The Makings Part II: Her Final Call

“PLEASE!!!!!! HELP ME JAMES, PLEASE COME HELP ME!!!” my grandmother screamed and cried through the intercom system my dad had installed throughout the apartment. It seemed that over the past year the more my father had tried to accommodate and take care of my grandmother the worse she became.

A few years earlier she was diagnosed with stage IV breast cancer. Although she had her right breast, lymph-nodes and underlying tissues removed, it had spread into other tissues. It would do more harm than good to have the other affected areas removed so any care she would receive henceforth would be more for comfort than curative measures.

Although my grandmother and my dad continued shower me with love and affection during my routine weekend visits to their house, my time there became filled with anxiety and sadness. Shortly after she returned home from the hospital (post-mastectomy), I watched my dad run himself ragged doing everything he could to take care of her because he refused to put her in a nursing home. He did everything for her: washing her in the morning, cooking her meals, keeping track of all her pills and medical supplies. He even packed her wound. Leaving work during emergencies became part of the routine. He was often fatigued and fell asleep during church and other functions because instead of getting a good night’s rest he was answering her incessant cries from the intercom. I tried to remain hopeful but part of me felt that she would never get better.

There are so many risks involved with breast cancer that no one can pinpoint the exact causes of its genesis. However I believe that most of my grandmother’s health issues stemmed from her diet and lifestyle. A doctor had come by to visit her one day and I heard him and my grandmother talking, “Ms Webb I know that you grew up eating hearty but I really want you to try more salads and less grease” he pleaded with her. She turned her nose up and refused “I been eating this way all my life. This is all I love and know and no one is taking that from me.”

What types of food had she grown to know and love during her more than 7 decades of living? Hog heads (which are the scariest entree I have ever seen in my life) and black eyed peas with ham hocks on New Years’ for good luck, ham, bacon and eggs to accompany grits and pancakes for breakfast, salads drenched in dressing, pies and biscuits made from lard and any green vegetable under the sun as long as they were slow cooked in fat back. Although I was a long way from claiming my vegetarian ambitions I knew that when I “grew up” one day I was going to make sure I ate less meat and healthier than grandma.

This type of eating and being stationary all day is a very bad combination. Her knees and legs became weaker over the years so instead of engaging the world around her she was confined to the four corners of her bedroom. She had a radio, 2 televisions and her favorite Bible to keep her company. She often engaged them all at the same time (don’t ask me how she did it, my father is the same way and I still can figure it out.)

Although I was getting used to my dad’s frustration from dealing with her illness, this particular spring day something was different. She was calling him every 10 minutes because she kept vomiting this smelly dark substance, she couldn't keep anything down, she couldn't find a comfortable spot in the bed and her pain medication was not working. Finally after an hour of running to her room, carrying her from the bed to the commode and back, and cleaning up after her he called the ambulance. This sunny spring day in March of 1996 would be her last trip to the hospital.