Lisa

Well, I lied. I promised I'd be back  and I wasn't. Fortunately, I have a pretty good excuse. A year ago, last August, my only sister Lisa was diagnosed with cancer. Nasopharyngeal cancer, to be specific. The term "blessings and curses" comes to mind because while cancer is definitely a curse, the blessing is that we live in a city that is known worldwide for its cancer research and facility. For the past year, I've seen her go through highs and lows, hours of vomiting to glimpses of feeling "normal." There is nothing more humbling than to see a loved one go through this horrible experience and I wouldn't wish it on anyone - okay, maybe on one person. 

Watercolor I made of Lisa during her chemo treatments.

Still, here we are. She's been through chemo (not as bad as we thought it would be), $15,000 shots to build up blood count (makes you feel like the worst flu of your life, she says) to radiation therapy which begins by sitting you in a room with a doctor who explains to you how horrible the side effects are and then says, "If you're sure you want to go through this, then please sign here. Also, I will need a witness to sign here." Uh...I've changed my mind. As a support person, my job was not to convince Lisa to do anything but rather to act as a sounding board, all the while trying not to influence her decision. Radiation was an extreme decision and one she almost did not choose, but ended up deciding to take the risk rather than come to the end of the road knowing that she did not do everything medicine offered in order to save her life. I secretly hoped she'd choose the radiation therapy, but didn't want to be the reason. Our mother confided to me that she hoped Lisa did not choose it, opting instead for the easier, less stressful 2nd round of chemo option. Part of that is my fault. While Mom knows most everything about Lisa's disease, she is not privy to ALL the details. She does not, for example, know that this kind of cancer will never go away. The best we can hope for is to keep its growth at bay and keep scanning for new growth. She also doesn't know that there are spots on her liver, spine and pelvis. She does not know, or maybe she refuses to accept, that this disease will most likely be what kills her daughter but that we are fighting to make that day as far away as possible. It was not my choice to keep this information from our mother. If it were me, as Tristan counseled me, I would want to know. Of course, I would want to know. It's not anyone's right to take away the right to know from a mother. But I am not in charge. Lisa chose to edit some of these details, and other family members support her in this, against my wishes and beliefs. My mother is 86 years old. They don't believe she would handle it well. Ignoring the fact that my mother is the strongest woman I know, I was voted down.

So, there's my excuse. Pretty good one, I guess. We are taking it one day at a time and I am happy to report that the chemo, the radiation and the subsequent psychotherapy has done what it's supposed to do. Now...we wait. I've come to accept, and I think Lisa has too, that feeling vulnerable and being on guard has become a way of life. One of those blessings I was talking about is that she is employed by a company that is very accommodating to her illness. She has good insurance, and she is able to work to maintain her policy which takes care of most of her expenses. Blessings. She says she wants to feel normal again. I know. So do I.