Drinking from a Fire Hose

So, it's been one month since I knew something was terribly wrong.  All I really remember is Dad cancelling a trip to meet us at the Milwaukee Zoo because he took Mom to the E.R. and something else about a high white blood count.
 That's when I knew.  Now, the doctors and labs and medical tests couldn't reveal it until a full week later, but that's when I knew -- Mom has Leukemia.  My life is forever changed.  This is bad.

Since that weekend, I've made five trips to my mom in the hospital and back to Green Bay.  Each trip has left me feeling very different things; leaving her hospital room and heading to my drivers' seat for the four hour drive back home.  Sometimes I'm scared and fearful, once I was very angry and listened to gangsta-rap with my bass turned up high; two weeks ago, I cried and tried to push the image of her writhing in excruciating pain while spitting falling hair out of her mouth far from my mind.  Emotionally, I am completely drained.  I cannot stop thinking about her, about God, my Faith, her Faith, how it's affecting my children, our marriage, my parents' marriage.  My processor is going through so many thoughts and feelings and statistics and medical jargon that it's as if I'm trying to drink from a fire-hose.  Information and feelings are all strung together until it's finally 9:30 p.m. and I can collapse in my bed and sleep.  Rest. Yes.

Traveling back and forth, a few days there, a few more here, has actually been a saving grace, I think.  I honestly don't know how I could handle doing this in the same town as my parents.  I would feel so pulled to be there, to help, to cook, clean, prepare, nurse, communicate to family, or whatever else was needed.  By coming back to my own home, I am forced to escape from the physical reality of her illness.  My mind, of course, never stops thinking about the cancer, the next step, her doctors, the "what if/s," but my physical presence is needed somewhere else.  I am forced to be here because I have a husband and children who can't be without me for months at a time.  And so, for now, I will take these breaks and use them to pace myself.  Hopefully, this will be a long journey and I will be thankful I paced slowly.

I know not many people read this blog.  I didn't create it to gather followers or "likes" or a community of Instagram hash-taggers.  I use this blog for myself, as a journal to process so many of my thoughts and feelings.  I use it to filter out the important stuff so I know what I need to talk through more with my husband, maybe a counselor, or even my mom.  But, if you are reading, please pray for her.  This is hard for me to ask, because there was a time where I asked for prayers for another family member I cared about deeply about; more than I cared about anyone else before; I loved her as much as my mother loved me because I was her mother.  God, in his infinite power and wisdom did not answer my prayers in any way I understand to this day; instead he welcomed my first-born baby girl into his eternal home.  I am afraid to pray for healing for my mom because I did that once for my baby girl and it didn't work.  It didn't work.  So, of course, it may not work this time.  That's hard.  And scary.  And sometimes I don't think I want to try it.  So, I'm asking you.  Would you, please, pray for her?  Then, on those hard days when I find myself wondering "why?" and anger rises up and I think, "what's the point," I'll know that there are a few out there that are lifting my mother up in prayer and in faith that God can do whatever He wants.  For now, I'll rest in that.