Donation protected
In her childhood years in Kentwood, Louisiana, my mom went by the name Flora Lee New. When she married my dad, Jules “JC” Hatcher and moved away from home to begin her adult life as a wife and mother, she became known as Flo Hatcher. No matter which name you know her by, you know my mom as a kind-hearted, loving, caring, compassionate person with a huge heart of gold. She has always been the one who takes care of others—my brother, Jeff, and me, my dad after his car accident and the twenty-one years he lived as a quadriplegic totally dependent on others for everything, my grandparents, her grandchildren, our family, friends, co-workers, and even complete strangers. Now she is the one who is dependent on others and in need of help and assistance.
This past June she woke up one random morning and couldn’t move her arm. Thinking she just “slept wrong,” she didn’t worry about it too much. The pain worsened until she finally went to the doctor. After a couple of weeks of thinking it was just a pulled muscle, her doctor ordered an MRI and the results were completely unexpected---cancer had returned. As you may know, in 2010 she was diagnosed with renal cancer and had one kidney and part of the other removed. Then in the summer of 2014 she was diagnosed with early stage breast cancer. Well this time it is the renal (or kidney) cancer that has metastasized in her bones. A grim diagnosis---secondary bone cancer; it is non-curable and only the “symptoms” can be managed.
A scan revealed multiple tumors and lesions in all parts of her body. In the first part of August the most critical ones were removed ASAP—one that was very near her spine and threatened to leave her paralyzed and another one in her left femur which was about to grow enough to break her bone. This cancer is so ugly and aggressive that the one in her femur took her from walking normal to needing a wheelchair in a matter of 4 days. She underwent two major surgeries and an embolism procedure within a five-day period. After recovering on the oncology floor, she was moved to the rehab floor to learn to use her leg with a steel rod that had been inserted from kneecap to hip. She became labeled “handicapped” within a matter of weeks. I didn’t realize at the time that our lives would never be “normal” again. After close to a month, she finally came home to continue rehab as an “outpatient.” We thought things were looking up—she was able to get in and out of the car to go to radiation treatments and rehab, she was visiting with friends and family, eating delicious meals brought in by her “church lady friends” and taking a shower and getting dressed with assistance, she used a walker to get around our house…..and then she started chemo. Her oncologist assured us that this chemo was different than most—it would target only the “bad” renal cancer cells so she wouldn’t lose her hair or get sick. Well, I’m not blaming chemo, but “something” made her so sick that her doctor admitted her to the hospital for 24 hours just to give her a “boost” with some fluids through IV. That “24 hour” hospital-stay turned into an 8-day stay because she kept getting sicker and no one could figure out the cause or the reason.
When she was finally stable enough and waiting to be discharged on a Friday, she commented that her left shoulder hurt. By Tuesday, the pain was unbearable and we went for an X-ray after radiation. The next day she was inpatient once again---this time a tumor had grown and broke her shoulder bone. After an embolism procedure and a shoulder replacement surgery, she continued to undergo radiation treatments, yet the tumors continued to grow.
While she was fighting with nausea and vomiting for days at a time and recovering from the shoulder surgery, she received the news that two tumors are growing in her right hip. Of course, hip replacement surgery was mentioned, but her doctor also mentioned she may not be strong enough for surgery or recovery. She admitted that she had been thinking about her prognosis and future for a couple of weeks and that she didn’t feel like she was making any progress. She felt like she was taking two steps forward and then six steps back. Something new popped up every week or two. She finally voiced to us that she has made the decision to stop all treatments. She wants to be home and spend the remainder of her life on this Earth with family and friends in peace and love, visiting, talking and laughing. She has talked to her minister about her decision and she says she feels at peace with it and even relieved. Her oncologist wouldn’t say how long he thinks she has left with us; he doesn’t want her to circle a date on her calendar and worry. He wants her to have peace.
She is finally home at her house that she bought with my dad when they first moved to Lafayette in 1969. The same home where they raised their children and spent holidays and special occasions with family and friends. The home that had to be remodeled to accommodate my dad’s wheelchair, hospital beds and handicap equipment, which is now accommodating her too. The same home that burned in a fire in 1980 and had to be rebuilt. The same home where all of our memories begin. We have hospice services to help keep her as comfortable as possible. The nausea and vomiting have subsided after months of torture for her, as well as us. It seems that we have a nice balance right now.
I am trying to continue working my “normal” job as a teacher, as well as take care of my mom and all of her needs—physical, medical, household, financial, etc. I am ever so grateful for loving, caring friends who have really stepped up to help and assist. We also have home health aides that we pay to come in some days or nights. However, the medical bills are beginning to come in, too. My mom has insurance, but the co-pay is still a lot. I can’t get over how expensive it is to be sick. And my mom’s “fixed income” is not enough to cover everything that she needs. The last thing I want is for my mom to be worried about anything at all, much less bills and money.
Normally, I would be too proud to ask anyone for anything. But cancer is the devil and he doesn’t play fair. He is evil and sneaky and he has knocked me down to the lowest, most humble place I’ve ever been in my life. And I’m not too proud to ask—we need help.
If you are so blessed to have extra money and care to donate, no amount is too small. If you cannot donate money, can you please at least keep my mom and our family in your prayers? I know that God is present and around us; I’ve seen Him through the kindness of people, their words, and their actions. We are blessed to have wonderful people in our lives and we are grateful for the outpouring of love, support, kindness and prayers during this time. Thank you.
This past June she woke up one random morning and couldn’t move her arm. Thinking she just “slept wrong,” she didn’t worry about it too much. The pain worsened until she finally went to the doctor. After a couple of weeks of thinking it was just a pulled muscle, her doctor ordered an MRI and the results were completely unexpected---cancer had returned. As you may know, in 2010 she was diagnosed with renal cancer and had one kidney and part of the other removed. Then in the summer of 2014 she was diagnosed with early stage breast cancer. Well this time it is the renal (or kidney) cancer that has metastasized in her bones. A grim diagnosis---secondary bone cancer; it is non-curable and only the “symptoms” can be managed.
A scan revealed multiple tumors and lesions in all parts of her body. In the first part of August the most critical ones were removed ASAP—one that was very near her spine and threatened to leave her paralyzed and another one in her left femur which was about to grow enough to break her bone. This cancer is so ugly and aggressive that the one in her femur took her from walking normal to needing a wheelchair in a matter of 4 days. She underwent two major surgeries and an embolism procedure within a five-day period. After recovering on the oncology floor, she was moved to the rehab floor to learn to use her leg with a steel rod that had been inserted from kneecap to hip. She became labeled “handicapped” within a matter of weeks. I didn’t realize at the time that our lives would never be “normal” again. After close to a month, she finally came home to continue rehab as an “outpatient.” We thought things were looking up—she was able to get in and out of the car to go to radiation treatments and rehab, she was visiting with friends and family, eating delicious meals brought in by her “church lady friends” and taking a shower and getting dressed with assistance, she used a walker to get around our house…..and then she started chemo. Her oncologist assured us that this chemo was different than most—it would target only the “bad” renal cancer cells so she wouldn’t lose her hair or get sick. Well, I’m not blaming chemo, but “something” made her so sick that her doctor admitted her to the hospital for 24 hours just to give her a “boost” with some fluids through IV. That “24 hour” hospital-stay turned into an 8-day stay because she kept getting sicker and no one could figure out the cause or the reason.
When she was finally stable enough and waiting to be discharged on a Friday, she commented that her left shoulder hurt. By Tuesday, the pain was unbearable and we went for an X-ray after radiation. The next day she was inpatient once again---this time a tumor had grown and broke her shoulder bone. After an embolism procedure and a shoulder replacement surgery, she continued to undergo radiation treatments, yet the tumors continued to grow.
While she was fighting with nausea and vomiting for days at a time and recovering from the shoulder surgery, she received the news that two tumors are growing in her right hip. Of course, hip replacement surgery was mentioned, but her doctor also mentioned she may not be strong enough for surgery or recovery. She admitted that she had been thinking about her prognosis and future for a couple of weeks and that she didn’t feel like she was making any progress. She felt like she was taking two steps forward and then six steps back. Something new popped up every week or two. She finally voiced to us that she has made the decision to stop all treatments. She wants to be home and spend the remainder of her life on this Earth with family and friends in peace and love, visiting, talking and laughing. She has talked to her minister about her decision and she says she feels at peace with it and even relieved. Her oncologist wouldn’t say how long he thinks she has left with us; he doesn’t want her to circle a date on her calendar and worry. He wants her to have peace.
She is finally home at her house that she bought with my dad when they first moved to Lafayette in 1969. The same home where they raised their children and spent holidays and special occasions with family and friends. The home that had to be remodeled to accommodate my dad’s wheelchair, hospital beds and handicap equipment, which is now accommodating her too. The same home that burned in a fire in 1980 and had to be rebuilt. The same home where all of our memories begin. We have hospice services to help keep her as comfortable as possible. The nausea and vomiting have subsided after months of torture for her, as well as us. It seems that we have a nice balance right now.
I am trying to continue working my “normal” job as a teacher, as well as take care of my mom and all of her needs—physical, medical, household, financial, etc. I am ever so grateful for loving, caring friends who have really stepped up to help and assist. We also have home health aides that we pay to come in some days or nights. However, the medical bills are beginning to come in, too. My mom has insurance, but the co-pay is still a lot. I can’t get over how expensive it is to be sick. And my mom’s “fixed income” is not enough to cover everything that she needs. The last thing I want is for my mom to be worried about anything at all, much less bills and money.
Normally, I would be too proud to ask anyone for anything. But cancer is the devil and he doesn’t play fair. He is evil and sneaky and he has knocked me down to the lowest, most humble place I’ve ever been in my life. And I’m not too proud to ask—we need help.
If you are so blessed to have extra money and care to donate, no amount is too small. If you cannot donate money, can you please at least keep my mom and our family in your prayers? I know that God is present and around us; I’ve seen Him through the kindness of people, their words, and their actions. We are blessed to have wonderful people in our lives and we are grateful for the outpouring of love, support, kindness and prayers during this time. Thank you.
Organizer
Julee Hatcher
Organizer
Lafayette, LA