My Mom’s Cancer Journey: The Time We Spent Thanksgiving in the Hospital
Two years ago, we spent Thanksgiving in the hospital. Almost two months after my mom’s Stage 4 Metastatic Breast Cancer diagnosis. She had just begun chemotherapy.
In the grand scheme of my mom’s cancer journey, this hospital trip was a minor setback. It honestly feels like eons ago. Now that my mom is in recovery and looks healthy as ever, it’s surreal to reflect on the beginning of her cancer journey.
The time we spent Thanksgiving in the hospital with her was a humbling experience for my family. That’s why I feel compelled to share it.
Here’s how it went…
I was on the Peter Pan bus home from Boston on the Tuesday night before Thanksgiving. I don’t remember who called me. I only remember being stuck in traffic on a cramped bus, learning that my mom was admitted to the hospital.
She was neutropenic, meaning her white blood cell count was dangerously low. Neutropenia wipes your immune system and makes you highly susceptible to infection. Catching an infection when your immune system is out for the count could be deadly.
Anyway, I got home late that night. The house felt empty without my mom’s warm presence there to greet me. Usually, she comes running to the door and wraps me in her arms when I come home.
I had to wait until visiting hours started in the morning. So it was a long night. I watched Netflix but don’t remember sleeping.
The next day, my dad, brother, and I were allowed to visit her in the hospital. We had to fashion ourselves with medical masks and latex gloves before COVID made this gear ‘cool.’
Hospital rooms are drab. If the television works, the channels usually suck. The food is hardly nourishing. The bathrooms are another story. To uplift my mom’s spirits, I painted her nails. Bright red. The doctor said it was the first time anyone’s asked for permission to use nail polish in a hospital room.
My mom remained optimistic the first 24 hours of her hospital stay (I’d like to think it was the red nail polish). She wanted to be home for Thanksgiving dinner more than anything. We wanted her home.
At the time, I had no idea what the prognosis of her cancer was. Out of fear, I kept thinking, ‘What if this is the last Thanksgiving we have with her?’
That thought crossed my mind, but I didn’t dare share it. Morale had to remain high. I needed to be a pillar of strength to support my family. And, strength aside, part of me feared vocalizing that thought would speak it into existence.
Unfortunately, my mom was not able to come home for Thanksgiving. We were supposed to host my aunt and grandfather at our home. Instead, my aunt kindly invited us to her house for an unconventional Thanksgiving meal: poached salmon with microwaved Brussels sprouts and mashed cauliflower.
Later on, we visited my mom. She said the hospital’s turkey dinner was nothing to write home about. So, we picked up McDonald’s. We sat huddled around her bed, chowing down on cheeseburgers, french fries, and milkshakes.
After our Michelin-star Thanksgiving meal ended, we had a dance party. We first boogied to Bruno Mars, my mom’s favorite. Then, of course, we had to break out Mariah Carey’s All I Want for Christmas.
Looking back on this day, two years ago, I can bring myself back into the room. I can picture our faces, where we sat, and how we felt. The week took my mom, dad, brother, and me on a rollercoaster ride. However, at that moment, eating McDonald’s and dancing together, we were happy.
We didn’t have a turkey and all the fixings. We didn’t have a home full of guests. We only had each other, yet I think it’s the most grateful we’ve ever been on a Thanksgiving.
