Grandmommy
By: Andra, 6th grade
It was January 15th, 2005. We were celebrating my Grandmommy and Papaw’s 50th wedding anniversary in a small room at the Merrick Inn that was filled with 17 people. They were all on my dad’s side of the family. We sat and told funny stories, ate a ton of food that Grandmommy and Papaw paid for, and listened to my dad sing a song that he’d written for both of his parents. Little did we know it would be sung at my Grandmommy’s funeral just three months and three days later.
At the time my Papaw was two years into his diagnosis of melanoma cancer, and he didn’t look like he was doing well. The chemo treatments he got in Louisville every Tuesday tore his energy down and made him have little appetite. My Grandmommy seemed to be in fine health, just complaining of being tired every once in a while and of having noticed a small bump on her neck.
After the fancy dinner at the Merrick Inn was over, we all drove over to Grandmommy and Papaw’s house and celebrated again and took pictures of everybody, especially Grandmommy and Papaw. Everybody was happy, but at the same time we all knew that this would probably be Papaw’s last anniversary before he left the world.
We left Grandmommy and Papaw’s house later that night and drove home. A couple weeks later she had the bump on her neck examined and the doctor took a part of it off and sent it to be tested for cancer. Until then, my family would live our own busy lives, that is, until on February 2nd, 2005, when Grandmommy was diagnosed with stage three-lymphoma cancer. (Later we learned it was stage four – the last stage.)
It all came as a shock, having two grandparents with cancer at the same time. We had hope, though, because doctors thought Grandmommy would live a long time. He said, “If you have to have cancer, this is the best kind to have.” So that was what we believed.
At first Grandmommy was very depressed. She talked with a small voice that wasn’t her own and didn’t feel up to having company.
I remember getting to see Grandmommy one time shortly after her diagnosis at her house. She sat in her special chair that was next to Papaw’s old favorite chair and talked to us. She was glad to see us, but I wondered why I was so glad to see her.
I guess I was so glad to see her when she was first diagnosed, because the next time I’d see her would be on a Sunday morning at the hospital.
A few days after we went to see Grandmommy at her house, the cavity around her lungs started to fill with fluids, so it was hard for her to breathe. Her doctor didn’t know if it was lymphatic fluids or not (which it was,) seeping through her insides, but anyhow, he got a needle and drained the fluids out and sent her home.
For then she would be able to breathe well, until she filled up with the fluid again. Yes, you heard me. Her lungs were surrounded by the fluid again and she would have to stay in the hospital, but this time, it would be much worse. This rare lymphoma cancer symptom would be the thing that slowly took Grandmommy’s life.
Back to seeing Grandmommy on that Sunday morning when she was in the hospital- my family; Dad, Mom, Laynie, Maggie, my cousin Elizabeth and I; were on our way home from church when we decided to stop and see Grandmommy. She was in her hospital bed. She looked uncomfortable, and had lost about 20 pounds since being in the hospital. She was producing between one and two liters of the fluid around her lungs every day, and was losing some hair from her first chemo treatment, that had shrunk about 80% of her cancer. The fluid drained through something called a chest tube ( a plastic tube stuck between your ribs to the inside of your chest) into a container beside her bed, where it could be measured. From the looks of it, Grandmommy had been though a lot- and she wouldn’t last much longer.
Over the next few weeks, Grandmommy continued producing more lymphatic fluids and losing her short black hair and some more weight. She didn’t eat properly and could barely walk down the hallway without having to pull on one of her children’s shoulder. She eventually stopped going to the bathroom and eating, and then was sent home with Hospice, sent home to die. Her doctor said she’d probably last a few more days and then go.
My family went over to Grandmommy and Papaw’s house almost every day until Grandmommy died. It hurt knowing that the bed Grandmommy lay in and the bedsores she had would be one of the last things she’d experience in the world.
It hurt seeing Grandmommy barely be able to say “I love you,” through her dropped jaw and seeing her try to use all of her strength to give us each one hug.
But what hurt even more was listening to my sick Papaw tell people, “Carolyn’s been sent home with Hospice,” over the phone.
The day that Grandmommy passed away was Monday, April 18th at 11 o’ clock in the morning. I was at recess when my mom came up to me and told me the news. I was sad, but I didn’t cry. And do you want to know why? Because I knew right where Grandmommy was. Heaven. Right now, she isn’t in pain and she can give as many hugs as she wants to without getting out of breath. She has no more bedsores and there is nothing such as cancer in her body. Right now, Grandmommy is truly alive.