Back to Page 1In April 2002, at the age of 63, she was diagnosed with stage 2 Lung Cancer after being x-rayed for possible broken ribs after a fall. Aside from feeling sore from the fall, and maybe having a chest cold, she felt fine. There were no prior indications of something more serious going on. Certainly nothing that would have indicated Cancer.
She was sent to see her family doctor as a follow up to the emergency room trip that uncovered the mass in her lung. From there, she was referred to an Oncologist who did his own tests. From there, she was referred to a surgeon who then reviewed all the prior tests. It was decided that her best bet for a complete recovery would most likely be to remove the lower lobe of the right lung where the mass was. This was the early part of April. On April 16th, 2002, she was admitted to the hospital with Pneumonia. She was kept there and treated until her surgery on May 28th, 2002. The surgery went as planned and her recovery process began. Between 4/16/02 and 6/02/02, she spent 32 days in the hospital. Her prognosis for a full recovery was high, and we were all relieved and extremely hopeful. They said they thought they got it all. We would all be proven wrong.
Her pain never left and more tests were done. Everything from blood work, x-rays, bone scans, and ct scans. Based on the results of all the tests, it was decided that she should begin radiation therapy just in case there were cancer cells left behind. So on July 24th, 2002, she had the first of 33 radiation treatments. They made her very tired, caused her to have trouble swallowing even water, and because of the position she had to be in during the treatments, she was in even more pain. It was thought that the radiation had worked and she would start feeling much better soon. We would once again be proven wrong.
Her pain never went away and she was even referred to a manipulation therapist in hopes of getting some kind of relief. It too caused more pain, and ultimately failed as well.
It took until Jan. 8th, 2003, and another MRI to determine that the cancer had gone to her neck. C-1 to C-5 to be exact. Jan. 16th, 2003 began the first of 19 more radiation treatments. It was believed that this would get rid of the mass since it wasn't that big. Once again, we were to be proven wrong.
On Feb. 16, 2003, she was again admitted to the hospital. Her pain still as overwhelming as ever. Another MRI revealed that the cancer was back in the right lung, as well as a new mass in her lower back, and that the mass in her neck had probably only been shrunk by the radiation treatments, not gotten rid of.
Tilly's days now consist of medication regimens to try to control her pain. And medication regimens to counter act the side effects of the pain medications. And waiting. Waiting for her existence on this earth to end. The vibrant life she once knew ended nearly a year ago. She still has lucid days here and there, though it's mostly a matter of lucid moments randomly each day. More often than not she's either too exhausted to care, or too disoriented from the pain medications to know much of anything.
The vibrant, witty, spunky mother I know and love, who loved to cook, garden, crochet, sketch, and read, no longer exists. There is only a shell of the woman she used to be left here now. In less than a year, she has lost 74 pounds. On the rare days that she wants to get dressed, her clothes just hang now; they're so loose on her. Even her dentures don't stay in place now she's lost so much weight. Soft and easy to eat foods are her menu now. When she feels like eating at all that is, and if she can swallow the food without choking on every bite.
It's only a matter of time now for Tilly. Her doctors are working to keep her as pain free and comfortable as possible until the end. I'm working to keep her home as long as I can. It's what we all want. That, and more time with the woman she used to be.
Looking back over the past year, I'm not so sure I'd recommend doing it all again. All the testing and treatments accomplished was to prolong the inevitable. And the quality of her life during this past year was not living. It was existing only. It has been a year of suffering for her. Of getting her hopes up believing that she'd beat the cancer, only to be told that she'd lost yet another battle.
But there has been some good come out of this. My mother and I share closeness like never before. I feel blessed to be able to take care of her when she needs me the most. And she knows that she doesn't have to face this last part of her journey on this earth alone. She's at peace with what's happening now, finally. And she does not fear death, but rather sees it as a release from the pain she's in now.
I pray that when her time does come, that she goes quietly in her sleep, without pain. Only God knows how and when the end will come. I pray that he be merciful.
Tilly's Final Chapter
Tilly came home from the hospital for the last time on Feb. 22, 2003. Her primary care physician would be in Massachusetts for the entire month of March and we would now be dealing with a doctor from the cancer clinic. We would also be getting help from a hospice program that ties in with the hospital. My first thought upon hearing the suggestion of hospice aid was "Why? Not that much is going to change. Right?" I can honestly say that if it were not for the amazing people of hospice, I would never have been able to deal with the last 33 days of Tilly's time with us alone. At first, it was pretty much business as usual. Meals as tolerated, med routines, not a lot of activity on her part. Her pain meds kept her drowsy, the lack of food left her with little energy. But her spirits were up, all things considered. I know now that she was trying to be strong for us. She didn't want us to know if she was scared.
When Tilly first came home from the hospital, she was taking 80mg. of Oxycontin every 12 hours with another 10mg. of it every 4 to 6 hours in between for any breakthrough pain, a pretty strong dose for a woman who only weighed in at 130 pounds. At the time Tilly left us on March 26, 2003, she was on 250mg. pure Morphine IV every hour, plus an additional 20mg. of pure Morphine every 10 minutes that she seemed in pain. She got the Morphine every 10 minutes. Her last week with us began with psychotic breaks, panic attacks, paranoia, and a refusal to eat. She made a few efforts to get out of bed to use the restroom, and then was unable to do even that as her pain meds increased.
Her last 4 days here were the worst for us. It was an around the clock vigil for those of us who were able to be here. It was a full time task to keep the Morphine regimen of every 10 minutes going. Hospice was called an average of 2 to 4 times a night with questions, concerns and increases in the Morphine. Each time a nurse came in we were told, "It won't be long now." We heard that for 4 days. We kept praying that each time they were right. None of us wanted to lose Tilly, but we hated to see her that way. She was fighting against leaving us, posturing that appeared to be pain, though we were assured that with that much Morphine on board Tilly was not in pain. It was said to be Terminal Restlessness. The body was fighting what was happening to it.
Tilly's last few hours with us she got very quiet. Her breathing became less labored, the rattle had stopped. As did the Terminal Restlessness. Her hands and feet were the first parts of her to become very cold. She was relaxed and seemed finally ready to let go. I once again reassured her that her children were going to be ok. That she had done well raising us. I was with Mom when she drew her last breath on this earth. I held her hand, I stroked her shoulder, I told her it was ok to let go. It became so quiet that all you could hear was the rain gently hitting the roof. Like all the angels in Heaven were shedding their tears for her as well. I cried that night like I've never cried before. I cried for the loss of my mother. For the times we'll not share again. I cried for the things she never got to experience in her lifetime that she so greatly deserved. I cried in pain, in loss, and for the love of a woman who in her 64 years on this earth, gave everything she had to give for those she loved. I only hope that in her final hours, she fully understood the depth of the love we have for her.
Tilly's body may be gone from this earth, but her spirit is alive and kicking and going strong in her four children, three grandchildren, and two great grandchildren. Wherever you are up there in Heaven Tilly, we love you, with every fiber of our being. Now and always. The last word in the chapter of your life has been written, for now. But this is one book of life that is far from finished.
Tilly passed away March 26, 2003
