Cancer: How the World Fell Apart

I saw Jennifer in December, last time we came out to visit. She was well enough. She had back pain, but was functional. She could hold her daughter, play with her, go shopping. Besides the pain, she was all normal. We stayed up late chatting and giggling. Played games, went for walks, chased kids. She was normal.

As I would call her over the next few months, I could tell by the sound of her voice that she was in a lot of pain. And that the pain was getting worse. In all my naivety I assumed the pain was stress related because of her marriage, which was on the rocks. That combined with an old CNA injury made me not think too much about her pain. I figured it would go away with some physical therapy and a temporary separation from her husband.

I would call my mom and she would tell me that Jen's pain was getting worse. She would tell me that Jen couldn't sleep at night because of the pain. That when Jen came over to visit, she would be mid-conversation and just fall asleep sitting up. I was told that Jen's husband would go in and wake her up whenever she did fall asleep. I was told that her husband didn't want Jen to shower because that meant that he had to watch his own daughter. Heaven forbid! Jen would ask for his help with their child, and when he did help out, it was with a lot of moaning and complaining. So, yah. I have bad feelings towards the guy. And I wish, oh I wish, that she could have gone to the doctor sooner to figure out why the pain was getting to be so out of control. I wish I would have pushed/encouraged her to go to the doctor. I wish I would have been there for her. To listen. To sympathize. I wasn't very sympathetic for her in her situation. I don't know if it was because I didn't get it, or because I thought she could get herself out of it by leaving her husband. I just didn't know. I didn't know how bad it was. Guilt.

Then two months ago, the bottom dropped out.

I saw on facebook that Jen had sent my mom a message. Something about "we're still at the doctor. How's Kylie?' So I butted in and asked if she was okay. I got a message back that said she was in a lot of pain so she went in to the clinic and they did x-rays. I sent her some love and well-wishes. It didn't sit well with me that night. Then around 1:00am I got a text from my mom saying I needed to call in the morning. That really didn't sit well. I called the next morning, but mom didn't answer. A minute later I got a text from her saying "I'm not ready to talk yet." Well, that spiked my anxiety, so I asked "is it bad?" I got "Yes" for an answer. Followed by, "but there's always hope." My mind immediately jumped to cancer. My anxiety skyrocketed. I called Pedro. He didn't answer. So I called my best friend, Laura. I talked to her for hours. She helped get me calm. Pedro came home when he got my texts saying I was a mess and I needed him. I sent texts to my mom saying I needed more information for my sanity's sake. Finally around 4pm, Jennifer called me. She confirmed my thoughts and fears. There were white spots on her chest x-rays, and her back x-rays. They were tumors. It was most likely cancer. I stayed on the phone and cried with Jenni.

I got that phone call on May 29, 2015. Not even a full 24 hours after Jen herself got that dreadful news.

It's been more than two months since that day.

And things are so different.

Two months of being shuffled to several different hospitals and rehab centers. Two months of being drugged up, going through radiation treatments, having terrible doctors who didn't communicate with each other or us. A major spinal surgery.

I've been here for the last two months. And things have changed. It's amazing to see what two months does. In this case, not in a good way. The radiation was killing her. I'm so relieved she decided to quit half way through. I wish she would have quit sooner. It was so hard to see her during radiation treatments. They made her so sick. And put her in so much pain.

When I first got here, Jen was still living at her home. She was on oxygen. She was in a lot of pain. But she could walk around - albeit very painfully. She could take herself to the bathroom. Sometimes she did need help. She could ride in the car to the hospital for her radiation treatments. Although those got to be severely painful, and she was finally admitted to the ER on her way to radiation because the pain was beyond too much.

And now? Now Jen needs a walker to move around. She spends most of her day in bed because she's lost so much of her strength. She's lost 25 pounds or so over the last 2 months. She's barely 100 pounds now. She's itty bitty and it's scary. She's blind in one eye. I can see the tumor growing out of her nose. She has a buzz cut because her hair is falling out. It's scary. And it's sad. And I love her.

And now. Now that she's home we can take better care of her (or so we think). We're getting good nutrition in her. She's eating and keeping it down. She's taking all sorts of supplements to help build her body back up. She's feisty and very Jen-like. She'll laugh and chat with friends who come to see her.

And now. Now she's staying with Kris. A good friend. An empty-nester. A CNA. Kris is wonderful. Jen has a room in Kris's house. She has a hospital bed, a walker, a wheelchair. Everything she needs. She has us with her 24/7 taking care of her, meeting her needs and doing everything we can to help her. Jen is on hospice care. People come in to help her shower, change the dressing on the wound from her back surgery. Do whatever we need help with for Jen.

The world has flipped upside down and there's no making sense of it anymore.