Photo Credit - Lee Wonnacott
Just about the time I turned 14 my mother was diagnosed with cervical cancer and the family swas prepared to expect her loss within a few months, probably as a cruel Christmas present. She was transferred immediately from our rural Michigan hospital to Womens Hospital at University of Michigan in Ann Arbor. The road ahead was going to be rough, but she insisted that we try to keep our lives in order and simply accomodate her situation as an inconvenience that would pass.
The doctors at UM were not optimistic. They explained the survival rate on this type of cancer, at least in 1964, was not very high and the best she could hope for was a very experimental course of atomic medicine. Bluntly put, they wanted a human guinea pig to prove a radical theory. Mom understood all of the ramifications and took it with a smile.
For the entire summer she was confined to the beds, hallways, and labs of Womens Hospital. Most women of the era would have accepted their fate and gone home to spend a last summer with their family. Instead, my mother allowed fragments of uranium and plutonium to be implanted within her abdomen for up to 72 hours at a time. Our family visits with her were restricted by the amount of radiation exposure doctors would allow us when wearing heavy lead shields. The doctors were literally boiling her major organs in order to kill the spreading cancer cells.
With luck, courage and great strength of will, she survived the first six months of treatment and was released from hospital with a simple caveat, "You are still alive and the cancer is gone, but we don't think you will ever be cured." We didn't quite understand the implications of that, but the truth of the matter was hidden deep within the relationship of physics and bio-chemistry. The doctors knew they had taken this patient to the very edge of a lethal dose of radiation and they were content to see she was still around to tell her story. What they had learned from this lab experiment continues to save lives to this day.
Most of us today understand the effect of radiation poisoning and have seen photos of the Japanese atomic bomb survivors. It's devastating to know that the government of one people could ever do that to the people of another. My mother wasn't a victim of war, but she endured many of the same problems because she had taken as many Rads as the survivors of Hiroshima or Nagasaki. The next 27 years of her life were a constant succession of hospital stays for treatment of ailments related to the radiation.
Throughout the ordeal she continued to speak strongly about enjoying life and living the adventure. The last seven years were the hardest. Her throat was gone along with two thirds of her tongue, and the various surgeries around the face and throat had disfigured her terribly. She looked like the winner in a biker babe bar fight; you know - the short one with the bloody nose and lips but still smiling all the same.
A few months prior to her death we talked about final arrangements. I was not surprised to learn she wanted no funeral ceremony. Remember her as she lived was the advice, not as a corpse in an expensive box. She specifically asked me to take her ashes from her Florida residence to Michigan for scattering, "Not immediately, but when you have time for a great adventure."
Several months after passing her ashes were still in the closet of my bedroom and I was feeling very guilty about not making the trip north from Georgia to Michigan. I kept wondering how this obligation could ever turn into an adventure. That is, until my friend Judge Kile came riding up my driveway on a nearly new Kawasaki KZ-750 F1. He had found the bike in a local pawn shop that very morning and it was a bargain. As he handed me the keys and helmets he said, "When I saw it I thought about you and a great adventure, take your mother home tomorrow."
Early the next morning the box with Mom's ashes was strapped behind my oldest son and a duffle bag and off we went. We began a 2,700 mile round trip adventure that brought us great joy and a wonderful memory to share for our entire lifetimes. That trip has been the subject of many stories about mountain roads, overheated brakes, and summer rains. Over every mile we thanked Mom for the treat she provided us.
It may be decades later, but her spirit rides with me still. Happy Mothers Day - Live The Adventure!
Remember, "Ride today - Tommorow you may not be able!"
-LW