My mom has Parkinson's Disease. It's late-stage, very advanced. She can't move or talk, and she's 100% dependent on assistance for everything. Thanks to my dad, she's very well taken care of. I visit them once or twice a week.
I do a lot of compartmentalizing. I am easily overwhelmed in general, so I try to keep each Big Life Concern in a separate mental box. My mom's Parkinson's Disease is separate from my kids' life-threatening food allergies, both of which are separate from my breast cancer.
But sometimes the integrity of those compartments weaken, and the situations get conflated.
If my mom were healthy herself, I know she'd come to help us through my post-surgery recovery. She'd make me yummy soups.
It's fine, though. We'll be okay. My dad is an amazing cook, and he'll set us up with plenty of food.
Also, my mother-in-law will be here for the first week after sugery, and she's sure to be a big help. Even though I'm the patient, I know I'm not the only person who needs support, and I'm glad my husband will have his mom here with him.
The other night, a friend and I went to see the movie The Farewell. This is how AMC Theatres describes it:
After learning their beloved matriarch has terminal lung cancer, a family opts not to tell her about the diagnosis, instead scheduling an impromptu wedding-reunion back in China. Headstrong and emotional writer Billi rebels against her parents' directive to stay in New York and joins the family as they awkwardly attempt to rekindle old bonds, throw together a wedding that only grandma is actually looking forward to, and surreptitiously say their goodbyes.
The Chinese-American main character, Billi, struggles with understanding how the family can keep such important news about her own health from her grandmother. I can't remember exact quotes, but one character says something like, sometimes the fear of cancer and dying is worse than the cancer itself. Another character tries to explain that in China, a person is not just an individual, they are a member of a family, and it's a kind of duty and honor to bear the burden of bad news for a loved one. (The movie explores the situation through the eyes of a Chinese-American, but it doesn't make a judgment of whether the decision is right or wrong.)
Anyway, the roles are kind of reversed for me and my mom, but I haven't talked to her about my diagnosis. It's not clear if she would even understand. When hospice care providers come to the house, they always remark on how comfortable my mom looks. So it's okay if my mom doesn't know, if her not knowing can allow her to feel more at peace.
Thinking of you.
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