I remember...

I was offsite in a team training workshop related to patient safety, and stepped out to take a call from Diane. She had informed me that the increasing fatigue, headache and fever finally put our mom in the ER. The suspicion then as it would be for the next few days was that her system was fighting off an exotic insect bite, one she apparently received when escorting her summer kids to a local recreation area. In fact, her temperature and other symptoms presented before the end of her summer program, but she waited--as Lawlers do--until the program finished and her students graduated. I'm sure she associated the fatigue with having monitored boisterous teens with hyperactive hormones for several weeks.

Whatever the case, the symptoms had manifested to a point where medical attention was needed. Perhaps it was Lyme disease, West Nile virus, a yet unknown parasite surely to be named the Super Exotic Mary Lawler Parasite. She checked into the Emergency Department with an unknown condition that July day; she'd soon check out with an unwanted diagnosis.

Back at work, I recall remarking to my boss that my mom had a mystery illness that might send me south if things progressed. I remember being fairly flippant and casual at first. I alerted colleagues as symptoms progressed and we collectively began problem solving, ruling out encephalitis, parasitic infections, allergic reactions. I remember stumbling over brain tumors and stroke noting the parallels to mom's symptoms but not giving it much thought--after all, internet based diagnoses can be far from accurate and to believe that her symptoms pointed to something so severe would seem like a hypochondriac. Mustn't fly off the deep end.

Mom's symptoms were worsening. She had lost almost complete bladder control, use of legs, arms---left side weakness had taken hold, considerably limiting overall mobility. Speech was also affected. I remember calling her. The voice on the other end was higher pitched, slow, weak, almost childlike. I remember Diane saying that the doctors seemed anxious as they waited for the MRI---that it seemed quite serious. Something wasn't adding up. I remember stating as much to colleagues, becoming more and more concerned until finally I got the call. In a hurried and shaky voice, Diane told me to find some place private. Out in the hallway, I hurriedly ducked inside my office, closed the door, sat down and braced for impact. She said, "Erin it's a brain tumor".

I began to shake, remember yelping as if someone sucker punched me, screamed what! more than a few times, calmed down a minute later, and then talked logistics. Where is the brain tumor, how large is it, what does this mean, I'll call Jill and begin research. Stepped out into the hallway to find my colleagues waiting to embrace me...something I will never forget.

That night, I called friends, shored up their support, and then waited. Waited for the sun to set in DC, and for the sun to rise in Bangkok. I texted. Skyped. The hour long process of trying to wake Jill was the most agonizing and helpless feeling. She finally woke up, and I could finally break her the news. I remember crying, but mostly remember the silence--simply sharing time and space as we came to terms with the news and what might be in store.