This is my mother. This is the face of brain cancer.
Beautiful, isn't she? 60 years old and secretary of a school she loved dearly with all her heart.
With the ALS challenge, I've been watching a lot of videos. A lot of heartbreaking videos about what the disease does to people; does to families (and I encourage you to donate whatever you can at http://www.alsa.org/ - they have done a phenomenal job raising awarness and funds).
My mom didn't have ALS - she had brain cancer. So before this post gets confusing, let me explain: watching these past few weeks what people go through with ALS made me think about the injustice that so many awful diseases present the world with today. Robbing good people of the opportunity to live long, healthy lives. And thus, reminded me of my mom's journey. I want to share with you the face of brain cancer, and how it changes over time. The picture above is what my mom looked like right before her brain cancer diagnosis in 2004.
This is her three months after.
Still smiling even when the rest of us couldn't. Lying in a hospital bed in our living room. Diagnosed in mid-April 2004; told on July 3, 2004 that she had days, maybe a couple weeks, left to live.
I remember when the next photo was taken; right after Mom had been given those three days or so to live. I was sitting there and every second that ticked by, all I could think was "That's one less second with her now." Brain cancer isn't the only disease, sadly, where families go through moments - or months - like this; wondering what tomorrow will be like or how much time is left.
The cancer robbed her of her hair; the steroids added on weight. Her physical appearance changed so much. What didn't change was that infectious smile. Even in the hardest moments, she smiled and pushed on and crushed any of the survival numbers the doctors uttered. Three days turned to three weeks turned to three months turned to 13 months. Friends and family visited and she began sitting up again, battling back.
She was surrounded by love. All of us were surrounded by love. The pictures below show how she changed over the months. Her skin became fragile from the medications and she bruised so easily. Her hair grew back in tufts - curly tufts. She lost use of her right side. She stopped saying more than a word or so at a time, and most of the time, it didn't make sense.
But she pushed on, and that's why I share these pictures. I don't want the year she fought to be hidden. I don't want her bravery and her gusto to be forgotten. I don't want to erase the days where family and friends reminded us how good people can be and how loved someone can feel. She didn't fight for herself; she fought for all of us. And hopefully, someday, someone will find a cure and the timeline photos of brain cancer warriors will all look like their "before" photos.
I even took a picture towards the end where mom was smiling - the last time she smiled at us. (I'm not posting that though; I want that photo to stay something special.) She was beginning to really sleep more and had stopped talking, and this particular day she started smiling again. I wanted to capture that smile once more because I wanted to remember that even in the worst of times, mom was a fighter.
Love and miss you, Mom. Sending a hug to all the warriors and caregivers of all diseases, and those who are missing their loved ones.