Rose 1

Rachel Rose
Professor Tankersley
JOU 2303
21 Jan 2014
Memoir Project
Growing up with a mom with severe health problems, I never realized that my
childhood had been different, less innocent, than that of other children. I guess being homeschooled did limit how often I interacted with other children my age. Some of my earliest
childhood memories hark back to spending hours playing cards with patients that later died,
or reading, in the dank basement of M.D. Anderson Cancer Research Center in Houston,
Texas.
No, my mom didnt have cancer. She had two carotid body tumours in her
neck. This meant that she had two massive, pulsing growths wrapped around the carotid
artery in neck tightening and threatening to cut off a major blood transport for her body. The
doctors said that one tumour could be radiated upon to the point of inactivity in much the
same way cancer cells are radiated. That was the reason for our being at the Cancer Research
Center. The doctors said that the other had to be removed or my mom wouldnt have enough
blood flow to the brain. They said that there was a 50/50 chance going into the surgery if my
mom would make it. One mis-cut and the artery could rupture, causing my mom to loose
blood more quickly than it could be replaced.
I was eight years old.
Everyone knew about what was going on, but no one really said anything. I
remember going to a Halloween party at church and telling the preachers wife that my mom
was going to die.

Rose 2
Have another cookie, honey, was all she said to me.
I later learned that my mom did die on the operating table. I dont know for how long
or why, but she was able to be resuscitated. After a few weeks of recovery, it was time to
move onward for radiation therapy.
My mom didnt look like my mom anymore. She had always had beautiful, long red
hair, just like mine. She said it was every womans crown and glory to have long hair. She
said that we were twins because our hair was just the same colour and about the same
length. She lost most of her hair because of the radiation, and had to cut the rest short to hide
the bald spots. When her hair later grew back, it grew in black, and couldnt be grown out
the way it used to be. My mom has never been able to find a colour in a bottle that is quite
like the colour her hair used to be. She would and still does buy new hair dyes, and then
compares them to my own hair, it serving as a constant reminder to the glory of the past. She
holds her dye-worn hair up to mine eagerly.
Does it match? she will ask me.
It never does.
The tumour remaining in my moms neck still detracts from her general health. She is
unable to exercise or do excitable activities. That compacted with other areas of failing
health, the doctors predicted that my mom would only live for 5 years after her surgery and
radiation in 2000.
At my high school graduation in 2012, she told me, I prayed to God that He would
let me live to let you graduate from high school. Now I will be praying that he will let me
live to see you graduate from college.