I have Diarrhea

My alarm screeched, I groaned, rolled over and reached for the snooze. While I cursed Monday morning in my mind and opened Facebook. Our photographer tagged us in our latest family pictures. I sunk deeper in the covers to see how bad they were. My kids were such brats, the summer heat was killing us, we were all so grumpy, they had to suck. 

Somehow, they didn’t. They were simply adorable. I quickly saved them and thought how much my mom would love them. I sent them to her, rapid fire, over text. 

Mom appeared as an incoming call, she must have liked these pictures too. 

“Good morning” I purred into the phone. 

“Kelly, I’m really dizzy, I really don’t feel well” 

“I’ll be right there”

I kicked the covers off, stuffed my feet into the closest pair I shoes and walked with purpose to my mom’s house. 

I swung open the door, headed straight to mission control, and saw her laying on the couch.  She looked sick. “Heeeellllooooo,” birdie screeched. 

“I almost fainted in the shower, so I sat on the floor and my stomach has been so upset about dad. But I have an 8:30 appointment with the doctor” 

I looked at the clock 6:47AM.

“Mom we need to get you to the emergency room. Your doctor doesn’t have all the tools needed to figure out what’s wrong. We could be dealing with anything,“ I firmly said.

“Ok,” Mom said quietly

Gulp, she really agreed quickly. Another sign that she isn’t feeling well. 

I opened their bedroom door, my dad slept soundly, the fan hummed loudly. I gently shook his shoulder and said, “Moms ok, just not feeling well. I’m taking her to the hospital.” 

“Ok,” he said, snuggling further into the bed. 

I ran home, brushed my teeth, threw on clothes and jumped into my car. The engine roared. We were off, on a journey neither of us knew we were embarking on. 

Monitors beeped, keys clicked under the nurses’ fingers, nurses and doctors surrounded Mom. I breathed in the familiar hospital smell, stale, plastic, alcohol. 

We both told them how she has diarrhea from my dad’s latest diagnosis with prostate cancer. We just really needed them to determine why she was dizzy and her pulse was so high. 

They began pulling blood out of her IV. They clicked as vile after vile came out. 

The doctor ordered an abdominal CT. Ok that’s good we can check on this diarrhea, I thought. 

They came back and said one of her blood tests was off. It shows cell death and she had a lot of it. 

A lump slowly formed in my throat and it slid all the way to the top of my throat. My whole mouth got tight. I could hear my heart beat in my ears. What did that mean?

A few emergencies came in, people howled with pain as relatives looked on helpless, at the mercy of the medical team. 

The doctor came back in and talked about that blood test some more. “Well what about the CT SCAN?” Mom asked. 

I saw panic flash across his eyes. He hesitated, pulled the ear piece from his ear, looked side to side and stammered, “Well ummm yes, those results are back.”

I thought for God’s sake, just tell us! 

“Your lymphoma has returned” 

WHAT? My body was hit with a sudden shock wave of fear. The chemicals that left my brain felt electric. 

I was on my feet and at her bedside in seconds. I grabbed her hands and studied the doctor’s lips. Did he just say that? I stared harder. Waiting for him to say that it couldn’t be certain. 

Instead, he asked who her oncologist was and said he would be admitting her and transferring her to Main Methodist because they have oncology there. 

Oncology? She has diarrhea, I thought. Check the paperwork again. Whose CT was that anyway? 

Me and Mom looked at each other blankly.  

It felt as if the ceiling tiles above slide open and coconuts hit us on the head. 

I looked back at the doctor and he said, “I’m sorry,” and walked out the door.

My breathing felt shallow. We stared at each other. Blankly. The moment we have feared for 10 years was here and we sat in utter shock, while those coconuts sat beside us on the white tile floor. 

I called dad. “Dad, I need you to come to the hospital. Mom’s lymphoma is back.” All the while still not believing it. 

No mention of traffic or how far it was. He said, “I’m on the way.” 

I must be dreaming. 

He and my boys walked in. Their blue eyes met mine and tears poured from our eyes. I held them tight and their warm tears soaked into my shirt.

They both climbed into bed with Grandma and we all sobbed. 

We fought off this moment as hard as we could. 

I wiped my face and reminded myself this was an ER doctor, not an oncologist. No biopsy has confirmed this. There had to be 1,000 other things it could be, right? Denial, such a beautiful perfect place to be.