Shutta Crum

I must apologize for not posting any new entries lately. The reason is that my mother is seriously ill, and I have been spending a great deal of time at her bedside with my siblings and other family members.

This illness has come as a real surprise to us. She has always been a strong woman. In the Appalachian mountains of southeastern Kentucky she helped raise her ten siblings (Yes, I said ten! There were eleven children—Mom was number two, the oldest girl. And no running water. Can you imagine that? Laundry was done for many years in a large kettle over an outdoor fire.), then she raised her own four (And that can’t have been easy, knowing myself and my siblings.), and then she took care of Dad with his Alzheimer’s for almost ten years.  Little did we know about her condition. She was rarely ill, and had only been hospitalized once in the last thirty years for an elective surgery.

She complained of stomach pain starting near the end of September. By Oct 20th she was hospitalized. A week later we learned that she has inoperable cancer of the liver. Radiation or a liver transplant are not options. Our only hope is that she may respond to chemotherapy. However, the chemo that is being given is not as strong as a normal dose due to another problem with her kidneys.

Needless to say, we have been angry, sad, disoriented, and frightened. Many of you have read my blog entries about my father and his battles with Alzheimer’s Disease. We had worked on preparing ourselves for Dad’s diminishment. But we never dreamed that we might be facing the same with my mother—at the same time.

Mom is still young. At 75 she is eight years younger than Dad. This past summer, after we finally settled Dad into an assisted living situation, she went to Montana to visit family, and drove herself from Michigan to Kentucky over Labor Day weekend! She had a great time, and everyone thought she looked ten years younger now that Dad was living elsewhere. Little did we know.

Now, I fear, we have so little time left with her—especially if the chemo doesn’t work. Here are a couple of favorite photos:

I love how young and happy she is here!

A young grandmother.

Listening to all the beeps and bubbles of various tubes and machines, I sit by her and watch her fitful sleep. The prognosis is not good, but I pray she fights for any extra days she can give us. It is selfish of me, selfish of my siblings and other family members who love her so . . . we know that. But the thought of being on this earth without her is just so unthinkable.

My sister told her, “Mom, I’d fight this battle for you if I could.”  We all would.

Cherish your moms—and your dads, as well.

Shutta