Having my dad there with mom at doctor's appointments is a good idea. If you know my mom, you know her charming ability to sort of float over the details. Ask her for a recap later, and well, she can't quite think of the word, and the conversation goes down this "so-and-so and whatchamacallit" trail. It has nothing to do with age. Trust me. I grew up having to fill in the blanks.
The other side of having dad at the doctor's appointments is that everything comes through his filter. They're quite the pair. She can't think of the word and he's quick to jump in with it, and then he continues with his analysis of...whatever.
So, back to the oncologist. No new tumor growth. Blood markers down. Great. But, the doctor explains, that it's time again to consider treatment choices. This is where mom finds the nearest puffy cloud and fuzzy ear warmers and dad takes over.
Over the phone, they - I mean dad with mom also on the line - lays out the options to me: Return to infusion chemo, possibly trying one or two new cocktails, giving Xeloda another spin or no treatment at all.
I chime in, saying that in my opinion, the "no treatment" option is out the window. "Mom's feeling so much better now, and there are no new tumors. This isn't the time to say you're done with treatments."
Dad replies matter of factly. "We have some time between now and the next appointment for all of us to talk about the choices and make the decision together."
Really? What? Did I just hear dad open the floor for democratic exchange? How utterly unlike him, I thought to myself. In a good way. It's just that my immediate family isn't known for democratic process or candid exchanges.
I sense already that mom has defaulted to "whatever your dad thinks is best." I think if I were there I'd have greater influence, but I can't be there all the time. It bugs me that she backs off from some of the most personal decisions she'll ever have to make, and lets someone else come in and tell her what she's going to do. Even if that person is her husband.
He's still thinking that she'll spend the rest of her life weaving in and out of illness and there's nothing that will change that. I don't agree. I'm worried that it's coloring her attitude and her decisions about whether to go back on chemo. Both of them frustrate me. Dad with his dark cloud and mom blithely going along with whatever dad says. I don't know why I let it bother me. This has been their relationship dynamic since Day One.
Talking to mom on the phone, she's in a light mood, and asking a lot of questions about what's going on in my life, and how Isak and Owen are doing. It's been awhile since we've had a chance to talk about life stuff, so it's really nice. I fill her in on all the good, bad and ugly from the past couple of months. In my life, there's always plenty. She's empathetic.
"Are you happy?" she asks me.
Surprised at the question - remember, my family has issues with candor - I paused. "Yes, mom. I am. It's been a crazy year and the boys and I have been through a lot, but everything happens for a reason. I'm still figuring out what I should be learning from all of this, but I'm happy."
"Good," she says firmly. "That's all that matters."
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