Celebrating My Tough Mother

My mom underwent a routine hysterectomy on October 18, 2016. As far as I knew, it went well. Skylar’s due date was November 25, but I knew that was way off, so I told my folks to plan on driving westward around November 20. But Sky came into the world like a freight train on Wednesday, November 9. My parents said, “No problem! We’ll be there Saturday.” They had just been visiting my brother and his family in Houston. I was impressed with my dad’s driving stamina– it’s a 12-hour drive from San Antonio to Tucson. 

They arrived and shared in the joy of their daughter’s newborn baby, their TENTH grandchild! 

They spent 24 hours enveloping our baby in love before breaking some serious news. My mom has been living with Parkinson’s Disease for at least four years now (that’s not the news). Her medications work wonders, but she still deals with sudden-onset fatigue. As she was taking a nap, my dad opened a conversation with a weighty tone. Always a master of communication, he made sure to preface the big news with “this has a happy ending”. 

Scans following my mom’s hysterectomy revealed cancer. Cancer. That’s all my dad had to say for my postpartum flood gates to open. I’m not sure when exactly they received this news, but it came as a complete shock. They had told my brothers and their families, but out of respect for my upcoming delivery, kept the news from me. I’m glad they did. The news may have sent me into early labor. My dad then said they planned on doing exploratory surgery on my mom the next week, hence why they were only staying in town for a few days. Oh, the happy ending my dad had warmed us up with– they received a call from MD Anderson Cancer Center on their drive to Tucson, reporting they actually saw no cancer on the images they had on file. It looked as though it had been isolated to my mom’s reproductive organs, which were, of course, removed in the hysterectomy. So they both were in joyful spirits, though I still was processing the word “cancer”.

I had never heard of such an easy bout with cancer– “Oh, you had cancer, but it was removed in that surgery you had scheduled before you knew you had cancer.” But we can agree that it was pretty miraculous timing for my mom to have this procedure done. No hysterectomy would have meant no cancer discovery. My parents were thinking “praise God!” from the get-go.

I eagerly awaited updates from my dad the following week during Mom’s exploratory surgery. We were praying fervently that nothing would be found. For some reason, I was confident that nothing would be found. So when my dad called me from the waiting room after a lengthy surgery — three hours longer than planned — I was devastated by the news. They found more cancer in Mom’s abdomen. They did “debulking” to remove as much of the diseased tissue as possible. 

My dad was so strong on the other end of the line. “The doctors feel confident that they removed it all,” he assured me as I cried. I felt guilty every time my dad heard me cry. If there was anyone with the right to grieve this news, it was him. But I heard no mourning. Just immediate hoping and praying. 

Mom was going to need to undergo chemotherapy. Even if the surgery had found her abdomen free of cancer, doctors had recommended chemo. Her treatments would start two days before Christmas. 

My parents were in the middle of renovating a new house when they first heard the ‘c’ word. They rushed to finish renovations. The home turned out beautifully. My parents moved in the week before chemo was to begin. 

Gorgeous new home! Pre-flood. I love Joanna Gaines, but she has nothing on mi madre.

Post-flood cleanup.

Then a washing machine drain clog flooded half of their perfectly-outfitted new home. They slept on couches at their old house for a night, then bunked at my brother’s families’ house for a night. My mom was discouraged. She is the most stoic woman I know, but this was getting to her. She couldn’t catch a break. After the floors were redone, and stuff was moved in (again) they were able to settle in and prep for chemo No. 1. 

The first round of chemo came on Friday, December 23. She felt great the day after, then a three-day migraine kicked in…on Christmas Day. 

I FaceTimed my parents on December 28. I’d never seen my mom look so tired and despondent. The migraine had kept her from sleeping. She was crawling out of the depths of a personal hell, as she put it. During the day, a construction crew was making a ruckus as they finished building the garage. As you might imagine, these construction noises were like hammers to Mom’s temples. My dad had dropped a bunch of weight, from stress. 

But then, the migraine subsided. Mom felt better. She and her doctors plotted out ways to combat future migraines. Their strategic planning worked. No one floats through chemo, but my mom marched through the next five rounds fearlessly, with complete faith that something good would come out of all this. 

Mom recently told me, “I thought it was kind of neat that chemo started at Christmastime and ended at Easter.” Hah! Really neat, Mom. But I’m sure she was thinking of the greatest sufferer of all, as she hurdled her way through her temporal discomforts. 

She hated losing her hair because when she looked in the mirror, she saw a sick person. She’s always been the type to prefer to ignore/forget any illness or pain. But this was obvious. Everyone would know. She wore hats all the time, even to bed. It’s hard for any woman to imagine not having a crop of hair on your head– not just for aesthetic reasons, just for basic physical comfort. Eventually she made light of it, joking that she and Skylar had comparable amounts of hairs on their heads. 



We themed each round of her chemo (thank you, Kayla Redig, for the brilliant idea!). More and more people got in on the themes and posted photos during the weeks of her treatments. Mom reacted and responded to each and every person’s contributions in the “Barbie Chandler’s Themo to Laugh Through Chemo” Facebook group. She updated all of her loved ones the day after a chemo: 

“Chemo #5 (of 6) DONE!!! No problems thanks once again to you faithful prayer warriors AND awkward photo sharers. Tom & I had to try to tame our loud laughter in the treatment room, but we both had tears running down our cheeks, we were laughing so hard!” 

No thought or prayer or comedic contribution to Themo went unappreciated. The themes made us all feel like we could help, in a small way. I read this book years ago about the importance of hope in the face of illness. It leaves you with little doubt– hope in the face of a sobering diagnosis matters. And my mom had hope and unshakeable faith throughout her months of draining chemotherapy. 

Themo #1 was “It’s A Wonderful Life”. Above is my brother, Ben, and his lovely bride, Katie, with their niblets, doing the best reenactment ever of the original IAWL poster.

In late February, my dad’s vision in one eye was clouded. He had a hole in his retina. It was repairable, but he had to spend a lot of time facedown to keep the blood flowing to the revised eye. He shook it off; told very few people about it. He’s probably upset that I’m even writing about it! The biggest bummer for him was that he couldn’t play nurse to my mom as well as he had been the previous four months. It seemed to me like they were receiving an unfair serving of trials in a short span of time. 

Mom had her final round of chemo on April 10. We would find out if any cancer had made it past the toxic drugs on May 1. Mom and Dad went ahead and scheduled visits to see all of their grandkids in May and go to their cabin in Door County, Wisconsin. 

I don’t know if it was the report of more cancer in the exploratory surgery back in November that got me down or just the nature of the monster that is cancer. I was nervous about May 1. My parents continued to be examples of fortified faith. They prayed that cancer would be gone, gone, gone, but they remained firm believers in Romans 8:28– “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”  

Matt got the text before I did on May 1. “Ohhhhhh, awesome!!!!!” he said from the couch. “Did you get the text?” “No!” I said eagerly staring, waiting for my phone to light up. “CANCER GONE!” he read aloud. I started crying and hugged my man tightly. I feel like I fully exhaled for the first time in months. In her cheery tone, my mama announced the news to those who had been prayerfully supporting her through this journey via Facebook: 

These looks really say it all! I love how my dad is so lovingly embracing his precious bride.

I forced Skylar to dance with me in celebration for quite a while. Matt was at practice, otherwise he’d have been in on the hootenanny. 

I don’t know why cancer exists, and I don’t know why my mom has had to battle both Parkinson’s and ovarian cancer. I do know that a lot of people bore witness to my mom’s stalwart faith during this valley in life. I do know that she has an eternal hope in Christ that made this bump tolerable for her. Same goes for my dad. 

My mom is a wonderful person– a lot of people think so. But nothing exempts you from getting a horrible disease/diseases. I believe in God. I believe he hears our prayers. I don’t believe he burdens us with suffering, but I do think he helps us wring the good from it. I know my faith was strengthened as I watched my parents plow through this arduous time, mostly laughing and smiling. It is my hope that many were inspired by their unwavering trust in God’s plan throughout this struggle. 

No, their trials are not over forever. Nor are mine or yours. But shoot, there’s no cancer in my mama’s body! I think I’ll be smiling about that news for a long while. Thanks to all who prayed. Thanks to all who will continue to pray. 

I’ve written rave reviews of my mother before, but there’s nothing that reveals her character more than the story of the last six months. It seemed like my mom’s greatest hurt came from her worry that she was inflicting stress on those around her.  She wanted to conquer this thing so she could get back to loving her husband, kids, grandkids and friends with pre-cancer gusto. 

I’m so blessed by her example. I hope to be half the mom to Skylar that my mom has been to me. But even if I’m 10 percent Barb Chandler, that’s pretty good. She’s a tough act to follow. In motherhood, in life. So happy to have the bar set so high. Happy Mother’s Day, to one tough mother.