Kyle, my infusion nurse for the week, stood in the doorway of the cramped infusion room where I sat reclined, staring somewhere between the ceiling tiles and my own uncertain future.
“Let’s do it,” I said, pushing my reclined chair upright.
“I think this one goes in the right leg.” He said.
“Yes, you’re right,” I replied. “I still remember who gave what and where. Week 1 – Nurse Jenna did the left leg. Week 4 – You did the right. Week 7 – Nurse Amber injected the left. And now you get the right again. This is the last one, correct?”
“Yes, this is it,” Kyle confirmed. Then he added, “But you’ll still have the Zoladex shot.”
“That’s fine,” I said. “At least that one isn’t cardiotoxic like this one. From what I understand, though, this drug is the most effective for the type of cancer I have… or hopefully had.”
He pulled up a stool in front of me as I rolled down my pant leg, exposing my right thigh.
I sat.
Ready.
“Ok” I said. “Let’s go.” And I looked away.
He started the timer. Five minutes to slowly push the medication in.
The initial puncture stung. I pulled my focus away from the needle and into the distance….into the future.
This is it, I thought. I’m almost done with this phase of treatment.
What comes next? With my life, I mean.
I’m at the heaviest weight I’ve ever been. My resting heart rate is higher than I’ve ever known it to be. Food makes me queasy. My energy is foreign to me…. muted, dulled.
All I know is that I want this to be over.
Will I beat cancer? I don’t know. I hope so. But hope and certainty are not the same thing.
They say I caught it early. Lucky.
Lucky.
If I were lucky, I wouldn’t have gotten it at all.
I still can’t believe I got cancer.
It’s almost over, I reminded myself. Soon I’ll be able to travel again. Maybe visit my parents. Maybe sit across from my mom again.
Maybe, someday, I’ll look back and think That wasn’t so bad.
I shouldn’t say that. It isn’t over yet.
Four more weeks.
At least I’m done with this shot.
I hope my heart tolerated it well. I’ll find out next week when an echocardiogram is performed.
My life has changed. For the better? I don’t know.
What I do know is this:
I’m still here.
Right now, that has to be enough.
“Ok. Ms. Medina, Times up” Kyle said and pulled the needle out my right thigh and quickly pressed a bandage over the puncture wound.
Closure came today as we said our final goodbye and laid our beloved Queen to rest. The procession of vehicles, moving in a single line to the cemetery, left me in awe. It dawned on me that we were all here—descendants, relatives, grandchildren, cousins—because of her. She brought us together, even in death. Grandma’s journey began when she left her home in Aguascalientes at the young age of 19, making her way to El Paso, Texas. She was incredibly brave to embark on that path alone.
The services began yesterday, and I was honored to deliver the eulogy. My memories of her are vivid and cherished—she was a central figure in my upbringing. Even after her Alzheimer’s diagnosis and the slow decline that followed, I made it a point to stay connected, to continue communicating with her. Throughout it all, she remained resilient.
Today, we laid her to rest. It feels surreal to think that her presence is no longer with us. The finality of death is, without a doubt, the hardest thing to process.
Below is the eulogy I shared in her honor:
Grandma is one of the toughest women I’ve ever known. Grandma faced and overcame countless challenges in life, living to the ripe age of 93.
The way our family home acreage was divided Grandma and Grandpa lived in the front lot, while Aunt and Uncle lived in the back lot. So, yes, Grandma was a central figure in my upbringing.
Whenever mom needed a break from me, she’d send me next door to hang out with Grandma, Aunt Irene or Uncle Frank and I loved it because there I was treated like royalty. I enjoyed messing around with the white guitar that Grandpa kept in the living room and grandma never hushed me. Ok, maybe once when she was trying to watch an interesting segment of that show “Christina”.
Grandma never learned how to drive, so whenever Mom needed to go out and Grandma needed something, we’d always make sure to take her with us. I remember thrift store shopping with Mom and Grandma—it was a favorite pastime of ours. I’d be in the phase of hunting for cool vintage clothes, while Mom and Grandma could spend hours sifting through piles of rags and fabrics.
I also remember long drives across the border with Mom and Grandma after visiting Tia Olga or stopping by the doctor. I’d sit in the back seat and have my headphones on, listening to music, while Mom and Grandma chatted as we idled in the long border lines to get back into El Paso. This is where I would often witness Grandma’s kind heart as she gave pesos to people selling chicklets or those simply begging on the streets. Despite not having much herself, she always stopped to give, and that made a lasting impression on me.
We grew up going to church, and since Grandma couldn’t drive, we would always stop to pick her up to give her a ride to church service. Grandma would get in the vehicle and always sat in the front seat, and I’d be relegated to the back. We would get to church, and I’d often listen to her talk to all her church friends, whom we all affectionately called “Hermanas.”
I was quite the tomboy back then, and Grandma would always correct my posture at church and encouraged me to act more like a lady. I remember once sitting slouched in church, probably wearing a dress Mom had made for me. Grandma gently guided me to sit up straight. She was stern but caring.
Grandma made the best tamales, hands down. No argument there. There came a time when it became too difficult for her to make them, but I’ll never forget how she used to test the “masa” by dropping a small piece into a glass of water to see if it floated. As a kid, I thought it was a clever trick. As an adult, I now understand that the buoyancy of the “masa” is what makes the tamales so delicious. Yep, Grandma made the best tamales.
I also remember visiting Grandma’s house and often helping her with the dishes. I’m not sure why I enjoyed the chore, but I did. Grandma would always have a pot on the left side of the sink, filled with a mixture of water, Clorox, and dish soap for cleaning and scrubbing. She didn’t like to waste water, and she taught me that running water was only for rinsing. Another memory that sticks with me is when I would help her wash clothes by hand outside at the “tendedero.” She used a big blue bar of soap to scrub Grandpa’s SNA Nut Company shirts.
I also recall how worried Grandma was when Grandpa cut his finger at work. I was young, so she tried to shield me from the details, but I could see how deeply concerned she was for him.
There are so many lessons, so many memories. Mom and Grandma were inseparable, at least up until I graduated high school. When I left home for college, Mom got a job, and we started noticing that Grandma was exhibiting signs of Alzheimer’s. I’ll spare the details, but I always tried to visit her when I was back in Chaparral, even during the time when Mom and Grandma weren’t getting along.
When I left Chaparral for college up North. I would stop by to visit and on my return, Grandma always liked to bless me with prayer before I made the four-hour drive back up to Albuquerque. I remember her telling me how proud she was of me
I would always joke with Grandma, telling her I was her favorite grandchild, but I knew she loved us all the same. However, she was my favorite grandma.
One time, Grandma asked me if I ever thought about getting married. I told her no, that I hadn’t found anyone. She replied, “Well, you better hurry up, or ‘Se te va ir el tren,’” which translates to, “You’d better find someone, or the train is going to leave you.” Then, I met Mike and brought him home to meet Grandma. She was happy for me, I could tell. Her way of showing it? She looked at Mike and said, “¡Qué narizon!” which means, “What a big nose!” That’s how I knew she approved.
Grandma’s bluntness was just part of her endearing, strong character. She always made me laugh, even if most people didn’t understand her humor.
If Grandma ever offered you food or drink and you kindly turned it down, she would always say, “¡Ay, pues chulo!”
Goodbye, Grandma. I will always carry the Christian values you instilled in me. You were strong and courageous, but underneath all that toughness, you had the kindest heart. Please know Mom misses you, and in her own struggle, she still calls out for you.
Journaling was Recommended 