Sybil's Choice

What To Do (Or Not)

Sybil's fate is established

Oh, dear God, I still have painful regrets. Why did I? Should I not have? I? What else could I have done to make her last days better? There are so many simple things that, had I thought more wisely, I could have done differently during Sybil's horrific battle with an unrelenting malignancy. There are words I might have said, actions I might have taken or not taken, and deeds I might not have left undone before time robbed me of the privilege. I have no remorse, nor does anyone who loved her about agreeing with her major decision about her choice of treatment.

Even as tenacious tumors were spreading rapidly throughout her body, we truly believed that the tumors were shrinking. Our whole focus was on the cancer from the moment of that horrific detection.

I yearn to remake that period of our family history. And I so desperately want the ending to be different this time. My heart still pleads that it not be a true story but instead simply a tragic nightmare that eventually ends, and when it is over, I will be awakened again when Sybil opens my front door and spiritedly calls out to me, "Mom!" Then, with that frightening dream behind us, we will sit happily on my deck, chatting about our last "girls' night out" and planning the next one.

Fate, however, dealt a crushing blow to my child and our entire family. I know that it is not a dream, but cold reality. For me, it has been too unbearable to absorb all at once. It is a reality that will seep drip by drip into my very soul every day for the rest of my life.

The first hint of impending doom came with a casual announcement that Sybil made after she and her husband Bill had enjoyed a pleasant trout dinner in my small house. We were relaxing in the sitting room, watching the firelight dancing from the small fireplace in the sitting room. Sybil sat across from me in a blue leather wingback recliner. She averted her eyes as she leaned forward to flick ashes from her cigarette into an ashtray on the side table. "I have an appointment for an MRI. Friday morning," she said. Her tone was matter of fact, but the statement startled me.

"Wh-, what is going on?" I asked.

"Numb," she replied without wavering, as she passed her hand across the front of her lower body. I stared at her wordlessly while she sipped from her wine glass without offering further explanation.

I recalled the numbness in my arm and hand fifteen years earlier, symptoms of two deteriorating disks in my neck. After giving up on several months of chiropractic treatment, I had opted for surgery, which instantly eliminated the pain. With that memory in mind, I delicately suggested, "Maybe you have a pinched nerve."

She shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. Guess I'll know after Friday."

"What time is your MRI?"

"Nine o'clock. Bill is going with me." He was silent during our exchange.

"Call me as soon as you know anything. I will be at BJ's office until 2:00 pm.

In retrospect, I wish I had said immediately, "I'll go with you," and that I had needed to stay with her throughout the testing and diagnosis. Of course, Bill was with her during the MRI, but as her mother, I should have been with her as well, and also through the follow-up with Dr. Godfrey. Thus began a series of missteps that often haunt me.

I am trying to forgive myself.

The call came through at noon on Friday. I had thought the MRI would probably reveal a simple explanation for her symptoms. Sybil was a lively, strong, healthy young woman. It was inconceivable that anything serious could be wrong with her.

"Mother, are you sitting down?" The tone in her voice was very serious, sobering me instantly. My heart sank.

"What did you find out?" Even as I asked, I knew I really did not want to hear anything dreadful.

"Bill went with me for the MRI, and afterward he went back to work. He'd just left the house when Dr. Godfrey called me from his office. Dr. Godfrey told me that there is a lesion on my brain." Sadly, I realized that she had been alone when she heard the ominous report. "And he has already made a Monday appointment with Dr. Steven Corso at the oncology clinic in Spartanburg."

I felt a hot wave of shock flash through my entire body, followed by a heavy sense of dread. Immediately my mind sped to "cancer." That frightful realization eclipsed everything else. I did not trust myself to speak aloud.

After a pause charged with anxiety, I was jolted back into awareness when Sybil continued calmly. "Would you ask Billy Joe if our medical insurance covers this doctor?"

What could I say? A mother should have some words of wisdom to offer at a time like this. It is not simply a "kiss and make it better" kind of problem.

"It's the Palmetto Hematology Oncology clinic at Spartanburg Regional hospital" she added. Dr. Godfrey chose the Spartanburg hospital because of the urgency he recognized in Sybil's condition. The South Carolina facility would be the nearest facility available to care for her immediately.

Relieved to have something that would take me away from the phone for a few minutes, I responded, "Hold on, honey, I'll ask BJ."

I pushed the hold button on the phone and took a deep breath in order to gain a bit of composure before walking into Billy Joe's office. As I passed the records rack on the wall, I pulled Sybil's insurance folder.

Billy Joe has been a friend of the family for over twenty-five years. He was one of Sybil's high school teachers, a big loveable man with a wonderful sense of humor. He sensed that something was amiss when I appeared before him, View le in hand. He looked at me questioningly.

"Sybil has a problem," I said. I handed him the record as I recounted her information. BJ, with evident concern, assured me that her insurance would cover the cost of her care in Spartanburg. He and I made note of the address and directions.

The task of investigating her insurance coverage eased some of the emotional turmoil for the moment, and I returned to my desk and picked up the phone to reassure Sybil about her coverage. She acknowledged the information and quickly dismissed the topic.

Don't forget about dinner tomorrow evening. Bill is going to make your recipe for trout. You can supervise him."

"Okay," I said lamely. My mind was still reeling from her shocking report.

"I'm going to tell Bill that I just want to be with family this weekend. We'll tell Randy to come without a date."

"I understand," I replied.

Family also meant Jayne, Sybil's college roommate. The girls were like sisters and talked every day on their mobile phones. So, naturally, Jayne would come from Rock Hill, South Carolina, for the weekend. Sybil especially needed her during this dreadful period. Best friends offer a magical perspective so different from what mothers can provide.

During dinner the next evening, we did not discuss Sybil's crisis as a group. But Randy and Jayne found a private moment to talk about Sybil's situation.

Jayne expressed her fear. "I just can't bear the thought of the dreaded c word."

"There's another c word to think about, Jayne," Randy told her. "The word is cure, and there is a cure for cancer," he said confidently.

Randy and his best friend Pat McEwen had done a tremendous amount of research on alternative medicine. When Pat's brother, Jim, was diagnosed with prostate cancer, Jim's oncologist told him that only radical surgery could save his life. He refused the surgery, and he and his family found an alternative treatment. They chose the Albarin treatment, which they discovered was undergoing a clinical trial in St. Petersburg and in Tampa, Florida. It was part of a three-year, federally funded clinical study. Albarin is a serum extracted from aloe vera.