Doc Hop

Well, folks — it’s been a long week, but I’m gearing up for an even longer weekend. For the first time since I moved to Miami, I will be leaving the city to visit family. I only wish it were under better circumstances.

As most everyone who reads this probably knows, about four years ago my mother had a lung transplant to combat the severe emphysema she had developed about three years prior. She grew up in a coal mining town and started smoking at a relatively young age, but while her sickness was not surprising, it was none-the-less devastating.

My father died of lung cancer when I was six, and the thought that my mom was dealing with similar issues caused me to break down. It’s been a hard couple of years, but somehow we’ve made it through, only slightly worse for ware.

The other night I got a call from my Aunt Martha telling me that my mom was having trouble breathing and had to be taken to the emergency room. She has Respiratory Syncytial Virus (RSV), which doctors think she most likely contracted from a child. After tons of X-rays, tests and IVs, it appeared she had a spot on her lung. Physicians had to perform a biopsy.

Talk about scary. When doctors removed my mom’s lung four years ago they found that it was cancerous. After a ton of testing, physicians determined that she was once again cancer free, and for year’s we’ve tried to put it out our minds. Now it’s becoming increasingly impossible to ignore.

While we were supposed to receive the results of the biopsy at 3 p.m. yesterday, my mom never heard anything — which I’m hoping is a good sign. When my mom asked a doctor about it earlier in the day they told her not to worry about it because she had such a bad case of RSV that the cases had to be related, but I won’t be able to breath easy until I see a clean bill of health.

Which is why I’m taking tomorrow off of work to visit. An Amtrak train runs from Miami to Tampa and will drop me two miles from the hospital. There is a bus that runs from the train station to Tampa General’s front door, so by 6 p.m. I should be by her bedside.

Truth be told, while our relationship used to be really strong, it’s been kind of strained as of late — probably because after my dad died it was easier for me to cut people off than face losing them. I haven’t been a great daughter, but I’m going to take steps to change that. I can’t wait to see my mom again and work to repair our relationship. More than anything, I just want her to know I’m there.

“[A] mother is one to whom you hurry when you are troubled.” — Emily Dickinson, poet, (1830-1886).