Eight p.m. Saturday before Mother’s Day, sitting at the dining table with Erica, her mother and mine. The perfect pre-mother’s day moment? Could be, except that the mothers did not come for the celebration, they are here to assist Erica… and me.
For the past few weeks, Erica has been incapable of independence. Unable to stand without assistance, unable to walk, unable to deliver her thoughts or find her words. Having recently lost her father to dementia, this feels too similar. Too hopeless, like we know how this will end. But it’s not dementia, it’s cancer – metastatic breast cancer that found it’s way to her brain. And she was not like this six weeks ago. And the physicals and blood tests are not concerning. And the tumors do not match the symptoms. So what is going on?! My exhaustion is only surpassed by my will to fight for her and against the non-stop waves of panic attacks that wash over me.
It was March 22, 2025 when Erica checked in to the emergency room due to a brief moment of double vision, a symptom that 2 years prior lead us to discover the brain metastases. This time, we find no significant change to her tumors, just minor swelling around that area. Four days later, numerous tests and scans, dozens of doctors and nurses and heavy doses of steroids and seizure preventatives, Erica was determined stable and released. Follow ups with her oncologists confirmed that she was on the best treatment, the same treatment that one week ago she was living a normal life. The days that followed spiraled down a slide of fatigue. She slept almost all day for nearly two weeks. She ignored her phone, no texts, no email, no social media, no shopping. Clearly something wrong. When she began to move it was weak, slow and confused. Weaned off the steroid and seizure meds, she showed minor improvement.
It took two of us to help Erica to the table this night. We sit down, pray, and Erica vomits. And not just a little. The moms flash into super mom mode. Like the hulk when angered, but instant and gentle. I was the one that turned green. Frozen. Pushing back another panic attack. Knowing exactly what was happening – either more brain swelling or the tumors. Within minutes, the moms have the table and floor clean and Erica in the bathroom. And with a deep, calming breath I dial her radiation oncologist. Yes, 8:30 on a Saturday night, I dial the personal mobile phone number of her doctor. Because I am not taking Erica back to the emergency room. Within minutes, the doctor calls back. She asks if I have any dexamethasone left, the steroid Erica just weaned off of. I had one pill. Give it to her. The doctor begins to call pharmacies. All closed. I agree to watch Erica closely through the night and pick up more steroids when they open in the morning. She sleeps very well. I do not.
I am writing this post three days after that event. Erica’s coordination and cognition show improvement. I celebrate that Erica’s oncologist called me back at 8:30 on a Saturday night. I celebrate that I had one steroid pill. And I celebrate the moms!
YAY! Through The Valley 