A mother with an undeserved disease, a chance for happiness

In the year 2019 my mother presented with a cough that refused to leave. We foolishly believed it was nothing. A proud woman, she would rather power through it than miss a day of work. Why spend a day at the physician? Who would make dinner or prepare tomorrows lunch for you? After a few months, it progressed to extended periods of sleep after work. Everyone believed it was just work aches. Nobody knew the danger. Nobody realized her fingers were clubbing until it was too late. Nobody knew the groans she produced while asleep were cries for help. With assistance from Cook County, she was able to receive a diagnosis. It was past the time for Covid. Whatever she had, came and left. Leaving only its aftermath. The color of scars in her alveoli, her lung sacs. Pulmonary Fibrosis. 

For about four years she has been on supplemental oxygen. First on oxygen tanks, just enough flow to let her come home and keep working.  A balance that she was satisfied with. Then she had to take it to work. To use it on her breaks. A moment passed and she began needing to excuse herself. As she felt she needed to catch her breath.  A blink and she comes home to a concentrator, a steady flow, a day spent sleeping. A year passes and she must leave the work force. She remains at home, able to move around the ground floor and continue her duties. Steadily sustained. Everything begins to seem normal. A chance to continue on. But something like this gives no chances. She caught a flu at the very end of 2025. All this time of careful consideration, of progress. Of safety and hope. Her new year was spent in the hospital. A trial of trauma and pain nobody would ever deserve. Fluid had filled her lungs, pneumonia. Three weeks. She had to more than double her oxygen need after being released. A larger machine, less independence.  More fear. 

My mother has sacrificed and worked herself past what I deserved. Beyond what I have proven and provided.   She committed herself until her body could not sustain her. I realized too late what I had to do. I was in denial of her condition for years. I thought I couldn't bear the weight. I left it to my father to support her. I believed she would still remain until I grew older, and more accomplished. Something that I know I took for granted. Now I fear she will not see this tree bloom. I hoped for at least three years. I changed my career. I left my old path behind. I've barely begun to take a few steps. A gleam in her eye, a smile with teeth missing after her medication had weakened her enamel, is all I look for.  A tear shed from seeing her boy help others. 

This fund for her procedure wouldn't guarantee this. Estimates say successful QoL and survivability begins to drop after the fourth year. But it would let her walk to the bathroom, speak for longer than two minutes. Let her go upstairs for once in six years. Take a shower. See her godchildren walk. Take a walk herself! Have the sun shine on her from somewhere other than the kitchen door, or the living room windows. All she deserves is so close, yet, as the sun, so far. All I ask is that you help it shine.