The Weeping One (MXW)

And So It Was

Six weeks of doctors visits. Cancer treatments given in their strongest forms. My mom taking every step to ensure she would stick around for decades to come.

Slowly she regained her strength in small increments. But, the effects of the poison that rampaged thru her veins took a toll. She was now down to 67 pounds. Her dependency on the oxygen was permanent. Her blood levels showed no signs of the disease that had wracked her system months before.

The specialist gave her a small ceremony as she rang the bell that marked her successful treatment. We would need a few follow up tests to make sure she was cancer free. Although, the doctors were confident in her recovery.

Fatigue famished her body after the weeks of hell she had bravely fought. A few pounds gained and a few lost kept her weight stable at anorexic. She fought to stay awake on a good day.

On Valentines Day, my birthday, a few weeks ago, she bravely battled her exertion to go to dinner with me. I saw the sacrifice and weeped  for her bravery. She had that bag of poison strapped to her small body the whole time. I ate quickly while absorbing every word she managed to speak. The time with her, at that point was still uncertain. I wasn't going to waste even a minute.

At her most recent doctors appointment, at the end of March, the doctors expressed concern for her health. Deciding her treatments were not as successful as they hoped, they wished for her to begin again at a weaker dosage. I saw the fear in her eyes while they spewed out her punishment.

That day, she lay on her side, curled in the fetal position. She rocked from side to side in agony on a cold doctor's table. We were waiting for another book of medicine to be written. She cried and whimpered so often that I could not distinguish between the two.

After another hour she screamed in horror as words left her mouth.

"I just want to go home" she wailed.

Immediately, I took my post beside her and tried to sooth her aching form. With no hope of comfort, she continuously begged to just go home.

I got her scripts and wheeled her chair to the car as I lifted her into her seat. I fixed her oxygen to her face and headed to pick up her medicine. I turned the heat on, although it was already in the 80's outside. I walked into the hospital to pick up her discount meds. It didn't seem like much of a discount as I wrote a check of almost a grand to cover her next two week's of supplies.

I didn't complain about money. Because in reality, I would gladly sell my soul to Satan himself in exchange for her healing. I lied unashamedly each time she asked me the cost, as she promised to pay me back. Those moments made my fingers twitch to slap some sense into that inoffensive woman.

I finally made our way back home and got my mother out of the car to enter the house. As she walked she stubbornly demanded to drag her oxygen tank behind her. I finally gave in and very badly wished I hadn't. As she took the very small step onto the porch she lost her balance. Her frail body fell to the earth and the oxygen tank landed with a small thud. I rushed to lift her as tears fell down her cheeks. She may have broke some ribs.

I called the doctor and they guided me thru assessing her injuries, knowing another trip to the hospital would cause more pain. I checked her over and determined that whatever damage was done would be drowned out by rest and her already heavy pain medications. Satisfied in my conclusions, I tucked her into bed and sought out to the sandwich shop around the corner to get her dinner.

They had prescribe her a synthetic pot in the form of a pill. She had taken only one but, the effects were immediate. She slept comfortably while I got her the food she had requested. Once home I brought her a tray with her sandwich and a bottle of mustard at her demand. Assuming that the results of that meal were a direct effect of the drugs she was now on, I laughed as I watched her devour her food. She poured so much mustard on her plate I silently gagged while she ate it with a spoon.