Mackenzie’s Story
Losing my mother, Diedre, was easily the most horrific thing I’ve ever experienced. It all started in the summer of 2016 with abdominal pain. I’d jokingly tell her she “needed to get checked out” and she’d insist that she would. She was dieting in preparation for my brother’s wedding so the weight loss didn’t catch our attention in a way it normally would. Fast forward to the week before Christmas, she was having exploratory surgery. That’s when I got the news. I came home from work and she told me what they found was Stage IV Colon Cancer - “Peritoneal Carcinomatosis.” She was bed ridden, vomiting constantly. Her bowels were blocked. We were very fortunate to get her in to see a doctor at HUPenn. Chemo started and so began a roller coaster of up’s and down’s. Stressful ER visits, NG tubes, being labeled NPO and relying on TPN, a fistula turned into an accidental ostomy which was the bane of her existence, the hits just kept on coming.
Not once, but twice were we told she wasn’t going to make it. At the time of her first diagnosis she was given 6 months to live. Barely a month later we were told her bowels had ruptured and she would be lucky to make it through the night. We brought her home on hospice, had an Anointing of the Sick in our home with close friends and family and prepared for the worst. Somehow the next morning she woke up with no recollection of the events, called her doctor and whispered herself off of hospice care. She wanted to continue her fight and that she did. The next hit came in March after a surgeon failed to adequately educate herself on my mom’s case, had my mom sign off on the surgery alone and on morphine. She then sent my mom back to the room failing to notify anyone that instead of removing a mass, she accidentally made an ostomy which was packed with gauze. We didn’t discover what happened until the next day when the fluid from her bowels had soaked through the dressing. We were told by doctors that with the ostomy my mom had no chance of beating this cancer and that we should take her home, take her off of the TPN and essentially let her slowly starve to death. To my mom, it was mortifying and dehumanizing but she kept fighting. She lived a whole year with that ostomy bag hanging off of her but didn’t let it hold her back from trying to build her strength and keep our holidays as “normal” as possible.
The final strike came in April 2017. She was seemingly fine that afternoon and even told me she was looking forward to starting training with our new puppy. That evening I left for dinner at a friend’s house and came back to find my mom was struggling to breathe. Nothing at home was helping and we needed to call an ambulance. Terrified, I asked if she wanted me to ride with her and she nodded yes. My boyfriend, Dad and Aunt would meet us at the hospital. I quickly grabbed my bag, already prepped from our many other trips to the ER, and next thing I knew we were on the road. Between breathing treatments I tried to reassure my mom. I shared comments people were leaving on our Instagram page, letting her know there were so many people praying for her. When we got to the hospital I curled up in the only chair and tried to stay out of the way as it was an entirely chaotic situation. My mom told the doctor, “give me your best shot”, and that they did. Once things seemingly settled, I left the room to give my dad and aunt a chance to be with her but when I returned from the waiting room I was shocked to see what looked like a totally different person in the hospital bed. Weirdly enough, I couldn’t help but think she looked like my Great Grandmother who died at 97, my mom was only 58. Barely responsive, I held her hand and much to my surprise she told me to say thank you to the nurses and doctors who worked on her. Then she said “Kenz, thank you.” Partly in denial and partly desperate to keep her talking, I joked, “for what?” and she rolled her eyes. Then she said, “Kenz, I’m ready.” It was 4 am on April 10th and I can tell you with 100% certainty I was not ready. That morning I lost, not just my mom but, my best friend, confidant, family mediator, idol and so much more. We thought she was getting better. I had quit my job to take care of her and suddenly had lost my purpose. Two and a half years later and I still can’t accept that she’s not coming back.
She should be here for weddings, grandkids (the thing she most looked forward to in life), holidays, and even the not-so-significant times spent together. How does a girl go through so much of their life without a mother? I’m still trying to figure that out.
