she's dying, and i don't know how to feel...
my aunt was diagnosed with a brain tumor at the base of her skull a few years ago... i don't know all the particular details, but i think what happened was it developed into some sort of cancer... being the fighter that she is, she was determined to not let the disease get the best of her, and she fought it... the doctors cut it out of her, and she went through chemotherapy to take care of whatever they might have missed.
just when she thought she was through, that she had defeated the arch nemesis of her entire lifetime, she was told that she did NOT beat it, that they misread the MRI, and that the tumor had spread all the way down to her pelvis, wrapping itself around her spine. after spending thousands of dollars, after turning her life upside down, she was told that it couldn't be helped, that there was nothing more she could do.
after spending months in the hospital, and dropping down to about 70 lbs, they told her she would only have between 2 weeks to a month left to live. yesterday, they released her to allow her to go home to die.
i've always liked my aunt, i always admired her. i always thought she was a strong, beautiful woman. she was the only one of my father's five brothers and sisters that stayed in massachusetts when everyone else followed my father out west. i always thought she was courageous for being such a tough individual. she was the only one in the family that has braved through a divorce, essentially raising her two kids by herself. she's also the only one in the whole family, ever, to get cancer... bad things always seem to happen to good people.
i have fond memories of her, visiting her home with my grandma when i was three or four years old... in the many years since then she's made the trip out to see us plenty of times. i've only been back east once since then, for my cousin's wedding. my aunt and i have never been close, but i've always thought of her as family; i always planned on getting to know her better, and now it's too late. i always thought that someday, when i finally made my road trip across the continent, that i'd stay at her house just like she used to stay at ours, and now i never will.
i certainly feel for her, but what, i don't know what... sometimes i feel like she's a complete stranger, that it shouldn't bother me all that much, but then i remember her buying me a transformer as a surprise gift, of having conversations over coffee, of tuna sandwiches with not enough mayonaise. i remember her driving me and my cousin around, telling us to shut-up, and it brings a smile to my face.
i'm angry that the doctors didn't help her properly when they could have. i'm upset that i'm losing a loved one. i'm distant, feeling akward when i should be grieving, feeling nonchalant when i should be depressed. i'm pissed that health care in this country is a joke... it's treated like a fuckin' business, and they don't give a shit about your health at all.
i love you, auntie barbara. i'll always remember you fondly, at your strongest and most vital. here's hoping you succumb to death as sweetly and softly and as gingerly as you always treated me.
-bobby
my aunt was diagnosed with a brain tumor at the base of her skull a few years ago... i don't know all the particular details, but i think what happened was it developed into some sort of cancer... being the fighter that she is, she was determined to not let the disease get the best of her, and she fought it... the doctors cut it out of her, and she went through chemotherapy to take care of whatever they might have missed.
just when she thought she was through, that she had defeated the arch nemesis of her entire lifetime, she was told that she did NOT beat it, that they misread the MRI, and that the tumor had spread all the way down to her pelvis, wrapping itself around her spine. after spending thousands of dollars, after turning her life upside down, she was told that it couldn't be helped, that there was nothing more she could do.
after spending months in the hospital, and dropping down to about 70 lbs, they told her she would only have between 2 weeks to a month left to live. yesterday, they released her to allow her to go home to die.
i've always liked my aunt, i always admired her. i always thought she was a strong, beautiful woman. she was the only one of my father's five brothers and sisters that stayed in massachusetts when everyone else followed my father out west. i always thought she was courageous for being such a tough individual. she was the only one in the family that has braved through a divorce, essentially raising her two kids by herself. she's also the only one in the whole family, ever, to get cancer... bad things always seem to happen to good people.
i have fond memories of her, visiting her home with my grandma when i was three or four years old... in the many years since then she's made the trip out to see us plenty of times. i've only been back east once since then, for my cousin's wedding. my aunt and i have never been close, but i've always thought of her as family; i always planned on getting to know her better, and now it's too late. i always thought that someday, when i finally made my road trip across the continent, that i'd stay at her house just like she used to stay at ours, and now i never will.
i certainly feel for her, but what, i don't know what... sometimes i feel like she's a complete stranger, that it shouldn't bother me all that much, but then i remember her buying me a transformer as a surprise gift, of having conversations over coffee, of tuna sandwiches with not enough mayonaise. i remember her driving me and my cousin around, telling us to shut-up, and it brings a smile to my face.
i'm angry that the doctors didn't help her properly when they could have. i'm upset that i'm losing a loved one. i'm distant, feeling akward when i should be grieving, feeling nonchalant when i should be depressed. i'm pissed that health care in this country is a joke... it's treated like a fuckin' business, and they don't give a shit about your health at all.
i love you, auntie barbara. i'll always remember you fondly, at your strongest and most vital. here's hoping you succumb to death as sweetly and softly and as gingerly as you always treated me.
-bobby
-c