Glad for the borrowed time

My mom and me, circa 1972-73
at Luneta Park

I originally posted this in my inspire.com account, which I had registered for after my mom had been diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer early in November 2014. I joined this online support community while searching for ways to help Mama - and us - cope with her disease and the side effects of Tarceva, that wonder target-therapy drug for lung cancer patients.

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My mom and dad during
their wedding (obviously)

My mom had been on the 4th month of Tarceva treatment. Her last x-ray showed an improvement, a "slight clearing" of the lungs. Her oncologist - and of course, us - were optimistic. Tarceva seemed to be effective; the sky-high price seemed to be worth it. She had been getting back her appetite, usually going for second, third servings and we would tease her about it. She was gaining back her weight. The oncologist even said there was a chance of reducing the Tarceva dosage so that her kidneys would not be affected too much.

Suddenly, pneumonia struck. She had a slight cough again, then had trouble breathing, and when we asked her if it was the same as when she was first diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer (November 2014) when they conducted a biopsy on the fluid in her lungs, she replied yes. So we rushed her to the hospital at 1AM on March 19. They found fluid in her lungs again, but this time there was less -- in November, she had more than a liter in her right lung, while this time she had 200ml in her right and 100ml in her left. 

They put her on diuretics while waiting for the doc to do the thoracentesis. The pulmonologist said she was having trouble breathing because the fluid was in patches, where before her lung seemed like a bag slowly filling with water. (They bided their time because her BP would drop during the thoracentesis procedure.) She had the procedure done March 20, in the late afternoon, where they extracted 400ml in her LEFT lung. The right, meanwhile, had less than 100ml so they did not pierce it this time and continued with the diuretics.

Sadly, she was not able to recover. They added a little dopamine to her IV so her BP would raise a bit... But despite the oxygen canula or mask she was still having trouble breathing. She was so restless through the night, repeatedly complaining, "It's too hot" even if I was already shivering because of the temp of the air conditioning. On March 21, they brought her to the ICU for better management... Around 3 that afternoon they asked permission to intubate her because her oxygen levels had not increased. They also put a urinary catheter on her to help her body get rid of the fluids flowing thru her IV. Her BP levels were low, her pulse almost non-existent, but her heart seemed okay.

At past 7 that same evening, her heart suddenly gave way. We were talking with other relatives in the waiting area when we heard the overhead PA bark out, "Code Red, ICU" and saw the nurses rushing, the defibrillator being wheeled in. We instantly jumped to our feet because we realized that she was the only patient in the ICU. Barred from getting in, we desperately peeked through the blinds to watch. We cried at the painful sight of nurses gathering around her, trying to shock her heart to life.

At some point, I jumped to my feet and rushed up the stairs to the chapel on the third floor. There, I knelt in surrender. Over and over, I tearfully said, "Lord, Your will be done," and a strange feeling of peace washed over me. I rushed back to the ICU.

They tried to revive her for several long minutes until the doctor approached us and we said, "No more." We knew they could not go on forever reviving her, and we knew that even if she was revived, a good quality of life would not be guaranteed. It was a decision that would always pain us, but we prayed first before giving it, and we had said our goodbyes because we knew she was leaving us. 

Septic shock, renal failure, high-risk pneumonia due to a compromised immune system. Underlying cause: stage 4, lung cancer. People were shocked - they did not know she had stage 4 lung CA; they said she didn't look like someone with cancer; and they felt it was so fast -- we brought her to the hospital on Thursday and she left two days later.

No matter how sad we are, we are still grateful to have been able to buy some time for her and for ourselves, that we could prepare ourselves for her leaving us because we knew her illness was terminal, and we did everything in our power to give her what she wanted in her last months with us.

As for me, I will always cherish one of the last things she said to me when she woke up that last morning at around 2am (I was her only companion that time). I was resting on a chair beside the bed because the previous times, I had barely gone to sleep in the cot when she would call out to me and ask me to crank up the air con. I was catching up on my sleep, my head resting on my arms on the bed beside her, when I felt her grab my hand. For someone weak, I noticed that it was an uncharacteristically strong grip. I came closer, asking her what was wrong and if she needed anything. She hugged me, telling me that she was tired. I said, "It's okay you can rest now." I was crying then, because I knew I was letting her go. She told me, "Don't cry. You were the one who did everything you could." To this day, I always cry (or at the very least, hyperventilate) when I remember that moment.

We knew we were living on borrowed time, but then, don't we all do?