I Think I Ordered a Tall, Skinny Crotchuccino, But I Can't Remember

I am going to start off by saying this: yes, I can understand how, in the past, there may have been certain situations where I came across as being somewhat of a hypochondriac. However, given my family's long history of cancer, I feel I have worrying rights.

Okay, yeah, I admit, there was that one time when I may have slightly overreacted by thinking I had the West Nile virus after chewing a piece of expired—like, last-decade-expired—Nicorette gum. Hello? I was dizzy, diaphoretic, nauseated and disoriented. I may have had a high fever. Or not. Who knows? I didn't have a thermometer at the time, so shoot me. What the hell else was I supposed to think? At the time, the media was shoving the bird flu—oh, wait... no... was it SARS? Crap, I can't remember. But let's just say I've had a shit-load of (non-sexually transmitted) infectious diseases, it's a wonder I'm still alive. Okay, come to think of it, they may have been just hangovers, but whatever.

I, personally, don't consider myself a hypochondriac so much as I consider myself a person who is just really in tune with her body. Like this one time, for instance, I knew there was something up with my ovary—something other than mittelschmerz. Remember that, coworkers? Do you remember how I left in the middle of work on a Sunday to have Sally, my friend/doctor, take me over to her office to do a sonogram—the invasive, violating kind—and she found a 4cm cyst on my ovary? And do you remember how when I showed you the pictures of my 4CM OVARIAN CYST, you guys did that little twirly thing in the air with your index fingers and rolled your eyes and you were all, like  "Big Whoop! It's a 4cm cyst!" But see?  I knew there was something growing on my ovary. Granted, it wasn't a tumor like I had originally suggested, but I knew something was awry. Why? Because I'm HIGHLY IN TUNE WITH MY BODY.

Oh, and another thing? When Gainer's cyst ruptured, she had to go to the E.R. for pain management. Not me. I was all, like... Cyst's gone. That was easy! Which means I probably have a very high pain threshold, which means I could probably give birth without an epidural. Actually, on second thought, I'm going to retract that last statement, on the chance I end up pregnant from all the heterosexual sex I'm going to be having because I need to prove to my family that, despite their suspicions, I'm not gay. Not that there is anything wrong with being gay, but I'm not. I'm just a single, independent woman in her ____ties, who is really, really picky commitment-phobe with daddy issues. 

So, anyway, on my way to work today, I spilled coffee on my crotch. Thank God it wasn't scalding hot. With it being a balls-to-the-wall busy kind of day, I didn't pee until after I got home from work. So, as I'm sitting on the toilet, I'm thinking... Wowzer, I must be really dehydrated because my pee smells just like coffee. Imagine my fear when I looked down at my undies and saw this gigantic, rust-colored stain. In that split second, my brain consulted its own internal Web-MD and came up with three different diagnoses:

1) Sally misdiagnosed my cyst a couple of months back, and I really do have ovarian cancer. Fuck, I'm a goner.  

2) It's probably bladder cancer from all the times I've held my urine at work for hours on end.

3) Judging by the odor, I likely have Maple Syrup Urine disease.  

Like any other time I've self-diagnosed, I had to employ my big-gun-assessment skills, so I moved in for the obligatory sniff test...

*sniff, sniff*  Holy Christmas, that definitely smells like coff—oh, wait a sec... it is coffee!

Phew! Thank God I solved that little mystery, because now I'm deeply troubled by the fact that I could spill coffee on myself at 6:30 a.m. (okay, 6:45—I was running late) and forget about it by two o'clock in the afternoon. That's not normal. It can only mean one thing...

I have Early-onset Alzheimer's, which would also explain why I can't remember going on a date with this guy...

Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but I think this picture proves that I'm as straight as they come!

Things I've Learned From this Process

I'm forcing myself to stay awake tonight because I'm too scared to go to sleep. I can't stop counting her respirations,* especially when she goes from these deep, rhythmic inhalations to... nothing. Right before I lean over to do a sternal rub on her, she takes a deep breath in, which, thank God, allows me to exhale a deep sigh of relief. Does sternal rub count as a form of resuscitation?

Anyway, to occupy my mind, I've been reflecting back on what these last three weeks have taught me. Sorry, guys, per usual, I am going to be brutally honest. Love me or hate me, whatever.

1) According to my mother, I am not a real nurse. This was brought to my attention a couple of weeks ago while I was bathing her.**

Mom: You are so good at this, Rachel. You should have become a real nurse.

Me: Mom, I am a real nurse, but thanks just the same. 

Mom: Ohhh, that's not what I meant. You should be taking care of sick people. 

I felt it futile to go into detail about how women in labor can be just as demanding (and with good reason) as any sick patient can be. All that matters, though, is that Mom thinks I'm good at this.

2) Time of death, like time of birth, cannot be predicted. We were told by her doctors that she had only "a couple of weeks." That was three and a half weeks ago. I'm not complaining, but with each new day, it is getting more difficult to see her like this.

3) This has been the most difficult patient assignment I have ever been given. Maybe it's because she is not a "patient" and I'm not really her nurse. But as a nurse, and as her daughter, I can't stand back and let anyone else care for her (except for my niece Aimee, who has been incredible, and my sister Andrea). That said, this has also been the most rewarding assignment I have ever encountered... Mom thinks I'm really good at it.

4) This sucks.

5) In the beginning, I underestimated how evil cancer actually is. Mom was doing so well for so long that I actually thought she was going to be a medical miracle and beat it. WRONG!! This evil parasite has reduced my mother to skin and bones. It has eaten away at her body and her spirit. Her eyes are now vacant and her body is slowly withering away into a vessel that, at one time, held her soul. I wouldn't wish this upon my worst enemy.

WOW, THIS SHIT IS GETTING DEEEPRESSING. Let's lighten things up a bit, shall we?

6) After this experience, dying in a plane crash—my biggest fear—seems like a trip to Disneyland... on shrooms (providing you're not the paranoid type).***

7)Vancouver Island is God's garden, which would explain all the rain it gets. But it seems to me that God is too busy watering his flower beds to answer prayers.****Ooops, probably shouldn't have just typed that, but considering anger is part of the grieving process, I think I'm permitted at least one blasphemous comment.

8) I could really get into running again—okay, jogging... okay, shifting my weight from one foot to the other in a pace that is slightly faster than a walk— if it weren't for the feeling that my ass, stomach and breasts are being ripped away from my body with each painful step. Oh, and then there's the weather. Jogging here is pleasant. Jogging in Austin is like running through hell in a snowsuit.

9) In times of need, family can be just what you need... but they can also drive you bat-shit-crazy!

10) If it weren't for all my friends, there is no way in hell I could have ever endured this without pharmacological help, which reminds me...

Last week, Mom encouraged us to start thinking about things of hers we want. I can't really take too much stuff back home due to luggage restrictions, so I'm keeping it simple by only taking things that are really important to me. I've stashed away some of her writing, poems and old photographs of her. She was absolutely stunningly beautiful. Like, movie-star-beautiful!

Oh, yeah, and sibs? Providing there's any left, I've also got dibs on these...

*Imagine that... a nurse actually counting respirations!
**This wasn't a George Costanza sponge bath moment, so get your mind out of the gutter!
***Realizing I still have to get home via air travel, I would like to retract this statement. I am not putting it out in the universe that a plane crash would be fun, and given the next footnote, God is probably pissed at me. 
**** Sorry, God, I didn't mean to offend you. The flowers here are absolutely beautiful. Good job! Too bad my mother looks like she needs some watering and some good nutrients, but whatever!