Tuesday, April 17, 2007

In a New York minute

A colleague of mine recently found out that her mom, to whom she's incredibly close, has acute leukemia.

One Friday night they were out having martinis. By the following Wednesday she was forced to bathe her mother, as her mom was too weak to bathe herself.

She's at St. Luke's right now, in the ICU, and she doesn't even know yet that she has acute leukemia. She's so unstable that they don't want to tell her for fear that she'll have a heart attack.

My colleague is a single mom of two, with no siblings of her own. She works full time. Life was hard enough with her mom's help, so I can't imagine how hard it is now. She works all day, picks up the girls, and goes to see her mom. Sometimes she'll go to the hospital in the morning, too, before work. The next day she starts it all over again.

Her mom lived with her for a long time, and just recently prepared to move into her own retirement apartment. She chose new furniture, new artwork. It's all been delivered. To an empty apartment. She hasn't even seen it yet.

And because she doesn't know she has acute leukemia, she says things like, "I can't wait to get well so I can go home to my new apartment and see all my new furniture! Did my custom chair get delivered? Is it beautiful? I can't wait to see it!" My friend says her mom will never return home again, and most likely will never see her new, beautiful chair.

Another colleague and I purchased a Bread Co. gift card for her, so she doesn't at least have to think about, plan for or cook a few meals. I don't know what else to do. I don't know what else I can do. I can't save her mother, which is what she desperately wants more than anything else.

I hate not having superwoman powers. Life would be considerably easier if I could cure at will. And don't forget that smiting action. Being able to smite would be good, too.

So, to your already incredibly-long list of prayers, please add my friend and her mom.


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