My Birthday

    Today is my birthday. As you get older, they’re not really a big deal anymore except maybe for those milestone birthdays. But what I'm reflecting on today is that I am now the same age as my mother was when she passed away 23 years ago at the age of 54. After a 6 year battle with cancer, she had finally succumbed to the disease. It was early Sunday morning on September 13th, 1998, I was working out in the Hamptons finishing up an event. It was my mother’s 54th birthday. My family and I had made plans to celebrate it with her later that day at the hospice care facility in Brooklyn where she had been a patient. My beeper went off at around 2 AM. It was my aunt’s number. I knew right then that my mother had passed away.

My mother in the 1950's

    In June 1992, my mother married for a second time to Walter. Two months later she was diagnosed with breast cancer. She eventually had a mastectomy and then started chemotherapy treatment. Over the next 6 years she had 3 additional surgeries as the cancer returned. The surgeries were always successful as the doctors were able to remove the cancer. Throughout this time she always seemed positive. I think the fact that she had a grandchild and eventually 2 more over the next few years definitely buoyed her spirits. Though she did seem to have a good outlook as far as having the successful surgeries, she never fared well with the chemo treatment.
    Some people refuse chemotherapy because of how awful it makes them feel. They’d rather forgo the treatments and have some sort of quality of life than deal with the miserable side effects that come with chemotherapy. People respond to it differently. It was an awful experience for my mom. She was usually down for 30 days after a treatment. Even though she never defiantly refused treatments or surgeries, a body can take only so much. Subconsciously, I believe she started to give up. She had four surgeries and chemo treatments afterward in a six year period with the last surgery being in January 1998.
    About a month before that last surgery, she was taking a test for her job. She was in a civilian position for the NYPD. To get raises and promotions at New York City government jobs you need to take exams. On the day of the test all of a sudden she wasn’t able to communicate clearly. It was like she was speaking gibberish. The cancer had once returned; this time on her brain, the area that controlled speech. What was so frustrating for her, she had told me later, was that she knew what she wanted to say, but the words just didn’t match. She said that people reacted to her like she was an idiot. They couldn’t understand what she was saying and she was starting to annoy them.
    The cancer was very operable. The surgeon cut a small square in her skull and was able to remove the cancer. Again another successful surgery. I remember being with her in the post op/ICU the very next day and she was able to communicate very clearly. She was joyful that after a month she could finally express herself again. But after the surgery came another round of chemo treatments. I could only imagine all the negative thoughts one can have when they feel so sick. My mom ended up just not going to some of those chemo treatments. It’s quite possible she might have skipped some in previous years. She never was able to return to work and by July the cancer had returned in a big way. It was like the cancer threw everything it had at her to finally defeat my mom.
    Back at the hospital the doctor said she was terminal and gave her six months to live. There was a debate between the family about whether to tell her about her terminal situation. I don’t think after the doctor’s diagnosis she was ever cognizant again. The cancer had returned to her brain so communication and speech was difficult again plus she was on morphine and other pain medications. We never told her of her diagnosis. Now my mother would be in a home hospice situation.
    We got a hospital bed through insurance as well as a nurse to come over a few hours a day on the weekdays. The family decided that one of us would always be present while the nurse was there. Between me, my younger brother, sister in law, step sister and step dad we had it covered. I was attending Brooklyn college at the time and was able to get out to Bensonhurst a few times a week after my morning classes. I would assist the nurse anyway I could, get my mom to drink her Ensures and do any household chores. Some of these times were very stressful. My step sister Katherine, who was also a nurse, was there with me one day. She was trying to change my mom’s bed linens, an important skill to have when the patient cannot leave the bed. My mother started screaming. She was terrified. I wondered later what she thought was happening to her. Did she know who we even were? I always become sorrowful when I reflect on this moment. My eyes are welling up with tears at this moment as I write about it. Not long after that incident, I was home in bed and I suddenly burst into tears like I had never done before. I hadn’t cried once at any time during my mother’s cancer ordeal. The damn burst through as I had to really face the fact that my mom was dying.
    As difficult a time as this was, I do have some pleasant memories of this time. On one particular day,  she was sleeping in her hospital bed that was in the spare bedroom. There was a boom box on a TV tray next to her bed. There was only one cassette tape next to it, Willie Nelson’s Stardust; his album of his favorite pop standards. My mother adored Willie Nelson. Willie’s voice was very soothing when he sang “Blue Skies” as a late summer breeze came through the window, rustling the curtains ever so slightly. I just sat there and watched my mom. At that moment I wasn’t sad or stressed. I was just with my mother who seemed to be resting peacefully in bed. This is a moment that I often reflect on.
    A week later she was put in a hospice as she needed more care than a home hospice situation could provide her. I visited her a few times there but she was never awake or even aware I was there. They had also removed her wig so you saw the tufts of hair that remained after the chemo treatments from months before. Her mouth was agape. She didn’t look like my mother. I sat with her as the buzzing of the machines used to monitor her whirled in the background. That Sunday was going to be her 54th birthday.
    I was out in the Hamptons working for an event lighting company that Saturday night. It was some sort of soiree at a mansion. I was in the middle of striking lights when my Aunt paged me. I spoke to her for about 20 minutes. My first thought was that I had to get back to Brooklyn right away. But then I realized how would I get back and what could I possibly do once I got there? I continued to strike the event. Once the crew and I were finished, I drove the van back to the shop in Manhattan while they slept in the back. I couldn’t sleep so it was no problem to drive the few hours back. Eventually I made it home and met with my family at the funeral home where we made all the arrangements to send her off on her 54th birthday.
     I think about things I would do with her if she were still here. I moved to Seattle about 5 years after my mom passed and thought many times about how nice it would have been for her to visit me there and here in Austin too. I definitely would have taken her to my favorite coffee house in Seattle, Fremont Coffee Company, and sat on the porch with her.  I'm a different person too; hopefully I have matured somewhat. She would have seen my different interests and passions that have emerged, most notably my photography and my exploits on the burlesque stage. She definitely would have got a kick out of that. This September 13th, my mom would have turned 77 years old. She would have changed also. She would have developed new passions and interests. She would have been a grandmother 2 more times and a great grandmother twice. She definitely would have liked that.