A long, difficult journey to this year's Mother's Day

Mother's Day is almost here. All around the nation children are celebrating the occasion by doing something special for their moms. This Sunday will be no different for me. Sister Pam and brother Gene will join me to spend the day with our mom, too, but this occasion will be extra special to all of us.

One year ago on Easter Sunday, mom began to lose her eyesight. It was quite easy for her to tell, you see, because she could not read the music for her Sunday school children during music class or play the organ for church that day.

Naturally, she became panicked. Little did we know that this was the beginning of a year that would test all of us to the limit, both physically and emotionally.

Our year was filled with countless trips to local doctors who referred us to regional specialists who referred us to other specialists. Pam, Gene and I tried to share the responsibilities, giving up time from jobs and our own immediate family to make sure mom got to the doctors for her eyes and numerous other problems that were occurring.

Mom's attitude in the beginning was negative. She became depressed, and I think that if it weren't for the fact that all three of her children shared the duties, any one of us would have become depressed, too. We understood her feelings, but it was emotionally draining on us to trying to keep her positive.

Eventually, a specialist in Kansas City came to the conclusion that mom was suffering from temporal arteritis. The treatments for this did seem to work and help her eyesight somewhat for six months. Even so, mom continued to think something else was wrong. She was correct.

At the end of February mom called me and demanded that I take her back to Kansas City. Her eyesight was leaving, and she would be blind if they didn't do something.

Thinking that she might be exaggerating but knowing that she would be very upset if we didn't check it, I drove her back to the specialist. It was determined that she was indeed getting worse.

The specialist finally ordered a CAT scan to be done at Mercy on a Wednesday. On Thursday I got a call asking me to get mom back to St. Luke's South the next day. "Should my brother and sister come, too?" I asked. "She will need all of the support she can get," was all the nurse would tell me.

So, on March 4 our little family unit crowded into the now familiar office with the specialist.

"You have a brain tumor, Mrs. Johnson."

The silence was deafening for a few seconds as we all tried to process this unthinkable diagnosis. It was what I had feared since the phone call the previous day.

"The good news is that it is probably benign and operable. The tumor is a meningioma, a slow-growing tumor that can become extremely large before being detected."

Whew! The deafening silence was replaced with gasps of relief.

Following is the next series of events that happened. We were referred to a brain surgeon that same day; mom had 30 minutes to decide if she wanted to have brain surgery; surgeon thought he could help, but admits he is worried about it; surgeon says she will lose all sight within one to two weeks if tumor is not taken out; surgery is very serious; tears, talk, reassurances; mom decides to have the surgery.

Four days later, we are at St. Luke's downtown for what was supposed to be a four-hour surgery. Nine hours later it was finished.

The tumor turned out to be much larger than the doctor could see on the CAT scan. (Mom couldn't have a much better brain photo using the MRI because she had a metal implant in one of her ears.)

The next morning mom was reading the bottom news boxes on ESPN (March Madness starting, and that's all her children were watching).

Next series of events: Mom out of ICU in one day, transferred from St. Luke's to Mercy in Fort Scott for rehab the following Monday; rehab goes well; has supper with my husband and me on Saturday night along with her grandson and three great-grandsons; so happy that she's seen all the great-grandchildren after her surgery; goes to bed that night after brushing her teeth by herself for the first time; so hopeful, so happy.

Shortly after 7:30 the next morning I get a call from brother Gene.

"Mom is having seizures." We both rush to the hospital. Doctor has called Life Flight; sending her back to St. Luke's.

"Mom, it's Janice. I'm here." Her eyes roll back to look at me, no words; my heart breaks -- it's a look of dying, I think to myself, and that's going to be the last time she looks at me.

Pam met mom at St. Luke's. By the time Gene and I arrived, they had her stabilized in the emergency room. They tell us to go to Medical ICU; they are moving her there to watch her.

We do as we are told, but begin to get uneasy when no one comes to get us from the waiting room. Grandkids and spouses start to arrive.

Then a nurse pulls us out of the room. "Your mom is code blue." What? Did she just say what I think she said? Are you kidding? Not kidding, and it did mean what I thought it meant.

A young doctor met us in the ICU. "Your mom went into cardiac arrest. We think it's because she is in septic shock. We brought her back, but how many times do you want us to resuscitate?"

Oh, my gosh! Silence. Pam, Gene and I were in shock ourselves by then.

"I have to go, but I'll be back." He returned a short time later, around 10 minutes to be exact, to tell us that she had gone into cardiac arrest again, but they brought her back again.

"We are taking her to NCICU upstairs so that she can be hooked to monitors, and we can try to tell exactly what is going on. Meet us up there."

By this time all of the family was at the hospital. Our beautiful children and spouses helped us make it upstairs where we were sure we'd have to make a most terrible decision. Pam, Gene and I alone went into the NCICU. The young doctor came in.

"Well, she arrested again on the way up. Three times is quite a lot for anyone to come back. Let us know soon what your wishes are."

Thankfully, mom and God took that decision from us. Once she was hooked up to the machines and corrective medicines were administered, mom stabilized.

Next series of events: Mom in NCICU; seizure "head doctors" say there is some brain activity; mom looks like someone else, the life-saving medicines stretch her poor skin so tight and leave such bloody patches on her arms; tubes everywhere; slow coming out of sedation; opens eyes and responds one day when Pam and I are by her bedside; moves her head up and down, side to side to answer our questions! Amazing!

Mom slowly gets better; makes decisions by nodding her head; doctors and nurses can't believe it.

Finally, tubes in nose and mouth removed; she talks; she moves both arms and legs; heart is good even after the beating it took; seizures are gone with high doses of medication; move out of NCICU; back to Mercy on April 1.

"It's so good to be home!" mom exclaimed with a huge smile on her face when we entered her room.

The staff at St. Luke's called mom a miracle. One doctor told my sister, when she questioned him about mom's future, that he wouldn't say what her outcome would be because her recovery had been so amazing.

"You have to understand that of the people who have three cardiac arrests like your mother did, only 1 percent survive. Of that 1 percent, only one in 1,000 regain any motor skills or most of their brain functions. Your mom has both. Your mom is that special."

After finding out how close she came to dying, mom would joke with the doctors that she was rather worried because she didn't see a light; maybe God didn't want her.

"You must have more things to do here, Earlene," they would reply with a chuckle.

Thanks to those marvelous doctors, nurses and staff at St. Luke's and here at Mercy Hospital, and because of all of the prayers made by her dear friends and family, my mom is almost herself again and has more things to do.

On Easter, exactly one year from the date her eyesight started to go away, she sat down and played the piano again with her one good eye.

Just this Tuesday she told me that the eyesight in her "bad" eye, the one we all thought was gone forever, is also returning. Wow!

This morning I was told she climbed up a few steps all by herself. Awesome! I watched her lift herself up to her walker and walk about 20 feet by herself. Tears of joy, literally!

This Sunday Pam, Gene and I will spend a very special day with a very special mom. She taught me numerous things during my life, and I have always admired her for her many, many talents and big heart, but I really did underestimate her remarkable desire or will to live.

Because of her strength, I started my 60th birthday with a "happy birthday to you" sung to me the first thing in the morning, as she does for every single member of our family.

Because of her strength, I am getting a belated German chocolate birthday cake today, one that I will most likely share with my siblings on Sunday.

Because of her strength, hopefully, my 79-year-old mom will stick around for another 12 years like her mother did. Hopefully, our whole family will appreciate more all that she does for us even at her advanced age.

Because of this experience, I now believe that whatever challenges any one of us may face -- and many families have faced and are dealing with even more acute challenges than we have -- there is always the hope for a miracle . . . and miracles do happen.

Happy Mother's Day to all of you wonderful mothers, and especially to you, mom. I love you dearly.