Clinic for some preliminary testing to make sure her body is still ok for the transplant. Her and my dad left yesterday, and even though I had a day off, she didn't want me to go. "You need to stay home and get yourself together. Tomorrow'll be boring, you don't need to be there." She's always thinking of everyone else instead of letting people be there for her. Always thinking about my schedule, balancing my demanding internship with my graduate work with my thesis with my every-day life...always concerned I won't burn myself out or make myself sick. Too late, Momma! But I'm doing the very best I can to maintain some normalcy, for her sake, while still trying to keep my head above water. Always for her, always showing her that I am doing my best for her.

One of her tests was a bone marrow biopsy, which unfortunately is one of the worst things to put a person through. I have seen my fair share of loved-ones go through this test, but because they have had it done at a smaller hospital (Aultman), they were taken care of so wonderfully that this test was not difficult for them. While under "conscious sedation" or "twilight," they can experience the procedure as easily as possible, which always eases everyone's nerves, from the patient to the person waiting for them in the waiting room.

Imagine my surprise and anger to find out that not only did they (the Clinic) not give my mom anything to calm her down or to help ease her since she was so frightened, but they actually argued with her and told her it wasn't necessary. "I don't think you understand. I'm the biggest chicken you ever met. I need something, I get too nervous," I heard her say a few days prior on the phone to the nurse. They didn't listen, nor did they seem to care.

I spoke to her this morning on the phone on my break from class, and she was already anticipating the procedure and crying. "I'm scared," she said over and over again. "I know you're scared, but the anticipation will be the worst part, I promise," I lied with a forced optimism in my voice. I'll do anything I have to to try to make her feel better, even if I have to lie through my teeth. But it didn't work this time. I was nervous for her, and waiting to hear from her in recovery after the procedure gnawed at me all afternoon. I looked at my phone every couple minutes, until I finally had to keep it in my car because I knew I wouldn't hear from her until later. That was even harder. I worried for her all afternoon and couldn't do anything productive, so I just got in bed to rest until I heard from her.

My phone finally rang earlier this evening, and my heart actually stopped for a second. That anticipation, that heart-skipped-a-beat feeling when that moment finally comes that you've waited for all day. I picked up the phone, nervous of what I would hear on the other end.

Her voice sounded like she'd been ripped apart and put back together again. She was breathing heavy with exertion. "Hi, honey," she said with a shaky voice, like she was about to cry. I asked her how it went, and she responded that it "wasn't good." She could feel everything. She was wide awake. She cried the whole time.

I hate these people, these people that are so non-caring that they couldn't even give her some medicine to calm her down, to ease her nerves and let her know that she would be ok. A woman who has already experienced one bout with cancer, now facing her second and preparing for a bone marrow transplant. A grown woman in her fifties, reduced to a crying, scared child, and no one would comfort her. All I could think of was, "How dare them." Where's the compassion? The respect for a suffering person? I'm so angry at these people for reducing her to a huddled mess that is now lying in bed, so distraught and still upset she could barely carry on a conversation with me.

My heart hurts so much for her, almost all the time. I'm so consumed with her hurt and her fears and her nerves and her worries, at almost a constant rate. I feel so protective over her, and I love her so deeply that I wish this hurt and these fears and nerves and worries were mine and not hers. I would gladly take them to save her. Gladly, and without a second thought.

I hope there are other people who feel this type of love for someone. This type of love is so special and so unknown by so many, unfortunately, and the ones that are lucky enough to experience it, I hope they know how truly lucky they really are. I know how lucky I am, and I am so thankful and happy to have someone like her in my life, I couldn't ask for anyone more special and I wouldn't replace her if I was given the option. I would ask for her each and every single time, just like she is, flaws and perfections, just her and no one else.