For the most part I try not to talk about my mother’s cancer. When she was first diagnosed, I really didn’t want to talk about it with anyone. It was too soon, too new, too hard, and all too real. I think I have tried to avoid the subject because it is so much easier to pretend that its not really happening. I just tried to convince myself that everything was fine and it would all blow over eventually. But then it didn’t. The prognosis just kept getting worse.

I remember when I first realized my mom was sick. I had just moved to Nashville so I spoke to my mom on the phone pretty often. I noticed her voice sounded different. It was hoarse, but not soar throat hoarse… something was definitely off. She would cough uncontrollably. I begged her to go to the doctor. We actually got in an argument about it once. She eventually went to get it checked out and the doctor thought she had acid reflux. Some of the symptoms of acid reflux are dysphagia (difficulty swallowing) and hoarseness. So the diagnosis was believable. But after more than a month of taking medicine to treat it, her voice still sounded funny. Eventually she went to an ear, throat, and nose specialist and they found her tumor.

My parents right before mom's diagnosis
I will never forget that call. I was driving to Zoe’s to pick up some food on my lunch break. My dad called my cell. I answered it and immediately knew something was wrong. “Jaime, your mom has been diagnosed with cancer.” It was like a dagger in my stomach. I felt nauseous. I felt weak. I felt helpless. Then I started balling. I couldn’t control myself. I couldn’t stop sobbing. “Are you sure dad? Is she going to be ok? I want to come home right now, I want to be with you guys!” I could tell my dad was crying. My dad crying? Until that point I didn’t even know that was possible. I knew things were really bad.
The feelings I felt that day are really hard to explain. It was such a deep sadness. I had never felt anything like it. I was sad and even mad in some ways. Why my mom? She was supposed to have a sore throat, at the very worst tonsillitis. She was only 48 years old when she was diagnosed. She wasn’t a smoker. HOW DID SHE HAVE THROAT CANCER?! It wasn’t fair. I was devastated and wanted to drive to Spartanburg to be with my family. I called Erik and he came and found me hysterically crying in the parking lot.
Do you remember when you were little and you would cry so hard it was actually hard to breathe? Then your stomach would start convulsing and you couldn’t even say a full sentence? Yeah, thats how I was. I was helpless, like a little three year old. My whole world was crashing down right in front of me and I didn’t know what to do.
At first we thought her cancer was stage two. Treatable and not life-threatening. Less than a week later they determined it was stage four. When I got that news, I didn’t know much about cancer. So I didn’t really know what “stage four” meant. So I was upset but a little clueless. Within a week she was going to Wake Forrest for a major operation. The doctors determined they had to remove her larynx. We knew this was going to be a possibility but we didn’t realize it was going to happen so soon. We had planned to have mom tape record herself talking. Making funny remarks, telling jokes, telling stories… that way whenever we missed hearing her voice we could just listen to one of her recordings. Unfortunately the procedure happened so fast, there was no time to prepare, and no time to record her voice.
I was in Nashville at Mercy Ministries the day of her operation. It was on the same day we had the Christmas celebration for the girls in the home. As I sat in the Mercy home, watching the girls open their gifts, I worried about my mom’s outcome. My dad finally called, several hours later than I expected. The surgery had taken longer than the doctor originally thought it would take. Those were the longest hours of my life. The surgery went well. They removed mom’s larynx without any major complications. It was a blessing. But at the time it felt like a curse, at that very moment I realized I would never hear my mom’s voice again. So now, I call home when I know everybody is gone, that way I can hear her voice on the answering machine. I close my eyes and pretend it is her talking to me. I usually cry when the machine beeps. Cancer really sucks!

Luckily my mom is a fighter and her strength has been an inspiration to everyone around her. I think I am done writing about her cancer today. Its wearing on me a bit. I will try to finish writing about it some other time.