A mother's miracle

memory of a miracle

As I grow older and just a little wiser, I realize wallowing in a pity party over life's hardships is a waste of precious time. Dealing with divorce, financial problems and a decade of raising three children on my own, hardly prepared me for my daughter's terminal cancer diagnosis. Her challenge pulled me through a dire journey.  I am thankful to share my memory of her story.

In a zombie-like state, I remember hearing the news from the oncologist.  I felt like I was somewhere outside the room.  I could hear the doctor but it didn't seem real. "Do you have any questions before we present to the tumor board?" The doctor's words dragged me back. Millions of questions spun around in my mind but I couldn't manage to get even one out of my mouth.

A few selfish tears slid down my stone face. I just sat stiff and still long after the doctors left. Maybe I thought if I didn't move nothing else would change either. Maybe it was all a mistake. I squeezed my eyes shut. With no time left for my own tears, I drew in one last sigh and left that helpless role to become my daughter's keeper.

Then, I asked the real question, "What about you Amy? Is there any place you want to go?"

Amy had already faced cruel battles with physical and emotional disabilities during her 24 years. None would be as ugly as her big 'C' battle.  From a day in November when I promised her I'd be there for her, until the next summer at the end of June, she faced pain and fear only those tortured by the disease could understand.

Tucked in on the couch during a brief holiday visit, Amy snuggled with her favorite cat.  Later when I checked her temperature she asked me a question I had to answer. "Mom. Is there any place you'd want to go if you knew you were going to die?"

Trying to smile, I struggled not to cry. I said there were lots of places I wanted to go. "None of it is all that important to me." The room seemed to fill up with an eerie silence.

We acted like it was just any other "what if" question we talked about a thousand times. Only this time it wasn't as easy as, "What if Santa isn't real, or what if some kids tease me?"

We both knew what she meant.  She talked about dreaming of going to Las Vegas sometime before she died. "If I had one wish, that's what I want to do."

I didn't say much. It didn't seem realistic or possible to consider a trip.  A few days later, a page from the nurse's station motivated me try to figure out a plan. For Amy's trip. For Amy's life. For Amy's death.

"If anyone in your family wants to see Amy, they should come now," an oncologist advised. She went on to explain that the chemo was maxed out and they would finish the radiation treatments but, "The team agrees her prognosis is terminal." 

She sounded  like a tour guide giving out useful information.

When I asked about traveling, she said Amy should decide, "It's really about the quality of her life. She’s the only one who knows how she wants to live it."

We borrowed money. Arranged schedules. And, it happened. Amy got her wish to be a Vegas tourist. She saw the sights as a fragile girl in a wheelchair, but her weak smile of satisfaction made the trip worth all the debt and worries.

Then one bleak day in February a nurse tried several times to get a blood pressure reading. She failed to find it. That night, too weak to talk out loud, Amy's tormented eyes told me she was close to giving in. Somehow she found the strength to pull the feeding tube out of her nose shaking her head slightly when I reached to call the nurse.

I remember the grey tone of her face. The clammy coldness of her skin. But, most of all I remember the blank dead look in her eyes. After a favorite lullaby from better days, I held her hand, put my head close to her pillow and found some sleep. I knew it might be my daughter’s last night.

I thought I was dreaming when Amy seemed to squeeze my hand. The bright winter sun through the open shades helped me see a tiny spark jumping from her once lifeless eyes.

The next day when she was strong enough to speak, she shared what happened. "First, I saw orangish lights that glimmered around me. It didn't seem real. It didn't burn or feel cold but the light circled all around me.  Then I heard a man's voice. I could only see a blurry face when I hear, "I am your guardian angel. The man said his name was Cossy." Her excitement wore her out enough to take a break.

She went on to describe the shimmering orange and white lights. "It looked like sparkles but it didn't sting." She said the lights made her feel safe and peaceful.

She heard Cossy's voice comforting her with, "Amy, do not worry. Don't be afraid. You will be sick for a long time, but you are not doing to die. It's not your time to die.,"

After that night Amy continued to gain strength. If I had not witnessed the event firsthand, I doubt I would believe it happened.  I still get chills thinking about that night. Cossy came to Amy's rescue a few more times until she no longer needed his help. Before he left he said they would meet again someday. That was ten years ago.

The reality of my daughter's battle with cancer made me realize several lessons about life. I am thankful that Amy defied the odds and beat Cancer. I am thankful I was given enough strength to help her through it. I am thankful for the love and support of family and for doctors and nurses.  Still, I am most thankful for the word I never really believed could happen. Miracle.  Miracles do happen. Ask Amy.

I am thankful to share Amy's story and to give the hope of a miracle to another special person waiting for her angel.

Las Vegas Super Dive (DIVE-not diva)

So I plan to take my daughter back to Vegas in the next few months and remembered a review rant I placed somewhere. I dragged it out of the dung heap just for you! If you want to stay downtown, go to the Golden Nugget. You can stay in the older part for a decent price. It's still classy just not trendy. The facilities are top rate. Best thing? It's the opposite of the Plaza-it's clean, secure and the service is great. You don't feel like you're in a real life mafia scene from the '50s.

Review of the Plaza
1 main Street
Las Vegas, NV

Imagine how bad a place must be if you don’t want to stay there even if it’s FREE! That is exactly what happened to me at the Plaza Hotel after my last trip to Las Vegas. After two days and four room changes, I escaped the dilapidated property.
I couldn’t afford to do it, but no air conditioning, a dirty room, a roll-a-way bed as the only bed in the room and not feeling safe due to the shady characters roaming the upper floor hotel hallways, can make you opt for a different room in exchange for a few hours sleep!
The first time we stayed at the Plaza 1995, the hotel room was dated but clean. The price was cheap and the service so-so. After our initial stay, we got offers for discount rates and took advantage of the offers on several occasions. Over the years it was easy to see a decline in the quality of the rooms. It went from an old place with some character to an old place with old stained carpet and crappy service. Ranging from faded thin bedding, to no water pressure and hard poor quality mattresses, the amenities at this place got less and less appealing.
When we traveled with friends and the main purpose of the trip was to party and gamble, it seemed like an okay deal. After all, we just needed a place to sleep. Right? But even that got to the unacceptable level.
The summer of 2009 experience was my last stay at the Plaza-forever. My first clue was on check in. They didn’t have a non-smoking room for me even though I booked several weeks in advance. After talking to a manager to get the right room choice, I got a room key, tromped over to the other tower–a major inconvenience as the front desk only has access to the north tower, rode up the elevator which reeked with fresh urine stains, entered the room ready to collapse and-viola!No air conditioning. It was over 100 degrees so the ninth floor room was miserable. I called the desk and they said someone would be up to fix it. After 20 minutes of sweating, I took my B.O. down to the desk.
One person told me the repairman was on break. After another half an hour someone called and said the air conditioner couldn’t be fixed. It was a miserable experience and no one seemed to know what was going on. It took almost three hours after I checked in to get another room.
For the next room assignment, a bellman helped me move to another room. He was told to make sure it was satisfactory so we both laughed when he opened the room door to find the bed unmade, a garbage can tipped over and beer bottles scattered around the room.
So, you get the idea. It was a joke. The manager assured me they were still in the process of remodeling and that was why there was confusion. Then he upgraded me to a mini-suite in the north tower. That so-called upgrade was another fiasco. The room featured a small bar and little refrigerator so that justified the suite title, evidently. However, there was only a lumpy double roll-a-way bed that I couldn’t sleep on even after a few cocktails! The 19 inch TV in the room featured lines on the screen and loud static. I waited until the next day to ask to be moved.
The next room was back in the South Tower which has direct access across the side alley to the bus station. I have nothing against transient people hanging out there, but I’d rather not have them lurking in the halls and stairwells on the upper floors of the hotel. The lack of security at the hotel was more than a little scary. After hearing loud profanities and a few crashing sounds, a peeked out the door to glimpse at FIP (fight in progress) and ducked back into my dungeon. Stepping over the broken glass and blood a couple hours later, I got the heck out of that dive and don’t plan to go back. We went from free to $39 a night at the Golden Nugget. The $39 difference felt more like homeless in the ally vs comfortable in the penthouse.
Keep in mind that my opinion is not based on a one-time experience. We’ve stayed at the Plaza at least 20 times over the past 15 years. It is simply going downhill fast and attracting questionable clientele. A remodel won’t fix some of the problems that come with a shabby reputation.