Those under 5 feet in height should not get sick.

I didn't think I could see anything worse than seeing my mom fragile, listless, and fighting for her life. Well, I think seeing her scared, depressed, and fighting hope is worse.

She has fought so hard, why is she so scared now?

I can tell she is not sleeping well. The circles under her eyes are dark and she is extremely painful and restless. I hate knowing signs and not being able to help as a practitioner or really as a daughter. This is her fight, and she will ask for support and help. But when?

When it is too late to take control?

I fake strength and go on numbers, studies, and hope. Inside I am crying stop, why, and not my mommy. My mom has had enough @*!$ in her life. She doesn't deserve fear and pain. She doesn't warrant sleepless nights and depression. She is the greatest mom I could ever have and I don't want her to be anyone else than who she is: busy, opinionated, little, and Conor's Beany.

So, the one or two people who read my blog, please send those positive vibes to my mommy. Wish for no elevation in her CA-125 levels, no CT or PET scans, and no more pain, depression, and insomnia. Maybe all the energy will somehow someway stop her suffering and maybe get in her hard-headed noggin that an anti-depressant could help with sleep, pain, and fear.

Conor needs his Beany and Beany needs her Conor.