It's not all doom and gloom

I am currently in a very odd space. 

Three weeks ago I packed up my life (or at least part of it) and flew to Sydney to be with Mum to walk the journey of the final months of her life with her. I have been granted 'up to six months' of leave without pay from my ministry placement to allow me the freedom to be here at this time.

Because cancer is a sneaky bastard (as a friend pointed out to me), we really only have the vaguest of ideas of how long Mum has left to live. I pushed her oncologist to give me a ball park estimation, and he said that the way the disease is progressing, it's likely that she may have only a few months to live; and possibly as little as 'weeks'. And when I asked him if she would live beyond 6 months, he said it would be highly unlikely. That was a month ago.

Since then, Mum has had a fortnight of radiotherapy, simultaneously targetting a spinal tumour and the large tumour in her pancreas. This has resulted in the arrest of the spinal tumour, and the relief of the excruciating back pain she had been experiencing. There's also a possibility that it may have slowed down the progress of the pancreatic tumour too. During the past week, it seems Mum has turned a corner, and has been feeling a lot better than she was when I arrived three weeks ago, and is now relatively pain free.

So the odd space in which I currently find myself is one where it feels like I have a foot on either side of a huge divide. On the one side, I'm very conscious that my purpose in being here is to support Mum as she prepares to die; to see her to the end of life, praying that it will be quick, and that she won't suffer too much in the process. But on the other side is the hope that this recent treatment may actually give her longer to live; that the oncologist's estimate may be wrong, and Mum may live much longer than six months. 

I'm also wrestling with the conflicting emotions that whilst it would of course, be great if Mum did surprise us all and live much longer than anticipated, if she does live more than six months, some logistical problems may emerge if I need to take leave for more than six months. (And I feel really petty to be even thinking of the logistics, rather than just celebrating the possibility of having Mum with me for as long as possible.)

But, as I said in the heading of this post, it's not all doom and gloom. We have been incredibly blessed by the people whom we have encountered along the path of Mum's health care. All of Mum's doctors have been great, and the lovely Sybill from the Northern Sydney Home Nursing Service has been great, and a breath of fresh air coming into the house over the past month or so. The Community Palliative Care team at Greenwich Hospital have also been amazing. The doctor Mum's been seeing has been amazing, and is really lovely. The nurses and allied health members of the team have also been lovely.

In the palliative care day hospital, there is a beautiful waiting room; light and airy, with lovely white couches, a kitchenette to make tea and coffee, and a generous supply of biscuits, and soup and sandwiches brought in at lunchtime for anyone who's around and feeling a bit peckish. On Tuesday, as we were waiting for Mum's appointment with the doctor, we were rather taken aback to be greeted by the drinks trolley trundling into the room. We were tempted with a range of drinks, from wine, champagne, to various spirits, soft drinks, juice... all accompanied by snacks- chips, crackers and  cheese, chocolate... it was a veritable Aladdin's Cave of alcoholic treats. I indulged in a gin and tonic (which went really well with the Rikodeine cough medicine I'd taken before leaving home) and a packet of chippies. Mum didn't feel like a drink, but enjoyed some cheese and crackers. It was all terribly civilised.

It's little things like this- the kindness of the people, and the unexpected treats reinforcing the  humanity of  the whole situation, that have been great gifts to us, and have reinforced that my 'death watch' doesn't have to be all doom and gloom.