Tuesday, Sept 9, 2008
Dear friends and family,
I don’t really know how to convey all this properly, so I’ll just jump in and tell the tale.
My Mom, our very own Rae Russel, exhibited symptoms two weeks ago we THOUGHT were the result of another stroke, or series of mini-strokes. This included losing use of much of the left side of her body; arm, leg and (left side of) mouth.
She CAN still think clearly and speak, though with somewhat slurred speech. She is not in any pain. She’s been in and out of the hospital. As of Thursday, Sept. 4th, she is now in a quiet, clean, well-run rehab facility in Petaluma, about 2 miles from her house.
Hospital tests last week (CT scans and MRI) found a brain tumor, 4x5cm, on the right side of her brain. (A photo of the tumor is attached to this email.) The tumor is not malignant; she does not have cancer elsewhere in her body. But it’s big and it is terminal. The big question is not IF, but WHEN it will kill her. The bell curve for living with this type of tumor — known as a Glioblastoma multiforme (GBM), common name Glioblastoma — is estimated at 3-6 months if left untreated. Wikipedia link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glioblastoma.
This estimate, like most such estimates, is based on documented previous cases and can be quite accurate. And of course it can be quite wrong. She could die in a month or live a year, or more.
The next decision she will make—with our input and that of our kind-hearted neurosurgeon we are lucky to have—is whether to proceed with a biopsy. This is a brain surgery to extract a tissue sample to determine what types of radiation and/or chemotherapy might be effective in reducing or removing the tumor. The tumor’s location makes it unlikely to be operable/removable, yet once “inside,” they could attempt to reduce its mass if possible.
The statistics on radiation/chemo treatments, if all went well, show she could extend her life an additional year. Again I add all these predictions are averages on a bell curve. She could die from complications from biopsy/surgery or following elective chemo/radiation, or successfully recover and live 1 or 2 or more years.
We learned first hand with my brother’s Andy’s accident and coma and brain surgery nine years ago (!), no one can accurately predict what will happen. Andy made a miraculous recovery. My Mom is 83 as of May 2008, not 40 as Andy was. Then again, she’s tough and wants to live. (No doubt Andy or I could pretty much guarantee extending her life a year if either of us promised her a grandchild…and this would include if the Exxon Valdez ran aground over her rehab bed.)
Right now she’s requesting rest and peace and quiet, so she’s not making or receiving many phone calls. And she's in good spirits considering what she's facing. If you feel moved to write you can email me and I can print them out to bring to Rae, although so far she’s more into chatting with her therapists, nurses and neighbors than reading anything. Same old Mom. You can also simply, powerfully, just keep her in your minds, your hearts, your prayers.
For those who’ll ask how I’m doing: after the initial shock of learning she has a brain tumor that will kill her, I’m integrating this sadness into my daily life.
I have several optimistic overlays on it too, all as true for me as the sad prospect of watching my mother die sooner rather than later:
1. This is not, for me, a tragedy akin to family and friends who have succumbed to cancer in the middle of their lives. It seems more the natural order of things. 83 or 84 or 85 is a good run at life, and my mother and I agree on this. She has repeatedly said over the last 3-4 years living in Petaluma, CA, that she is happier than she’s ever been in her life, she has long outlived her own parents, longer than she ever expected to, and is thrilled to be living near and feeling connected to her two sons. She has in recent years become increasingly grateful for the small pleasures of life. She seems to have found/made some degree of peace in her life.
2. Knowing she will very likely not live another 5 or 10 years—and I leave room for long shots—she can live life with this knowledge many people don’t receive.
3. She is not in pain. She is conscious, lucid and can communicate as she chooses.
I write this group note to be efficient with my time as I continue to have my own life, which I want to include other topics OTHER than this big one. My life includes not only being available to help my Mom and spending time with her (just 20 miles away) in the months ahead, but also: time with my loving and supportive woman, Amy: time happily making people and TreeSpirit photographs; time being and aware and grateful for the tremendous richness of my life and the number of caring people I am blessed to call friends.
All of this will be informed by whatever happens next, the inevitable pain and the inevitable joys, and none of us knows what this will be. And isn’t this true for everyone?
With love,
Jack
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