In Memory of My Mother by Tina
Hess
A leaf turned from green to orange today. The air
was a little bit cooler than the ones before. And,
the chilly breeze that told me I forgot my jacket
at home carried away yet another page of the calendar
in its wispy arms. September is gone with the wind.
October is here. It's the season for jack-o-lanterns,
the first sounds of crackling wood in the fireplace,
falling leaves, and Breast Cancer Awareness Month.
I'm not sure who decided Breast Cancer Awareness
Month should be in October or when exactly that tradition
started. Why the heck would anyone make something
that claims so many lives brought to special attention
during the month of spooks, Halloween?
Maybe I ask that question because I knew all about
the dangers of breast cancer and the reality of how
many lives it takes. My mother died of breast cancer
in October 1992 and the day just happened to be Halloween.
Every year since then, the falling leaves of autumn
only serve to remind me of death. It's the hardest
time of the year for me. Most days, it's hard just
to look out the window, much less to be outside and
smell the chilling air. It just brings back memories
that hurt more than words could ever describe. Then
Halloween rolls around. Let me tell you, nobody wants
to celebrate the day her mother died. I take my children
trick or treating on the anniversary of my mother's
death.
My mother was my best friend. You know, the one
person that you could tell anything. She got mad at
me sometimes, sure, but was always proud and loving
no matter what. I always looked forward to hearing
her voice or seeing her face. She was the one that
I could always go to and no matter how furious we
became with each other; there wasn't anyone I loved
more. My mother was just a good-hearted, loving person
and meant so much to so many people. But, she was
also a woman who despised going to the doctor. If
you don't know about it, it's not there. I think that
was her mentality.
I'll never forget the day Mom did go to the doctor
because she did one of her very random self-exams
and found a lump in her breast. It seemed unreal,
like it wasn't really happening, because she had just
had a mammogram six months before. Besides that, the
tumor hurt. Her doctor told her that cancer didn't
hurt; it was nothing to worry about but "we'll check
it anyway".
It was cancer. Cancer. I hate that word. By the
time her cancer was diagnosed, it had spread to her
lymph nodes. When the disease has progressed that
far, it makes the survival rate a lot lower. My mom's
chances of survival were 20%, and that percentage
was only for five years. She went through chemotherapy
to increase the odds. It worked, I suppose. She lived
for a few years before the cancer returned. It started
in her lungs and rapidly spread from there. On Halloween
morning, 1992, I got the call from the hospital.
"You're mother is only taking four breaths a minute,"
the nurse said. "You need to get here."
I'll never forget those words. I'll also never forget
that we arrived at the hospital just ten minutes after
she passed away.
It's nearly eleven years later now. I've never had
a best friend like her or known the love she gave
me since she died. There's not a day that goes by
that I don't miss her. Sometimes you just need a mother
and mine is not here. She never will be again.
Everyone dies, I know, but my mother died at 47.
She never got to enjoy the things she looked forward
to like spending more time with her children or the
grandkids she always dreamed about. And, I don't have
her to turn to when I have questions about raising
my own kids, to celebrate good times with, or to lean
on when I need that special kind of friend. Sometimes
I still feel lost and all alone without her. It's
the worst kind of nightmare that fades a little with
time, but never quite goes away.
There's supposed to be inspiration in my story,
I guess. Maybe my mother's battle against a painful,
debilitating disease has something about it that will
motivate some other woman to take control of her health.
I can't give you a happily-ever-after story, if that's
what you're looking for. My mother died and there's
not a day in my life that the reminder won't sadden
me.
I don't want my story, though, to become yours or
your daughters. Perform regular self-exams. Encourage
your female family members and friends to do the same.
Early detection is the only way to insure the highest
chances of survival. Once the cancer spreads to your
lymph system, the news is bad. Ignorance isn't bliss.
Just because you don't know, doesn't mean cancer isn't
there. It will be there no matter what and in the
days you spend unaware, it's spreading throughout
your body.
My mother was hooked to a morphine drip in her last
days. Even that didn't cure her pain totally. She
couldn't walk, had trouble thinking clearly, and all
the while her hair was falling out in clumps because
they were trying desperately to prolong her life just
a little longer with chemotherapy.
Please learn the correct way to examine your breasts
and make an appointment to get a mammogram. Start
now and prevent what happened to my mother from happening
to you. Save your own life so that a few years from
now, that daughter you love so much or that sister
who has always been your best friend doesn't have
to write "if only" like I am now. Let my mother be
your inspiration to be aggressive with your health,
and live.
-Tina Hess
Bio
Tina Hess' work has appeared in numerous ezines
and print magazines, including Clean Sheets. Her second
book, 29 Ways to Use Everyday Objects as Sex Toys
will be available in January 2004.
