Tag: prayers

Transplant Procedure Update #1: Day 1: [Un-revised Mind-Rambles]

This morning, my parents made the 3-hour(ish) trek to Philadelphia to start the journey toward my Mom's healing/recovery. As I’m writing this, she’s enduring her first round of radiation… and for those of you who know its process, you understand what it means…”enduring”. For this procedure, it’s needed. Before they left (around 2:30-3:00 a.m.), I gave her the biggest but most gentle hug I’ve ever given in my life and reminded her, “don’t forget to cast your cares”. Hopefully, I’ll get to see her on Wednesday when I join her at the hospital (from my understanding, we will be in different places throughout the entire week—so I don’t even know if I’ll get to actually be with her at any point during my part of the transplant) but if not, I know that heartfelt hug will carry us through the days ahead.
 
To be honest, I felt a bit empowered yesterday—being the only one really able to embrace her since she’s going to be sharing my blood soon enough anyway. I had to forcefully tug my ego down a notch. (just kidding). [Humor has always been my default ‘defense’ mechanism of sorts when I have something serious to say; those of you who know me, or who have been following my quirkily-eccentric life adventures over the years, can probably already identify the pattern in the way that I write.] It’s time to be serious now, though. [I wrote the first part for her birthday, but didn’t get a chance to finish it until today when it sort of took off in its own direction.]

---

What more can I say to honor a woman who already speaks for herself through the selfless way she lives?—the very same woman who had been cultivating within me the meaning of sacrifice since the day her piercing gaze locked onto the blue of my father's eyes and she proclaimed that if it ever came down to the wire and a choice needed to be made between her or me during childbirth, she would choose me in a heartbeat and he must too. We were both nearly lost in the process of my delivery; I firmly believe that my parents' unwavering faith and the inconceivable strength of my mother's love saved our lives that day.

As an infant, there were times when she wasn’t around as often as I’d have liked. I have traces of memories from the early years on Liberty Street [don’t worry, it’s not the answer to any of my security questions…but it might be my sister’s!]—missing the warmth of her voice when she left to work nights to help make ends meet for our family.

One of the biggest sacrifices a parent can make is to have to spend time away from their child(ren) in order to offer them their best chance at life. I can’t even imagine the number of times she laced up her shoes and kissed me goodnight with tears in her eyes before walking through the door to head off to the Manor to clock in. Or how many soiled bed sheets she changed while watching the clock and praying time would go by faster so she could get off her feet and wrap her arms around her husband and children instead of an IV pole that needed to be wheeled down the hall to room 13. She must’ve been worn out by the time she returned through the doorway to the apartment… top floor, I believe. My sisters would know; they were older. [It was the ground floor; I stand corrected.]

Through her, I learned what sacrifice means—the way she never spent a cent on herself when it was needed for her children. The times we’ve all fallen ill—including/especially her—and she kept going… steadying herself, as frail as she was, against the counter top just to make soup for us or measure out our antibiotics. She was always there with a warm cup of tea, a splash of milk and two sugars—she still is. “Nonnie tea,” Aria calls it. 

And for as much as she talks and opinionates (she’s Slovak, it’s expected), she also listens. I honestly don’t know how I’d have gotten through the past year had it not been for her shoulder to lean on when the rest of my life felt like it was crumbling right from under me. 

Don’t get me wrong though… we didn’t always get along so well.

One time during high school when I was sitting on my bed (it was arranged in the room differently than it is now—parallel to the door instead of perpendicular, against the wall) and we were having a discussion—I don’t quite remember now if she went to grab something from me, or what the context was… but she ended up accidentally leaning forward too far too quickly and smacking her face on the doorknob. She had a bruised eye for quite a few weeks from that. I remember going to church that month and feeling bad when my Dad was getting the side-eye from some of the other congregation members—as if he were the one responsible for it when really it was indirectly my fault. My Dad has put up with a lot over the years… he’s a champ too. The angriest I’ve ever seen him towards my Mom resulted in him setting a remote controller down on the table slightly louder than usual. That’s it. He has always set a fine example of unconditional love and respect in his relationship with my Mom. Her being sick has been very hard on him too… maybe even especially him in ways… but I’m digressing—as I usually do when jotting my thoughts down in a candid series… you can see the way the gears twist and concepts connect from one to the other to create the big picture as a whole… fragments coming together.

Speaking of the big picture… I haven’t even started packing yet. Am I scared? Parts of me are… like my stomach that finds itself in tangles thinking about what she must be going through right now. How humbling (for a delicate choice of verbiage) it must be to have to sit vulnerably and uncomfortably-positioned in a cold room with cold air in a cold chair surrounded by unfamiliar machinery—left with nothing except for maybe a 1-ply dollhouse-ratio napkin to cover the essentials and unbridled thoughts bouncing around in a frenzy… flesh invaded by dangerous particles making a war zone out of you. “Don’t move.” Stillness in body, synapses transmitting a billion miles a minute.

My mother’s tenacity is contagious. I learned the true meaning of strength the night we almost lost my older sister, Tristina, when a tumor inside of her burst. My parents sped to Lebanon, PA in the middle of the night as she was rushed in for emergency surgery. This isn’t the first time mom’s had to fight it… cancer… the first time was for her child. She’ll win again. We all will. There has to be a reason for it all. And I’m going to keep searching until I find out what it is. 

She doesn’t expect this to be easy…the procedure…but there isn’t a bone in her body that has ever been spoiled with the overuse of the definition of that word. “Easy.” She’s tough.

So, what more can I say to honor a woman who already speaks for herself through the selfless way she lives?—the very same woman who had been cultivating within me the meaning of sacrifice since the day her piercing gaze locked onto the blue of my father's eyes and she proclaimed that if it ever came down to the wire and a choice needed to be made between her or me, she would choose me in a heartbeat and he must too... this time, years later, the decision is non-negotiable... "Both."

We’ll get through this the same way we’ve conquered all of the other trials in the history of our family… unwavering faith [yours too] and the inconceivable strength of a mother's love.