THE ILLNESS AND PASSING OF MY BELOVED MOTHER VIVIAN

My Mother's battle with Ovarian Cancer and how it affected her family

The Illness and Passing of My Beloved Mother Vivian
By Lorraine Ciro
A seemingly healthy, ambitious woman, my mother planned a trip to Italy to celebrate her twenty-fifth anniversary in 1965 while keeping busy with preparations for my wedding in September.
In March 1964, at 41 years old, she stubbornly ignored frequent abdominal pain. When the pain became so extreme it necessitated a visit to a specialist, the doctor after a brief examination, recommended surgery to remove a tumor on her ovaries. After sending a specimen to a pathologist, he would render his diagnosis.
What followed was a roller coaster of doctors, hospitals, treatments, pain and suffering that controlled her life. The trip to Italy would become a dream in the dark recesses of my mother's mind.
My father Sam, who was 48 years old, sat in the surgical room and waited for the doctor to appear with the dreaded news: Ovarian Cancer. He was told that cobalt treatments might slow the spread of the disease but that there was no known cure. Overcome with shock, he worried about how he would share this painful news with his family.
It was March of 1964, the year that changed our lives forever. My father told my mother's siblings the truth about her diagnosis, hiding nothing. Together, they agreed to tell her mother, my brother and I a different story: that the tumor was benign and that she would recover. For the rest of his life, he would never say the words Ovarian Cancer or share with us the details of her illness.
Tranquility became the atmosphere in our home for the next year. My mother noticed but did not question it. Anxious to regain her health, she followed her doctor's orders and underwent painful cobalt treatments. She would arrive home suffering from burns on her lower back, fatigued and in despair. She remained in her bed under cool sheets for a modicum of relief.
Mother knew she was not going to get well; signs of her progressing illness were evident to her and everyone else. She did not share her feelings; instead she chose to cherish every moment she had left with her family.
Living in a state of denial, assuming an attitude of normalcy, my father continued to discuss their trip to Italy, my wedding, and everything else except her illness.
Happy with his young family, my brother eagerly awaited the birth of his new baby. However, the realization that our mother was very ill and not going to recover wore constantly on his mind.
I naively expected my mother to have a complete recovery and return to her cooking. I believed that we would do needlework together as before and that she would help me prepare for my wedding. Those were the thoughts that I had in my mind.
On our wedding day, my parents enjoyed the celebration, happily keeping her illness at home. Her siblings showered her with loving hugs while hiding their concern for her diminishing strength which she truly appreciated.
The aura of deception continued until we returned from our honeymoon when my father told us the truth: the tumor was malignant. We were told that we could not share this news with my mother. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, I stubbornly held on to my belief that my mother would recover.
The Christmas holidays came and went, her family constantly by her side. She especially cherished her time with her two granddaughters and held her new grandson close to her heart.
A cold and snowy January added to her onset of malaise. The news that her daughter expected a baby met with a distant glance. Creeping along like a river of molten lava, her illness consumed her body. Unable to eat or drink, she required hospital care, where morphine was administered to relieve her pain, and an IV solution to keep her hydrated.
She died in her room on March 29, 1965, no one by her side to comfort her, pray for her, or hold her hand. "Mom should have gotten well; the doctors could have done more for her!" Should have, could have, would have �" these words were repeated over and over at the time of our loss.
Not consoled by the passing years, we continue to miss our cherished mother and sister now more than ever. Our family has grown to include children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. We will hold them in the folds of our hearts, along with the memories, forever.