The Neverending Story

The squeamish may leave now. Bye, LL Cool Joe, see you next time.

I mentioned a couple of posts ago that my step-mum was going to have surgery due to the slight possibility of cancer in her large intestine. Details are in the previous post, but briefly, the doctors decided to remove one third of her large intestine and biopsy it. I was told that this was going to be done with a laparoscopic procedure, that the risk of infection was minimal, and that after a few weeks for her body to adjust, she could live a perfectly normal life without that 1/3 of her intestine. Kind of like having your tonsils out, or an appendectomy, I guessed. It didn't seem too bad.

I was concerned for my step-mum, and also for my father and my sister. We're pretty close relative to the average family of the type, whether you want to call it "blended", "post-divorce" or "we don't care so much about labels because we love each other". I prefer the latter.

My step-mum has always been incredibly sweet to me. I've known her since I was a kid. I was 13 years old when I was offered the chance to listen to her pregnant belly through a stethescope. I can still remember the sounds of my sister gurgling in the womb, like she was scuba-diving in there.

When I was 22 my primary parents (mum and step-dad) renovated our house. The builders kicked us out of it for 6 weeks so that they could mess around with the utilities without having to worry about our well-being. My sister, who had always wanted a chance to live with her big sister, offered to loan me her room. She slept in our dad's office, just for the sake of having me there. I hope I was worth it.

It was really weird moving into their house. I had never felt much a part of that family before, not back in those days. I felt like an outsider who didn't belong. I was nervous and self-conscious. My father seemed happy to have me there, but what amazed me was how welcoming my step-mum was. She basically told me to consider myself at home, in the warmest possible way. This despite the fact that their house wasn't large, and I was a more or less alien intruder into their living space. Back then, we didn't know each other very well.

Things were very different than at my regular house. For example, at home I was only allowed to have one box of cookies open at a time. In my step-mum's kitchen, there was choice! There was abundance! You could select the type of cookie you were in the mood for, or browse through a wide selection of opened boxes of herbal tea. The decadence of it all made my head spin.

My step-mum has never treated me as less than a fully-fledged family member. Coming from my experience, in which my actual blood family has often made me feel unwanted, I appreciate this more than I can say.

When she went in for her surgery, my father used a blog format to update all their friends and family on her progress. I was shocked by what I read.

The surgery went well, but her recovery was a nightmare. Allergic reactions to her painkillers; excruciating pain; horrible nausea; middle-0f-the-night trips back to the emergeny room; it never seemed to end.

All this week I've kept my eyes fixed on that blog, imagining every horrifying detail. I'm stressed out just from reading about it online. I can't imagine how it was to live it, for my step-mum or for my father and sister who are caring for her. They couldn't seem to catch a break. Every time my father posted that she was doing a little better, there would be another crisis in short order. They've barely slept at all this week.

The suffering that they've been experiencing is beyond imagining. It's been breaking my heart knowing what they've been going through.

But finally, finally things seem to be settling down. My step-mum has had two good nights in a row, safely in her own bed at home. There's a long road ahead, but she'll make it.