Wow. Didn't think it would be so easy to get this done. I am 31 years old, living in South Dakota. Married, 2 kids (1 of each) and a dog. I am starting this blog as a means of self-therapy. I have worked as a therapist for several years now, and find it can be difficult to always do the things I ask my clients to try. In part, that's because I feel I have some pretty good coping mechanisms to deal with what life has to throw at a person.

That changed in a big way on Thanksgiving of 2003.

Starting in August of 2003, my mother had been complaining of stomach pain, bloating, etc. She went to her doctor and was told she was suffering from a UTI and started on anti-biotics. She said she started to feel a little better, but still had the pain. The doctor set her up with a second course of antibiotics over a longer period of time. Still no relief and by now we're in November. The doctor says that it could be divirticulitus and prescribes (wait for it...) ANOTHER COURSE OF ANTIBIOTICS!!! Within a week of that appointment, my mom is in the hospital, undergoing test after test, scan after scan. She was moved from the hospital 10 miles from my parents home to one in Sioux Falls, SD the day before Thanksgiving.

We had been planning on going to my parent's house for the holiday with my brother's family. We stopped at the hospital on the way. We visited with my mom, who was sort of out of it on pain medication. As we left the hospital, we met my dad. Dad informed us that we'd be eating our dinner at the hospital as my brother was going to bring the meal with them when they came to the hospital. So, we started to sit and wait.

Soon, we were told that my mom would be having exploratory surgery. We moved everything from the waiting area we were in to an ICU waiting area. Freaky place. Lots of privacy, lots of people praying that it won't be their family member that dies. An extremely oppressive air in there.

After about 5 hours of surgery, the surgeon entered the room. I had a feeling it wasn't good news. A person carries himself differently if he has bad news to relay. My brother and his wife had taken their kids to his in-laws about 60 miles away and hadn't made it back yet. The surgeon informed us that there was cancer "everywhere" in my mom. That there were tumor markers on her stomach, her pancreas, her liver, and in her fat cells. He told us there was also cancer on her ovaries and her appendix, all of which were removed. He went on to say that in cancers like this, the chemo either works or it doesn't. He appologized and left the room, leaving my family in shock. It still breaks my heart to think of my dad being told how little hope there was for mom's survival. After what felt like an eternity, they let us go into ICU and see her.

It is so fucking unfair that she has this fucking disease! She's never been sick a day in her life! SHE TOOK HER VITAMINS, SHE EXERCISED REGULARLY, SHE DIDN'T SMOKE, DIDN'T DRINK!!! SHE HASN'T HURT ANYONE!!!!! WHY!!!! WHY?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

I am so pissed and hurt and scared for my mom. I don't want her to die but know the odds and know how scared she is right now and probably won't fight it much longer. And that hurts. How can she not fight? Doesn't she want to stay and see her grandchildren grow up and more grandchildren born? I can't pretend to understand where she's at, but she's currently saying she won't even try any natural remedies. I know she loves us, but her not fighting... I just can't understand it.

I'm also unbelievably angry with her doctor who misdiagnosed OVARIAN CANCER AS A UTI!!!! Perhaps something to look for when the first round of antibiotics didn't do a damned thing. Every web site I've looked at regarding ovarian cancer describes the symptoms as being abdominal pain, bloating... That fucking hack doctor could have done a couple of tests following mom's not getting any relief from the antibiotic. Maybe then the cancer would have been caught in Stage 2 or even in Stage 1 - where the 5 year survival rate is something like 90%. Instead, it doesn't get caught until it is at least Stage 3 - 5 year survival rate of 30%. I want the doctor's license - the doctor contributed to my mother's death through misdiagnosis and continuing to treat something that obviously wasn't the problem. Guess the egos of doctors always get in the way of actually healing someone.

I'm going to continue to use this to remember the days following the diagnosis, mom going home, etc. And yeah, I may rant and rail about a few things. I see this as a safe place to do it (other than to my best friend, my wife, who has been a rock for me through this. Without her, I'd have curled into a fetal position on Thanksgiving and would still be there right now).

Taking it day by day...