Very little happened over the next couple of days. Mom woke up, met with her doctor, started to heal. Flowers came, well wishes poured in... People surprised Mom by visiting... She really had no idea how many people were praying for her, worried about her, worried for her. My mother was so unassuming, so humble, so sweet and kind. She never thought she meant much to anyone - something that still about kills me if I think about it too much.
Even in pain, though, she would laugh (although remind us repeatedly to knock it off...it hurt to laugh) and wanted us around her as much as we'd stay. She was never fond of attention and really didn't want this but she wasn't going to argue with having us sit with her, chat with her, keep track of things with her and for her.
There is going to be a lot of this time that is just a vague recollection. Too much happened, too much went on. Being sick is hard work, serious business and time consuming. I had given Mom a notebook/journal, hoping she'd keep track of what she was going through but the business of healing took all of her energy. She didn't write much in that journal and she didn't write a lot in her personal journals, either.
Ovarian cancer is ugly. Not that any cancer is pretty. Not that any serious illness is pretty. Basically it's an obvious statment not even worth making but I'm saying it anyway. Ovarian cancer is ugly. Even with chemo not even started you could see where this illness started to rob us of the mother we had always known. Her hair was duller, her eyes lacked their normal twinkle, her smile wasn't as big.
The shift wasn't blatantly obvious. She did go back to work after her however many weeks she had to be home. I think it was three. Maybe four. In there, October 19th happened. That was the day we heard the actual pathology report and learned what came next.