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The Fight of Her Life

My daughter and I arrived in the quiet, unchanging town of Mansfield for what we thought would be another warm-hearted, restful visit with my parents. But this time it was different. My father met us at the car with a look of fear on his strong, but weary face. With his voice much weaker than usual he whispered, " Your mother's very ill, and we have to take her to the hospital for tests today." In shock and instinctively holding my breath, I drove my dazed and discomforted parents to the hospital. The day seemed to crawl backwards in time as we waited for the dreaded results. The doctor revealed that bone cancer had invaded most of her body and had eaten completely through her upper arm bone. As I listened, so many questions raced through my mind. How could this biological terrorist silently invade and defile her without a hint of its presence? How long was it secretly feasting on her bones? What defenses do we have to fight this insidious disease?

On the verge of death, and heavily sedated on morphine for weeks, she was given radiation and chemotherapy treatments in the hospital to stabilize her body. Emergency surgery was scheduled, to insert a metal bar into her arm to connect the jagged bones together and alleviate some of the pain. With a life expectancy of only seven months, my mom was in for the fight of her life.

Mom always possessed a strong fighting spirit. It was probably programmed into her genes from her Scottish mother and Irish father. How often she reminisced about her rainy British birthplace with its emerald hillsides flowing with wild flowers and the sweet smell of cows in the meadows. When World War II disrupted her simple and tranquil way of life, she rushed to join the fight and help the brave soldiers who were defending our freedom. That's when she met and married my dad, a handsome young American soldier; who reminded her of Cary Grant. The tumultuous war took its toll on her emotions. As far back as I can remember, during a thunderstorm, she would sit on the floor frozen in fear, just like she did during the bombing attacks in England. But out of the rubble of broken homes and lives, my mother triumphed and gave birth to a healthy son. The war finally ended and she was eager to start her new life in America.

My father, forced to leave his new bride and baby alone in Europe like thousands of others, was quickly sent home. But mom's fighting spirit stirred once more as she stowed away on the New Zealand Victory ship

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