Diagnosis Day

Welcome to my first blog entry. It was really hard to decide where to start - because I have a zillion thoughts when it comes to grief and my emotions - however, today is January 13th, 2024, and it was 2 years ago, to this day, that my mom was diagnosed with cancer. Diagnosis Day feels like an appropriate place to begin, considering this is the true beginning of my grief.

Mom was experiencing a fever on-and-off since the beginning of October; she figured she had contracted a sinus infection (as she often did). But after a few trips to the doctor and a couple rounds of antibiotics, she was still experiencing the same symptoms and didn't have any answers. In December, after 3 or 4 trips to her family doctor, he ordered a chest x-ray. However, her "COVID-like symptoms" limited the places that would allow her to get the x-ray done, and she had to wait until January 31st.

In the late evening of January 12th, 2022, I texted my mom to tell her about something unimportant (as I often did), and it was then that I learned that my mom had gone to the ER. What she had described as an 'irritating cough,' had progressed to the point of causing her shortness of breath. She texted me back with "I'm in the ER" - I called her right away. She declined my call and quickly replied back with "I just got here, and I can't talk." I was very worried because Mom wasn't a hypochondriac and wouldn't have gone to the ER if it wasn't necessary, especially in the middle of a global pandemic.

COVID meant that we couldn't be there at the hospital with her, and so she spent countless hours waiting, wondering, and worrying by herself. Mom and I texted until 4am and she was giving me the play by play, but begged that I go to sleep because I couldn’t do anything tonight and I’d just be exhausted tomorrow (how "Mom" of her). I woke up at 9am and I didn’t have a text from her, so I panicked and texted her to ask if she was awake yet, assuming she had already gone home and gone to sleep. She didn’t call me or text me back right away. Eventually at 10:45am she texted me saying “are you free to talk?” I freaked out and called her right away. I still remember that conversation as if it was yesterday.

Mom: "hello"

Me: "hi, what's wrong, please tell me."

Mom: “Amanda, honey, I’m so sorry... It doesn’t look good.” 

Me: "WHAT DO YOU MEAN? WHAT DOESN'T LOOK GOOD?"

Mom *deep breath... soft, calm tone*: “I have a very large mass in my left lung, and a few smaller masses in my right lung…"

Me *instantly sobbing*: "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. Mom! No, No, No, No, No, No, No, No, No, No, No, No. Is it cancer?"

Mom: "Yes, Amanda."

I was pacing my house at this point, crying my eyes out because I didn't know what to do. I started packing a bag because I needed to be with my parents. My husband, Jeff, was in an airplane on his way to visit his sister in Nova Scotia - I would tell him as soon as he landed, but for now, I needed my Mom. Mom talked to me until I could stop crying and drive. My brother (Chris) and sister-in-law (Jenn) (and kids) came over too, and we spent the next 4 days together, bouncing between crying together and trying to pretend it was just a regular family visit.

January 13th is mom's (unofficial) cancer diagnosis day. Diagnosis day - the day life changed completely and irrevocably - is a day I'll never forget. That day, and all the days in the 9.5 weeks before Mom's death, were filled with a range of emotions between hope and devastation. I bounced between trying to stay positive and pushing away thoughts of the worst case scenario. Everything happened so fast and the "worst case scenario" I had drawn up in my mind on Diagnosis Day wasn't even the worst case scenario that actually played out. Diagnosis day is a hard day.