Only I .....

.... could bring a Styrofoam Sonic cup all the way from Oklahoma, traveling thousands of miles with it, hoarding it like the treasure it is, smuggling it onto the cruise ship, visions of non-sweaty diet drinks all week on the cruise ship dancing through my head, only to have our room steward throw it away the very first night.


...... could buy my children waterproof disposable cameras, and then forget them in the cabin on the day we go snorkeling.


.... would ask my mother to accompany us on this cruise, not knowing at the time that she would be diagnosed with breast cancer only weeks before we traveled, so then in my mind, turning this trip into a relaxing convalescence for her .... resting .... relaxing .... recovering from the breast cancer treatment she just completed ......

and then sit back and watch while she breaks her freaking foot falling into a dingy.



X-rays and casting from the ship's doctor a bonus!!

I'm a ROCKING good daughter, aren't I????

And now, wouldn't YOU like to travel with the Escoes on our next vacation??? Sign ups now!

You can always find *something* positive ... even if it's just laughing at your sister

So, not to beat around the bush, but last month my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer.

But saying it that way ... BREAST CANCER ... sounds all dramatic and somber and theatrical, and really .... it's not. It was caught extremely early. With a proper treatment plan the survival rate is something like 99.8%, and truthfully, none of us are too freaked out about it.

In fact, my mom is more annoyed than anything because we are leaving on our cruise in a few weeks and she's already informed her doctor that "she doesn't have time for this crap, thank you very much, so just do what you need to do and let's get it over with."

My sister and I have been her support people the past month or so during her visits with surgeons, radiologists, and oncologists. We've sat with her for ultrasounds and cat scans and MRIs and needle biopsies. I now know way more than I ever planned with regard to lumpectomies vs mastectomies, stages, grades, balloon radiation vs beam radiation, estrogen receptor positive vs negative ... et. al. I also know more than I ever intended about sinus cancer and pediatric leukemia, which is really starting to give me a complex because what is the common denominator here???? ME. I'm beginning to think I am this family's lucky fucking charm, is all, and being related to me is perhaps not such a good thing for the other members in this family.

But this isn't about me. It's about my mother and how she's doing.

She's doing fine, thank you for asking.

She had her surgery yesterday and things went smoothly. Except for the fact she is a total lightweight apparently allergic to Lortab and threw up her heels for hours afterwards, despite taking anti-nausea meds, which actually provided some comedic relief, because I had NO IDEA my sister was a vomit-phobe who would run screaming from the recovery room anytime my mother started to retch. And I would totally make fun of her for it. (My sister, for running. Not my mom.)

Naturally, *I* am the one who wound up rubbing her back while she puked and spending the night with her while she continued puking and then rinsing out the disposable vomit bag because even though the nurses gave her several bags, they were really cool disposable vomit bags and once we were back at her house and she was down to her last one she was all, "you should rinse this out in case I need it again" and I was all "that's ok mom I can just get you a bowl" and she was all "no, no, because this way is easy and not as gross, you should just rinse it out" and I thought to myself "yeah it's not as gross to you because you're not the one rinsing it out in the sink."

It was gross.

Kidding, mom. I love you and it wasn't that gross!

(Ok, it totally was, but I don't to make her feel bad about it.)

I am also the one charged with changing her dressing every day until radiation starts and while we've never been an exceptionally shy and private family, I have also never seen my mother's breasts as many times in my LIFE as I have the past two days.

But that's ok, too. I figure as many diaper changes as she gave me when I was born it's probably only fair I help her out now and not protest the nudity.

..............................................................

Sorry. I got sidetracked there .... still giggling at my sister practically knocking a nurse over trying to get out of the room when my mom was throwing up. Considering she has four boys under the age of 13, you'd think she'd be a little stronger-stomached when it comes to bodily fluids like blood or barf, but no.

Of course, she got her chance to laugh at me when I carried a borrowed chair into the empty recovery room next to my mom's, only to discover it wasn't empty and I basically walked in on a fat naked man eating a popsicle.

Sorry about that, sir.

So anyway, what's my point?

My mom is doing well. She didn't want me to tell anyone about her diagnosis because she didn't want any attention. She only let me tell about it now because the surgery is over, and enough of her close friends know about it that she no longer feels it's a secret.

And the REASON I choose to tell you is twofold:

1) To thank you in advance for keeping Grandma Betty in your thoughts during her upcoming radiation, and

2) Typical PSA disclaimer like I always throw in: Please remember to get your annual mammogram. You. Just. Never. Know.

Pathetically Dull

Grandma Betty flew back home today. For the first time, in almost five years, she arrived and left in one piece, with no calamities or ER visits during her stay. She didn’t catch the flu, pull a muscle in her back and lay in bed for a week, slice off part of her thumb, pass any kidney stones, or have surgery. ALL of which have happened the last few times she has visited. We didn’t have to change her flight plans because she was vomiting, or laid up on muscle relaxants, or because I had an epidural headache, or because Blaine got a staph infection. Her dog didn’t die while she was here, my grandpa didn’t die while she was here, none of my kids went in the hospital while she was here. (Yes. All of those things have happened before, too.) She came, she stayed just as long as we planned, and she went home right on schedule.

I have a feeling this trip might go down in history as the most boring visit ever.

Lightweight

Thanks very much for all your kind comments and well-wishes for my mom’s recovery. She’s back at our house now and doing much better. I told her if she wanted to extend her stay with us, surely there was a less dramatic way????

My mother is perhaps the biggest lightweight on the planet. It’s a good thing she doesn’t drink, or she’d have permanent brain damage from all the times she most likely would have fallen under the table. Aspirin puts her to sleep --- and sinus medicine? Into a coma. I’m not even overstating it.

I’ve never had kidney stones, so I can’t speak from experience about how much it hurts. But judging by the comments people have left on this site, and the personal stories I’ve been told, and the way my mother was behaving in the emergency room, I assume the pain of trying to pass a kidney stone must be on par with the agony of having hot lava poured through your nostrils. Hot lava mixed with nails and paint thinner. I’ve never seen my mother in that much pain, and I was never so glad in my entire life to see a nurse show up with pain medicine.** I think that even includes the time I almost delivered a 10+ pound baby sunny side up with no epidural.

I know they gave her a lot of stuff … Demerol, Phenergan, Toradol, and a few other things thrown in for good measure. I lost track. In between the whimpering and moaning and rocking on all fours and crying, she kept insisting, over and over, that she either needed to have her appendix cut out, immediately, or she was having a baby. The doctor ordered the meds pretty quickly, either because he could tell her level of pain was high, or because he didn’t want to be around to witness the birth. At one point, I turned to the nurse and asked if it was common for kidney stones to cause delirium, and she said actually, it wasn’t uncommon. My mom is normally a pretty stoic gal, but I guess it really hurts that stinking bad.

Once the meds kicked in, though, and her pain was better controlled, a whole ‘nother problem emerged. The fact that my mother is a complete lightweight and can’t handle her narcotics. She never got mean, or ugly, or nasty. She just completely lost her mind and couldn’t remember a damn thing.

This is the conversation we had, at least (and I am totally NOT exaggerating) a hundred times the other night between the hours of 10pm and 2am:

Betty, looking around the room in confusion: Where are we?

Kristie, patient for the first fifty times but then rolling her eyes a lot after that: We’re in the ER, mom.

B: How did we get here?

K: I drove you in my van.

B: You did? I don’t remember that.

K: Yes I did.

B: Why?

K: It seemed easier than calling an ambulance.

B: But why am I here?

K: Your side was hurting you.

B: It was? I don’t remember that.

{pause}

B: Well how did I get in this room?

K: The {rude, ill-mannered, I-will-punch-him-in-the-neck-if-I-ever-see-him-again} ER tech brought you in a wheelchair.

B: I don’t remember that. I didn’t ride in a wheelchair.

K: Yes you did.

B: Why am I here?

K: They think you have a kidney stone.

B: A kidney stone? I don’t have time for that.

K: Well, we won’t know for sure until we get the results of your cat scan.

B: I had a cat scan?

K: Yes

B: When?

K: About half an hour ago.

B: Where was I?

K: Lying on a table, I assume.

B: No I didn’t.

{Pause for a few seconds while she would gaze around the room.}

B, panicked: Where are the kids?

K: They’re at home with Blaine.

B: What time is it?

K: It’s 11.

B: At NIGHT?!?!?

K: Yes, mom. 11 at night.

B: How long have I been here?

K: About three hours.

B: Three hours?!? Why am I here?

K: They think you have a kidney stone.

B: Well, it's late. You need to go home.

K: I think I’ll stay here for a while. I want to get your test results. {I never had any intention, whatsoever, of leaving her, but couldn’t persuade her to listen to me.}

B: I had a test?

K: Yes, mom, you had a cat scan.

B: When?

K: About {Five minutes later than the last time you asked me} ago.

B: Why?

K: They think you have a kidney stone.

B: I can’t have a kidney stone. Those hurt. I haven’t had any pain.

{pause}

B: Where am I?

I swear, it was like talking to Ten-Second Tom from Fifty First Dates. At first it was bizarre, then it was annoying, then it got funny and I started giggling, at which point she got mad and told me to quit laughing at her. Which, naturally, made me laugh more. Because I’m supportive like that.

She still doesn’t remember going to the hospital, being in the ER, having the cat scan, being moved to a bed, or being in any pain, although she does at least believe me now and doesn’t question me a thousand times about it.

Which leads ME to believe, we should ALL have some of those drugs.

**That’s not exactly true. The night, two years ago, when Kendrie was in the hospital and her bone marrow was recovering from a bad virus, and she was literally screaming in the hospital bed and clutching her legs, and it took every ounce of control I had not to burst into hysterics because I just knew her cancer had returned ……… THAT was the time in my life I was most glad for pain relief medication. But on Wednesday night, my mom ran a close second. Big-giant watermelon-head baby gets pushed to third.

Speechless

I, Kristie Escoe, the girl who has something to say about everything, the girl voted “Most Likely To Talk To A Brick Wall” in high school, the girl who has put her foot in her mouth more times than is possible for mere mortals, was stunned speechless by the following conversation last night:

Emergency Room Tech: “So, when are you due?”

Kristie, who has practiced her answer to this question because she gets asked all the time and has perfected her chilly reply with the perfect amount of condescension in her voice in an attempt to render the questioner both embarrassed and uneasy: “I’m not pregnant. I guess I’m just fat.”

ER Tech: “You’re kidding. Did you just have a baby or something?”

Kristie, adding Death Glare Eyes and Snotty Tone to her reply: “Uh, yeah. A year ago.”

ER Tech, looking her up and down: “Hmmm. You got kind of lazy, didn’t you?”

Speech. Less.

Oh, wait. Why was I in the ER, you ask? So that my mother, "The Woman You Never Want To Have Visit You On Vacation" (because last time she was here she almost sliced off her thumb with a kitchen knife, for pete’s sake, and the time before that she pulled a muscle in her neck and I spent three damn hours in a Med Stop trying to convince the doctor we weren’t state-hopping drug abusers) picked last night to attempt to pass a kidney stone the size of an orange (her words, not mine.)

Never mind that the woman has never had kidney stones in her life, or that the only two times she’s EVER spent the night in a hospital was when she delivered my sister and me. She picked MY house, and OUR mini-vacation, for this exciting adventure.

Surgery was this morning. Lithotripsy, and more details, to follow.

PS. Thank you God, for letting Blaine get the flu and having his surgery be postponed. Otherwise he and I would have been in Augusta when this happened, and my mother would have had to call 9-1-1 and my children would have been traumatized and most likely taken away by DHS and probably be wards of the state by now, or worse, found a foster home that didn't require them to do all these pesky chores that we do and they'd like it better and want to stay there ..... amen.