For the 12th and final time, my Mom arrived at the infusion center of Fargo’s Roger Maris Cancer Center Wednesday morning (August 10) wearing her yellow hat, her yellow t-shirt and her yellow tennis shoes.
Yellow was the color she chose to wear for all her “chemo” days. And to celebrate this last of a dozen sessions, she gave her caregivers in the infusion center a basket of flowers from her garden. She included a card expressing her affection and gratitude for all the tremendous care she received, and signed it: “The Lady in Yellow.”
For the past six months, my parents (Donn and Ruth Reichert) made the nearly two-and-a-half hour trip from their farm outside of Clearbrook, Minn., to Fargo for Mom’s chemotherapy every other week, and after each session I enjoyed hearing about all the people who admired her yellow attire … particularly her tennies.
When Mom was diagnosed with colon cancer in early January (following a colonoscopy the week after Christmas), my whole family was in shock, disbelief and fear. During the past few years my Dad had endured successful treatments for prostate cancer and melanoma … and now we were facing a new round of anxieties about cancer.
How bad is it? Has it spread? How will it be treated? Many people I know have endured these questions related to themselves or to people they love. Cancer is an ominous disease … and just the mention of it raises so many fears.
My Mom was stoic, and with my Dad at her side, she moved swiftly toward seeking a plan for treatment.
By mid January she moved forward with a painful surgery to have her large intestine (where the tumor lived) and a bit of her small intestine removed. Not only did she endure a painful recovery from this very intense surgical procedure, she also had to adapt to living with an ostomy pouch. Fortunately, the cancer only spread to just a few lymph nodes near her intestine. The prognosis was (and is) good. The diagnosis came in enough time to make chemotherapy a very viable and successful option for her.
Chemotherapy could not begin, however, until she had significant healing from sugery. As she waited and as she healed, Mom used the time to thoughtfully considered how she could best embrace chemotherapy.
No wigs for her! If she lost her hair, she would wear yellow baseball hats. She ordered several hats from a mail-order catalogue during her rehabilitation from surgery. (Mom, fortunately, did not lose her hair. It’s thinner, but still looks good.)
Over the years we have often teased Mom about all the mail order catalogues she receives, however, they proved to be very useful for her in her quest for yellow clothing, including her yellow tennies!
I don’t think anyone can truly prepare for the impact of chemotherapy treatment. The chemicals injected into one’s system are harsh. Mom’s side effects included weakness in her limbs, numbness in her hands and feet, incredible sensitivity to cold and heat, sores in her mouth, burning eyes, and some loss of hair. Her skin is pale and very sensitive to sunlight. I’m sure there were other side effects she never mentioned. Every chemo treatment involved three hours of fluids injected through a port implanted under her skin near her collarbone. Then she would wear a portable chemotherapy pump for two days at home.
I refer to this process as a journey, because it’s like one super long road trip. “Are we there yet?” Every treatment was like a stop along the way, and on Wednesday, Mom finally reached her destination.
She counted the weeks during this journey … and we could anticipate that the week following each chemo treatment would not be so good. The second week, however, was always better. Mom looked forward to this week. It was a time where side effects subsided enough for her to tend to a few tasks around the house and to pursue her hobbies … such as jigsaw puzzles and designing jewelry.
As Mom prepared for her final chemo session, I asked if I could go along. For months I heard about the people who cared for her … and I wanted to see this process for myself.
My sister (Donna Martin) and I joined Mom and Dad in Fargo on Wednesday for her final session at the infusion center. I had never seen chemotherapy administered before. It was very comforting to meet the people who gave Mom superb care.
Ecstatic that her chemotherapy was over, Mom admitted it was a bittersweet day. While thrilled that she would no longer have to endure these treatments and their side effects, she told each of her caregivers in the infusion center that she was going to miss them … very much. They all urged her to stop in during future appointments with her oncologist Dr. Preston Steen. As one nurse said: “We really enjoy seeing people as they progress in their recovery.”
One of her favorite nurses told me that morning that between 70 and 80 people pass through their infusion center each day. As an observer, it didn’t seem possible. I was impressed by how the infusion team makes each patient feel as if she or he is the only person who matters.
The Lady in Yellow walked out of the center Wednesday morning with an aura of triumph. “I really feel that the cancer is gone,” she proclaimed. I was so proud by her optimism and by the way she embraced all the challenges thrown her way this year.
When Mom told me about her new yellow look last winter, I was amused and pleased. Yes, I thought, yellow is a very good choice. It’s an optimistic color. It’s a healing color.
But after spending time with her at the Roger Maris Cancer Center on Wednesday, I realized that I truly didn’t understand the depth of what Mom was really expressing. A yellow hat, t-shirt and tennies were not a lighthearted way to diminish the seriousness of her cancer and to simply cheer herself and those around her.
Instead, she was making a bold and defiant statement that this disease, which inflicts millions of people every year, would not take control of her life.
During the span of 12 chemotherapy treatments, The Lady in Yellow demonstrated that cancer treatment can be faced bravely … and that she can look forward to a future that is cancer free.
