Part 6: Why Medicine

Part 5 Part 4 Part 3 Part 2 Part 1 

Here we are: my actual why medicine reasons that I've used in interviews, conversations, drafts in personal statements, and drafts to practice interview questions.  

So, why so many posts when I wrote about months and years after her death? 

Because grief is real.  And it takes a while to figure it out.  And it shapes you more than you could ever imagine.  And grief lasts much longer than the initial stun of loss.

And it took me a long time to come to terms with everything that death means and entails. 

It means- you have to do things without reassurance from one of the people you trust the most.  You have to stumble through taxes, insurance, and adulting and hope you don't screw up without any supervision.  You have no one to co-sign for you.  You have no one to ask about their pregnancies, deliveries, or ask what they did for their babies because their experience will likely be very similar to yours.  You have to cheer yourself on because Moms not there.  You have to actively seek out a relationship with your brother because there aren't parents to make you come together at holidays.  Mother's Day is forever horrible.  Her birthday is ok.  Christmas and Thanksgiving are kind of hard.  Every time "Kryptonite" or "Bleed American" comes on the radio it is a painful reminder of her singing in the car as loud as she can.  There are no more cards in her handwriting with a cheesy smiley face at the end.  I will never receive a text message telling me good luck, I'm proud of you, or I love you again.   There will come a time when I will no longer remember her voice. There was not a proud, crying mom at my college graduation.  There will be no proud parents at my white coat ceremony, my medical school graduation, or the for the first real job I have.  My kids won't know the most influential person in my life or their grandparents.  There is no one left on the planet that will love me no matter what crime, wrong doing, heartache, bad word, or bad action you may or may not do.  Your friend circle loses a spot.  There's no one to ask questions about the past.  There is no one to give you recipes for your favorite childhood foods.  I will never receive another pair of good luck socks.  Other things in life that used to be life shattering, barely warrant a shoulder shrug these days.  You really can't relate with others your age about their parents coming to visit or call or babysit or care packages; and they can't relate to you either.  When you see an acquaintance and they ask, "oh how's your family doing" you have a split second to decide if you will put them in an uncomfortable situation or just roll with it by saying "good".  There's no one anymore to surprise you with groceries when you're in between pay days and sick of ramen.  No one is coming to your rescue anymore so you have to figure out how to rescue yourself.  There's no one on your side sticking up for you anymore.  

The hardest realization, and I'll say it again, is there is no reassurance anymore.  You just do what you think will work and wish mom was there for her wisdom and try to stay strong when everyone else bombards you with their opinions on your life.

I didn't have her to turn to when things got rough with C and I.  I didn't have her when I still didn't know how to cook.  I didn't have her when I wasn't confident enough to even think about applying to medical school.  I won't have her when weird things start happening to me in pregnancy.  I won't have her to ask advice when those kids are being little shitskees.

You take these things for granted.  And people don't understand.  So they say things to reassure you, but you know they have no idea.  Instead it's like they cut you a little deeper. 

"You'll be fine, I lived across the country from my mom when I had babies."  Yeah, you did.  But I'm sure you were on the phone with your mom more than I will ever be.

"Oh it was just us and the baby."  No, it was never just you and the baby.  You're mom was there during your pregnancy and birth and you both own telephones.

"Well I can't talk to my mom right now so she might as well be dead."  No.  You still know in your heart of hearts there is a chance to talk to her again.  I have no chance. Ever. 

I will never speak to my mom in this lifetime.  Her advice is gone.  Everything I could soak up in 20 years is what I have.  I didn't ask life questions because I was a kid.  And those are the questions that I really needed to ask.

It was completely life altering. 

It took a long time to be "okay".  It also took a lot of time to reflect on myself as a person, my identity, and who I was before and who I am now.

I am a kinder and more compassionate person since her passing.  I had a very hard shell and didn't let people in.  Now it's more of a semi-permeable membrane.  I understand loss, grief, anger.  I understand the sadness that cuts to the bone.  I understand being scared.  I understand your frustrations with the unknown.  I understand the panic.

I'm not afraid to fail.  I basically failed my first MCAT and was denied admittance to medical school my first cycle.  If my mom were still alive, I don't think I would have ever even tried to get into the medical field, yet alone take the MCAT multiple times or applied two years in a row to medical schools.  I was not that strong because I had her love and compassion to fall back on.

It may be stupid, but I feel "YOLO" is a perfectly acceptable answer to the above.  Her passing showed me how precious life is and that we only have one go at it.  I will not be afraid to reach my potential, to fail, to feel love, be myself, or to enjoy life.  I refuse to wait for "one day".  Today is as good a day as any other.  I also refuse to live a life that want for me.  This is my life, my chance at what I want.  I was not put on earth to follow anyone's life plan other than my own.

Her death made me strong.   Maybe resilient is a better word.  Things hurt, but I know how to just keep going now.

When my mom passed, I really had to think of what living a life I could be proud of really meant.  

It came with a lot of tears.

Now, to the point.

Why medicine- 

Because of the countless nights I spent with my mom, there was always a doctor there in the middle of the night trying to get her better.

Because when I had a questions, there was always a doctor trying to answer.

Because of the countless tears I cried, there was a doctor handing me a box of tissues.

Because when the doctor told me my mom had 3-4 days, I placed all of my trust in him.

Because grief does weird things to your life and relationships, you grow into the person you want to be or let it break you, and it grew me into a caretaker.

Because it made me more sensitive and tough all at the same time.  Your doctor can't cry when you're in pain; you should be allowed to handle your pain while the doc does their job.  But that doc should also be able to show compassion.  

Because I want to be a role model to young girls thinking they're not smart enough- you can do this! 

Because I have been on the receiving side of medicine, I want to be on the giving side.  I want to have your answers, lose sleep to help your loved one gets better, to hand you a tissue box when you're at your lowest, and for you to put your trust in my hands.  

Because I could do any job, but taking care of your Heath is my dream.  I want to help you be your best self by helping you get healthier and staying healthy. 

Because I am obsessed with the human body and all the amazing things it does from making a new human to making little glycoproteins for antibodies. 

Because I want all the information and training possible to be this person for you.

Because my mom worked really hard to put me in a position to help others, to help you.

Because life is hard, I refuse to give up, and I refuse to give up on you.

Becaue I know I can.  And I know I'll be really good at being this person for you.  

So many times people have said, "why not a nurse, PA, etc"... My why not--- they are very skilled and educated and also very important and necessary components of healthcare; but they do not have the same level of education and training as a physician.  I want to have every tool possible to help you.  I want to know without a doubt of what it is I will be doing to help you.  I do not want to consult with another provider on every patient if I know what is the best care plan for you.  Sure, there will be plenty times I have to consult with my peers, but I will also be used to consult on others patients.  I want all the knowledge and training possible to provide you the best one on one care I possibly can.  I want the responsibility that being this person entails.  

Why medicine is so much more of a feeling then I could ever accurately put into words.  I want it, but I also feel it.  It sounds cheesy, but it's true.  But it's something every premed needs to be able to do.  You need to be able to clearly identify YOUR reasons.  Everyone's why is different, not everyone's why is heartbreak, and not everyone's reason is the same.  Your why can be simple, it's okay.  Your why can be complex, and that's okay too.  Medical schools receive thousands of applications and personal statements each cycle- make YOU shine.  Whatever your why is, know it and make it shine.  It will get brought up in every single interview.

And guess what?  I talked about my mom in every single interview.  It was emotional.  Some interviewers didn't like it (I could tell by the look on their faces), but others saw my compassion and my why more clearly.  I couldn't hide something/someone that played such a huge roll in my why medicine.  I am very passionate about letting others know- you can do this, it's hard but you can do hard things, everyone is very different so focus on what makes you stick out from all the other great GPAs and extracurricular activities.  My why medicine is what my difference was, and I made sure others knew.  

Know your why medicine- it's why you are dedicating your entire life to taking care of others. If you don't know, dig deep and find your why.

You got this.

Part 5: Why Medicine

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

If you're here, you've read about my mom's death and my grief.  After this post there is one more explaining my why medicine and you will have the full story.  

This new life was turning out pretty okay.

C was now full swing into Spring Football.

He was happy.  And it made me happy.

I would take my backpack and books to the university library every day and do my online homework.  This was my social life.  I didn't care.  It was exactly what I needed.

I needed to heal. And not try to people.


I ran with the dog.  A lot.  I did have a lot of free time.  I wasn't working.  All my classes were online.  There is only so many times you can vacuum your apartment.  And there were only so many hours of Maury and Jerry Springer you could watch.  Which I watched every day while C was at football.  Oh day time TV.

I was pretty routine.

Morning-
Watch the end of the Price is Right and all of Let's Make a deal.
Clean the house.
Go running.


Afternoon-
Library for a few hours.
Maury and Jerry.


Night-
C comes home.
Dinner

Looking back it's hard to imagine my life so mundane and basic.  How did I live like this? I was still obviously in zombie mode.  I don't know if I could have handled a "normal" 21 year old life.

I was some shell of a girl I used to be.  The old me would have ran circles around this new me.  I thought I was doing okay at the time but I obviously wasn't.  I was stuck.

Life was better here than in Flagstaff.  I still didn't fully rely on C because I was too scared to.

In February, I had gone to meet with the English Department chair to discuss my English class I had taken at NAU.  The course I had taken was basically an honor's English class.  It combined 101 & 102 into two classes.  I scored fairly high in my ACT testing so I got placed in the class.  I did not want to have to take 102 when I'd basically done a fast track course in it.

The lady had different opinions.  She didn't talk with me about it or anything.  She said "NO" and that was it.

I marched home angry.  I woke C up and told him I was going running because I was so upset.

Sprints. Because that is how mad I was.

I didn't even get a block away from our house.  The sidewalks where we lived were VERY uneven because they were made in the 1930s.I was sprinting.  Tripped on a sidewalk and did some crazy somersault because when I stopped rolling and sat up I was facing the opposite direction I was originally running in.  My shoulder felt weird.  I reached up to touch it and I had a bone protruding.  Something was definitely wrong.  I couldn't push myself up.  Walking hurt.  I definitely couldn't hold the dog's leash.

Luckily, our dog has always just loved my guts so I didn't need to hold the leash.  I let it drag behind him as he followed me home.  I remember breathing in deeply and slowly trying to just concentrate on breathing and not panicking.  I walked up the stairs and woke C up again.  I told him "I fell, something is wrong.  I need to go to the hospital now."
No tears.  The only thing I cried about anymore was my mom.  Pain from anything other than that wasn't true pain.  I was more worried I wasn't insured.  No family=no family health insurance plan.  Full time college kids with no job=no money for health insurance.  I was so scared I just kept talking about how we were going to afford this hospital bill.

C had to text his coach saying he couldn't make lifting because I was in the hospital.  Great first impression.

I had a third degree shoulder separation.  Great timing.

I loved seeing my X-rays.  I loved the doctors looking at it trying to figure out what to do next.  This is what initially got me looking into the medical field seriously. Great life find.

Unfortunately, with all those exciting thoughts came reality.  I couldn't button my pants, I couldn't wash or brush my hair, I couldn't wash my face or armpits, I couldn't get my arm up high enough to clean a dish.  I now fully relied on C to do the simplest of things.

I cut my hair so C had an easier time washing and brushing it.  He would even straighten it for me if I had to look presentable.  Most days he would put it in a braid for me before he went to class.  He would help me button my pants if I had to wear actual pants that day.  I had to wear his shirts because mine didn't stretch enough to put them on without lifting my arm up.  He even had to shave my armpit which was hilarious to me.

I had to rely on C for basically everything.

We didn't know people very well in town yet; we'd only been there a month.  It was just us.  I needed him.

The physical pain did help snap me back to real life.  Well, snap back to C anyway.  

There was this other, beautiful human now willing to take care of me with everything I needed and he even had a smile on his face.

I was not strong at 21 either.  I had to accidentally get hurt to rely on my husband and learn trust.

Why am I telling you about this shoulder injury?

Because I had to relearn trust.  I didn't trust anyone after my mom died- including my husband of all people.  I was fragile and was in survival mode.  I couldn't handle giving another human that much emotional reign over my life again.

I had to trust C that he would do so many basic things for me.  I felt useless and was embarrassed I was not this strong independent woman I'd like to think of myself as.

I was emotionally broken and now I couldn't even brush my hair.  I felt I was at some weird all time low before my shoulder healed.

This part of the story was important because I believe certain things happen for others things to occur.  I had to get physically hurt to jump start my healing of being emotionally hurt.

The hurt is still there.  It's always there.

The emotional pain doesn't go away of her being gone.

It's like the Hulk- he's always angry.

I'm always sad.

But that's how I cope.  I feel the pain and remember how awesome she was and use that to push forward.


I started living once she stopped.  I began living without care of what others thought.  I understood what it meant to live now.  You have one shot to make the most of this tiny amount of life we have here.

I became more ambitious and driven.  I became more free and less judgmental.  I became more kind and loving.  I became less afraid of failing.  I became less afraid of what others wanted from me or wanted me to do.  I started to really live my life.

I am more me because I no longer have someone reassuring me who I am.
I am more me because of the things she instilled in me when I was young.


My mom's best lessons were of pushing forward.  She always, always, always, said, "If you fall off, dust yourself off and get back up" and "How hard could it be?".

How hard could it be is a saying I literally tell myself daily still because of her.

I'm going to be okay because she instilled that mindset into me.  How hard could this really be?  I'm just in the middle of the hard part of the race.

My heart breaks often. I have faithfully cried at every important holiday, at the end of every race I've ran, or accomplishment because she was not there.

Last spring was the first time I felt "me" again.  I am able to fully let go and laugh and have fun.  My laughter is back.  My joy is back.

I have finally learned to live without my mom.  It took over 4 years.  I was me.  And I was going to be okay.

I wasn't strong enough at 20.

But at 25, I was strong enough to move forward.  Not because the number miraculously changed, but because I changed.

Part 5 was fluff but it was important.  It's not gut wrenching sadness like the others have been.  It was 4 years of mending, surprise meltdowns, crying over my mom in the middle of work for no reason, and keeping my head down trying to just survive.  I didn't just survive, I learned how to thrive.  How to enjoy my friends, husband, sunrises, good food, adventures, and the good in everyone.  

It took me a long time to figure out how to be happy after that much sadness swallowed me up.  That was the hardest part.  You never have to try to be sad, but I had to actively try and choose to be happy every day since she died.  That's the difficult journey.

Everything is different from how it used to be and it's gonna be okay.

Part 4: Why Medicine

Start from the beginning here: Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3.

Life dragged on after my mom died.

The next month I hardly remember.

I was a zombie.  I just went through the motions of life.

We were living in C's grandpa's hotel before we moved to Flagstaff in August.


I sat and wrote our thank you notes from our wedding.  I felt bad it was a month later.

C's mom reassured me everyone would understand.

We worked and saved money.


I ran more than I had in my prior life.  Because that's what it was.  There was life when my mom was alive and now there was this new life that she wasn't.

I cried the first mile every day.  The second mile I'd find my courage and know that I was running because my mom couldn't anymore.  The third mile I told myself my mom was running next to me.

This was solace.

This was now normal.


I worked at the hotel so during my lunch break I would go back to our room and play with our puppy and cry.  This fur ball seemed to be the only bit of sunshine I'd let in now.

C didn't know what to say.  His body language showed he was uncomfortable. 

I needed him to talk to me about it.  And all I could see every time I tried to bring it up was the uncomfortableness on his body.

I don't think I laughed for months.


This was now normal.

C's mom and dad helped move us to Flagstaff.

We were supposed to go to Colorado so C could continue playing football.  But I couldn't handle one more life changing event.  So he willingly agreed to move back to Flagstaff with me.

We moved into a tiny studio apartment that I loved.  

I went back to school.  I don't know how I did it.  But I did a month after her death I was sitting in the classroom.

In my head I just told myself, "Mom would be so mad at you for giving up.  Whatever you do, don't give up."

My head was not in class, but I went anyway.

Somehow I pulled out decent grades.  2 B's and 4 A's.  

That was the only good thing that semester.

C and I didn't talk much anymore.  I was convinced we would get divorced before we made it to a year.

I was also convinced he was telling his mom how unhappy he was.  And that made me more upset because I couldn't do that with my mom.

I resented him a little bit for having parents and I didn't.  It wasn't his fault, but I wasn't thinking straight either.

I couldn't blame him for being unhappy.  He was now married to a stranger.  She didn't laugh or smile or have fun anymore.  She went to class and cried most of the night and would lock herself in the bathroom because she didn't want to talk.

We didn't talk about the big "D" word.  But we both knew it was coming.  

How was I supposed to make someone else happy when I hated my life?  I wasn't happy.  I didn't know how to be happy anymore.

Looking back, I was obviously depressed but back then I couldn't lift my head up long enough to realize that.  I was in survival mode. 

My brother was now living with my dad.  My dad was making an effort so I made an even bigger effort.  Than out of nowhere, my dad stopped trying to be a dad, again.  I assumed J would now be coming with us to live.  Because I was all he had left.  I was slightly terrified but knew I could do it. 

My uncle and aunt decided to take him in.  I will never be able to thank them enough for that.  We weren't ready for that kind of responsibility yet but I knew it was what had to be done.  They prolonged my already tainted childhood and I will forever be grateful for that. 

That fall we also had to go through my mom's things.  I hated this.  It was awful.  

My mom was so poor, most of her things were garbage.  I hated seeing how she had been living.  She deserved so much better than the filth she had.

I found hospital papers from January.  So I snooped.  My mom had gone in (unbeknownst to all of us) and was saying there was something wrong.  The doctor's orders: AA.  Alcoholic's Anonymous.  That was it.  

She was dismissed for being a poor, alcoholic and sent away.  I don't blame the doctors.  But it was hard reading.  They did no tests.  Not even a blood test to check her liver enzymes.  So many maybes flooded my head.  Well what if?  It didn't matter.  The what ifs weren't going to bring my mom back.  And that was the only thing I cared about. 

My mom's last drink was in March.  I can't even imagine how sick this made her to just quit without medical help.  Her withdrawals must have been terrible.  It makes me sick to think of how hard her struggle was with no one standing by her.  I was in college and newly engaged.  I was off in la-la land and J was too young to know any better.

Flagstaff life was hard on C and I.  We didn't have fun.  We didn't like eachother.  We just managed.

I ran and ran and ran there.  I ran away from the pain of my moms death.  I ran away from my unhappy marriage.  I ran away from life.

I was still a zombie.  Just going through the steps of life.  I kept telling myself- fake it until you make it.

I felt guilty for now being the reason C couldn't follow his dreams.  He mentioned he wanted to keep playing, so we wrote down a list of colleges and from there decided where we would go.

The school in Colorado was heavily recruiting him.  I just kept crunching the numbers and I didn't know how we would both go there and not be swimming in debt.  New Mexico was so much cheaper.  Although they just got a new coach who wasn't recruiting Cody like the last one was, it seemed to make the most sense.

It was November and we decided that in January we would move to New Mexico.

I was strong now.  I could move away from everyone I knew and be fine.

Our honeymoon cruise had been booked since May.

At the time it was weird we were going to wait to go on a honeymoon, but after life was such a shit show there for a while I'm so thankful we did that.


Before we could do that though, we had to move out of our apartment in Flagstaff.  There was a huge snow storm that closed the freeway between home and there for a few days.  We were home for Christmas and had planned going a few days after to box everything up.  We had to be out by December 31st.  The road finally opened on December 31st.

No one came to help us because no one wanted to miss their New Year's Eve.

C, Chief(the dog), and I made the trek to Flagstaff to move ourselves.

The high that day was 14 degrees.

C and I moved the heavy couches, the dressers, everything.  Just me and him.

We bonded over being upset that no one came to help us move in the snow.  We bonded in our team work that we were forced to do to get the task alone.

We now understood; it was us against the world and together we could do it.

We were finally all packed up and our apartment cleaned by 11pm.  We ate and left.  The roads were still horrible.  We had a trailer with a tarp over all our things.  It had kept snowing that day.  It was slow going getting home.


We shared a New Year's kiss in the truck somewhere on I-40.  

We got home around 2:30-3am.  It had kept snowing.  No one had shoveled the driveway.  We were finally home!  And the truck and the trailer with everything we owned got stuck in the driveway in the snow.  It was too cold, and we were too tired.  We left all our things to freeze outside and went to bed.


I was so much stronger, I moved my own crap in the snow.  I'll show my 20 year old self how hard I was going to rock 21.

It was finally time to leave on our honeymoon.

We had just moved ourselves in the freezing cold and gotten stuck in snow.

And we were getting on a plane to Miami to go on a cruise to the Bahamas.  It was the best thing in the entire world.

No more snow.  We left all the trailer in his Great-Grandma's garage while we went on this cruise.

C was going to miss a week of school because when we booked it we were on NAU's schedule which would still be on Winter Break and it was going to cost thousands of dollars to change the dates so C chose to miss school instead.  I decided I would just go online at NAU still.  I was life crisis-ing still and wasn't ready for all that entailed me to make the transfer.


The cruise was amazing.
It was beautiful.

We were smiling and happy because we were finally somewhere that our responsibilities were not.  They couldn't find us in the middle of the ocean.

On Nassau, we parasailed.  This was the first time I had really laughed that I could remember.  And C was next to me experiencing it with me.

On Half Moon Cay we had a beach day.  We suntanned and played in the water.  We even got a little PDA going on. Making out in the waves.  In the Bahamas.  Was this real life?

At Grand Turk we went snorkeling at a few sites.  The local driving the boat handed out these home made drinks- his specialty he said.  C and I glanced at each other, knowing what it was - so we quickly drank it before anyone else asked what it was either.  We giggled feeling a little rebellious together again.


On the boat, we played mini putt, went to the comedy shows, ate 12 pounds of pizza and frozen yogurt, watched the big NCAA Championship game on the huge screen on deck, lathered each other in sun screen, and did all the typical honeymoon things.  We had to talk to each other.  We were the only ones on the entire boat we knew.  And there was no cell service or internet to break each other's company.  Just us. And an entire boatload of strangers.  It might has well been just us on the boat.  Because that's all we cared about.

We were falling in love again. When we hadn't been for 5 months.

Not even a month ago I was sure that C and I would be divorced within a few months.

After this experience together-  between having to move ourselves in the worst possible conditions and then being able to fully enjoy each other again in paradise, I knew.  I knew that I would never leave this man.  And he would never leave me.  We'd came so far only because we did it together.   We would be okay, as long as we always stayed a team.

And I've been sticking to him ever since.

When our flight touched down in Phoenix, we quickly went over to Phoenix Children's Hospital, because that was where C's little brother was and his parents.  We stayed the day there with them then we picked up our puppy and drove the 5 hours to New Mexico.

Our belongings were still back home.  All we had was a suitcase full of clothes made for the tropics and our dog in his kennel.

We drove to New Mexico in the middle of the night because C had to go to class the next day.  I had never been there.   My first time being there was when we were moving there.  We drove by the apartments we thought we would probably end up moving into when we got in late that night.  I almost started crying.  There were bars on the door. BARS ON THE DOOR!  How was I going to live in a place where everyone had BARS ON THEIR DOORS!  We stayed in a Super 8 that night.  When C was done with class the next day we met up the property management place to look at the inside of the apartments.  It was nice enough.  It was about 3 times the size of our studio in Flagstaff and about $450 less a month.  We took it and signed the paper work then and there.

It would take a day for our paper work to go through so we stayed in Super 8 again.

The next day we got the keys to our new apartment.  All we still had was our suitcases and our dog.

We laughed and went to Walmart.  We bought only the necessities- a comforter, 2 pillows, 2 towels, and a puzzle.

We slept on the floor of our brand new apartment for the first week living out of a suitcase with our little travel size toiletries, our dog, and keys to a new life.

And this was the happiest we had ever been in our married life.

That weekend we went back home and C's uncle and his wife helped us move all our crap in.  They didn't have to help- but they did and we were so thankful because it would have been just us again moving all our crap into a new apartment.


This was now our normal life.

Which was so much better than our prior normal life in Flagstaff.

We liked each other again.  I was still really distant.  I didn't fully let C in.  I was too scared to show him how weak and lost I was.  But I wanted him in.  

Grieving is hard.  It changes you 

Part 3: Why Medicine

I still find it hard to articulate into a few sentences "why medicine."  Thus the 6 blog posts.  

If you're just tuning in to my 6 part series on my "Why Medicine" check out Part 1: Why Medicine and Part 2: Why Medicine to get the full story.

The day we got back from Phoenix was C's family's annual camping trip- which doubled as a family reunion.

There was no cell service.


While camping I pushed my mom out of my thoughts.  She'd be out of the hospital by the time we got back anyway.


While we drove back from camping I listened to my voicemail.

I had a few from my mom.

In a very strained and hushed voice was my mom. 
She said, "Thanks for always donating blood.  I'm getting a transfusion right now. I love you."


As soon as I got this voicemail I kept trying to call her phone all day but she wouldn't answer.  I figured she had left it on vibrate and couldn't hear it or the battery had died.

We got back to the house and showered because I turned into a quasi-cave woman while camping.

When I got out, my aunt was calling me.  I answered it and she said my mom was intubated and still in the ICU.  That was it.  That's all I knew.

I was 20.  What in hell did that mean?  What was I supposed to do?

I was in a haze.  What do I do?  I told Cody and he started helping me pack to go down there.  I don't even remember packing.  I just remember sitting in the car not being able to wrap my head around what had happened. I don't even know if I got out of the car and helped pack my things or not.

All I kept thinking was take some of my liver.  Take it from me. I don't need it all. Just let her be ok.

As we pulled into a gas station I felt like I needed to call someone.  Anyone.  I called my grandma.  She was my dad's mom.  She was always there for me growing up.  I told my grandma and she said, "Are you ok? Do I need to come get you to go there?"  I explained Cody was getting gas and we'd be there soon.

I hung up with my grandma..  I felt like I needed to tell others.  But who?  I called my uncle.  He asked a bazillion questions like he always does.  I don't remember really answering any of them other then him saying, "Are you ok?" "Is Cody driving?" "Is Jeffrey okay?"

We drove back to Phoenix.

I was on the phone with my another uncle and he was telling me how to get to the hospital and what room she was in.

We got to the hospital in the room he said and it was empty.

We were in the wrong freaking hospital.

This was before everyone had smartphones.

Luckily, I had a TomTom.  We plugged in the name of the hospital and listened to the stupid automated voice tell us to get on the same road and go across the street.

When we made it I went in and saw my mom.

My brother didn't want to.  But I drug him in.  C didn't feel like enough of the family yet but I drug him in anyway too.

She looked horrible.

Her hair was flat and plastered against her head. 
Her skin was another shade of yellow.
Her intubation tube drying out her lips.
And her body gagging on the intubation tube every so often.
Her pink nail polish was chipping.
She even smelt like there was something wrong with her.


I hated the sight of it.

She was supposed to have a biopsy that day to see exactly what it was.  But she got pneumonia instead and had to be intubated.  That biopsy would never happen.  She never got healthy enough to do it.

I stayed there for a few days but then decided I wanted to get away for the 4th of July.  I needed it.  I needed the fireworks.  I ran into one of my old soccer coaches at the festival and explained to her what was going on.  She just held me.  That was exactly what I needed.  I needed someone who loved me to hug me. A mom hug.

I went back down to Phoenix because they took my mom off the intubation.  She was convinced her Physical Therapist was a pervert.  I laughed and thought she was ridiculous.  She'd been so sick that her muscles atrophied and she needed the guy to help her to be able to walk again. I had no idea that this kind of damage could happen so quickly.

She was so embarrassed.  She had a catheter as well as a bowel catheter.  Her hands were too shaky to get food into her mouth.  So I sat on her bed and helped her eat her weird gelatinized food.  It was gross. And weird.

She was getting better!  She'd be fine.  The doctor's said she'd never be able to live alone again- but I knew they were crazy.  She was going to be fine. 
She had to be.  She was sitting up in bed and talking to me.  She was going to be fine.

We just kept talking and laughing.  Everything was going to be ok.

My mom told me I should go wake-boarding with my brother the next day at my uncles since we'd spent so much time in the hospital.  So I did.  I stayed as late as was physically possible for her talking.  I told her I had to go back to work but that promised I would be back in 4 days for her birthday.

While I was at the lake I texted my mom off and on. We drove home directly after the lake because I had to work early in the morning.  I was thinking about what I'd get my mom.  I'd get her some new eye shadow and take her on a date!  Yes, a movie and dinner she hadn't done either of those things in such a long time.  In the middle of that same night they intubated my mom again.

She had aspirated some of that weird gelatin food and was having a hard time breathing.

I thought it would be the same again- she'd get better and wake up again.  I worked my 3 days and got someone to cover for me.  I was there on her birthday like I promised, July 13th with her new makeup and a card explaining our date.

One of my cousins had brought a huge hokey flamingo to hang in her room - her absolute favorite - to make her feel better.  Every year growing up she made sure we had those hideous plastic flamingos in our garden because they made her smile.  She knew they were tacky but it always made her smile.  I put the card I got her as well as other cards people gave her.  And I'd read them to her when I thought she needed a boost.

This time was different.

Now she had a feeding tube along with her intubation tubing.  I hated it.  I hated the color of her "food" and the noises all her monitors and machines made.

The next day they put these weird compression things on her legs.  They were to help prop her ankle up as well as push blood back up to her heart.  I can still hear the sound those things made.  Brrrrrrrrep. Rep. Rep. Rep. Brrrrrrrrrep. Repetitive.  Repetitive. Repetitive.  Never a change in pitch or in timing.


And this was our life for a few days.  I stayed every night in the hospital with her.  Because I didn't want her to be afraid.  During the day when other people would go to be with her I'd go to my aunts house, shower and grab some food.. Everyone said I needed a break from that place.  But every time I was gone my mind was only on one thing; getting back to her as quick as possible.

One morning they took the repetitive compression boots off.  I knew something was wrong.

The doctor came in later that day and explained that my mom was not going to get better.  And that it was our choice of when to take her off life support.

I don't remember the day.  My life stopped spinning. I don't know what calendar day it was.

I'm guessing it was around July 16th.  Who knows.  Who cares.

Two weeks prior my grandpa - her dad- had made his long trip back to Missouri since he had made the trek for my wedding.

We decided to wait until he could get back to Arizona to take her off of life support.


The doctors told us, "it could be any minute from when we take her off that she dies."

It wasn't. 

I hung on every breath after they took her off of life support...

Nothing happened.  She just kept doing her thing.  

Breathing and sleeping.  Sleeping and breathing.

I was mad they made me think I needed to brace my self like that.

She stayed like this for another day.  The doctors then asked how I felt about hospice, I said we should do it.  They warned that she might not make the transport over- that it'd be too much for her body.  I said I'd ride with the ambulance so she wasn't alone.

Nothing happened.

She was fine.

Breathing and sleeping.  Sleeping and breathing.

Now we wait in hospice. Hospice was an odd place.

What do I do now?  My life had been sleeping at hospitals and hospice in a recliner sofa next to my mom for the past few weeks.

Not what?

I guessed it was best to go back to my aunt's house for the night.

We walked in and we went straight to the room we were staying at.  I closed the door behind me not wanting to see anyone.  I laid on the floor with my new puppy who just wanted to cuddle and lick my face off.  Tears streaming down my face the entire time.

This was now my life.

That night I couldn't stop crying.  The picture of my mom's death kissed faced kept playing in my mind every time I shut my eyes.  It has horrible.  How was I going to sleep seeing such a horrendous vision?

C sang to me to help me get to sleep.  He did this for a few weeks every night because it was the only soothing thing to me.

My mom had always said she didn't want a funeral.  She just wanted the people she loved most to get together and celebrate her life.

That's what we did.  There was no funeral.  No eulogy.  

For the next few days I went to my grandma (dad's stepmom's) home.  She told me she would help me scrapbook pictures of her as a guest sign in would be great.  She didn't.  She slept or would run off to go shopping.  When she returned and saw what I did all she said was, "Eh, that's ok for your first time scrapbooking."

Scrapbooking was horrible.  All I did was look at these fun and lively photos of my newly dead mom.  

I needed so badly for someone to be strong for me and I thought she was going to be. 

That weekend we had people over at my aunt's house to celebrate my mom.  

As I sat at my aunt's house with people telling us sorry and other crap I didn't want to hear, I was okay.  I wrote a little blurb about my mom for the obituaries.  I was going to be okay.

The next day I wanted to go home with C and finally start our life.

He loaded up the car.  I was fine.  No tears.  My aunt's house had been "home base" for the last few weeks for me to shower and eat and occasionally sleep at.

The moment we drove off was the hardest I've ever cried in my entire life.  

As we drove back home, I was uncontrollably crying.  Leaving home base meant this was for real.  My mom had really died.  She really wasn't coming back.  

I would never again receive an uplifting text.  I would never hear my chipper mom say, "It's gonna be a great day, alright!" in the morning again.  

I would never see her again.

And this was now "normal" life for me.

What am I supposed to do now with my life?  This was not normal. 

I wanted to be stronger.  But there was nothing.  I had nothing left to give or feel.