It was Friday, May 23, 2014. I had been home from Fairleigh Dickinson University for over a week. My dad and I sat in chairs in my mom’s hospital room. Her latest visit to hell was due to a combination of factors related to her declining health.
A woman in a white lab coat shuffled into the room. I knew who it was immediately.
After a minute or two of general conversation about how my mom felt that day, it was time for my mom’s oncologist to have “the talk.”
“I think that it’s time to stop treatment,” she said. “You are getting all of the nasty side effects of the chemo but none of the benefits. It’s time to focus on getting you home and having hospice.” Continue reading