My mom’s death taught me an important thing about life

Always be a strong advocate for your own health

Glioblastoma. It’s a word that had no meaning in my life until the morning of April 9th, 2020.

At age 22, it was unlike any other morning I had experienced.

I woke up around 5 a.m. to the sound of my mom collapsing and falling into my bedroom door as my dad was helping her to the bathroom.

My mom, Cayla, was a healthy woman, but for two weeks prior to that day she had been suffering with severe migraines. She knew something was off with her body.

One Friday morning she decided it was time to go to the out-patients clinic. After waiting for more than eight hours, she was told it was a migraine and to take Tylenol until the pain subsided. The diagnosis didn’t sit right with me or my dad, but who were we to question health-care professionals?

After a few more days the pain was getting worse, so Mom decided to go to outpatients again, explain the symptoms in more detail and tell them that she didn’t have chronic migraines as a rule. After waiting hours to be seen, she was sent home again after being given a “migraine cocktail” for the pain.

The diagnosis still didn’t sound right to us, but we were in a health-care crisis with COVID-19, and there didn’t seem to be much else we could do.

On the morning of April 8th, 2020, Mom was very clearly not herself. She attempted to make breakfast and forgot she had eggs on the stove and might have caught our kitchen on fire if my dad hadn’t come home. Throughout the day she was unsteady on her feet, didn’t make much sense when speaking and was quite forgetful. Dad and I decided it was best for Mom to spend the day in bed while we figured out our best route of action.

My mom slept quite well through the night, but at 5 a.m. we began living our worst nightmare.

Mom had lost control of her bladder and wet the bed. While trying to make it to the bathroom, she had collapsed and woken my dad. Moments later, she fell into my bedroom door as my dad was trying to guide her.

I can never forget this morning, no matter how hard I’ve tried.

CALLING THE AMBULANCE

I remember Dad and I trying to remain calm so as not to worry my mom. By 7:30 a.m. we knew it was time to call an ambulance to rush her to the nearest hospital. Since we were in the midst of the pandemic, we were not allowed to go with her. All we could

do was watch as the paramedics took her away.

Being in a small town, one of the paramedics had grown up with my mom, so that gave us some comfort. Dad and I waited anxiously by our phones for a call, hopefully with good news.

But there was no good news to be heard that day.

The doctor at the hospital was extremely worried about Mom’s condition and decided it was best to rush her to a hospital 20 minutes away for an MRI. My dad rushed to meet her there; an exception was being made to the COVID rules since my mom was now unable to communicate.

Around 1:30 p.m., my dad called. He was in tears and inconsolable. Between the cries and gasps for air he managed to spit out the words, “Haley, your mom has a brain tumour on the right side of her brain, behind her eye. She is being rushed to Halifax for emergency surgery.”

My jaw dropped and my eyes filled with tears. Why had this not been detected weeks ago after two hospital trips? Why had she not been taken more seriously when

she explained her symptoms in detail?

My world was crashing down around me. My mom was my best friend; my parents and I were the greatest trio there ever was. We did everything together. My heart was crushed.

During the surgery, they were able to remove 90 per cent of the tumour, and it was determined to be glioblastoma, an aggressive form of cancer that can occur in the brain or spinal cord.

The survival rate isn’t great, but we were hopeful.

THE ROLLER-COASTER RIDE

After Mom was transferred back to the hospital in Sydney, we were so excited to see her and give her the biggest hug.

Sadly, after waiting seven weeks to begin treatments, she was back in the hospital. This time, things weren’t looking good.

The tumour was growing fast and beginning to compress her brain stem. We thought we only had days left with her.

Our family, friends and the staff of the third floor at the

Cape Breton Regional Hospital pulled together a makeshift wedding for my parents. On May 27th, 2020, they were married in my mom’s hospital room. She was later transferred to the palliative care unit where she made a miraculous recovery and was once again sent home with us, where she needed to be.

Eleven months later, on March 17th, 2021, Mom lost her battle with cancer at the age of 52.

Do I think we could have had more time with her if she had been taken more seriously the first time? Absolutely.

Do I think she would still be with us today if she had been taken more seriously? I can’t answer that, but I would like to think so.

It is so important to advocate for your own health. You know your body better than anybody. My mom was a woman who trusted doctors and wouldn’t go against their word, even if it was against her better judgment.

Life without my mom at 24 years old is bizarre. It feels like I have to learn to live life all over again. I often think about what our lives would be like if she hadn’t gotten sick; how different it would all be.

The most gut-wrenching feeling is knowing she won’t celebrate the milestones in my life with me. She will miss my college graduation this month, she won’t get to see me own my first home, or my wedding when the time comes.

Life is very different now. Often something will happen and I find myself thinking, oh I can’t wait to text Mom and tell her. Then the rush of sadness comes in.

Please, always advocate for your own health and the health of your loved ones.