The Boxer

Despite the overwhelming odds against her, it's truly amazing to see how much fight is left in this girl.

Rebecca still barrels her way to the bathroom 25 feet away, refusing to use the commode recommend by nurses. She is followed by one of us with arms outstretched in case she teeters during the wobbly sprint. When she gets there, Becca sits on the pot for 20 minutes or so. Can't tell whether she is sleeping or meditating. Just know she's not doing much of what most of us do when we get to the pot.

On Monday night, Abby asked me "Why won't mommy stop fighting this?" That says it all in the form of a question.
On Tuesday, her brother Norman told the social worker who was wondering about Becca's next journey:
"What Becca cared about is the fight and what happens to Abby." That says it all in the form of a statement.

It's Wednesday, and when the bedding and pads are changed, she doesn't just roll over and play dead. That would be too easy. She makes like a stick yogi, arches her back in the bridge position, while others shuffle sheets, pads and bolsters under her. Only then does she lower her distended belly back to the expensive Tempur-Pedic, now branded with her stains. No hospital bed for this one. No rubber sheets. No surrender! OK, surrender the excruciating pain to the liquid methadone stupor. Mouth wide open.

She asks what the date is because she remembers that the first Hospice nurse assessed her mental acuity with that question and other ones, like "what is your name?" It's akin to a referee questioning a just-decked boxer in order to decide whether to stop or continue the fight. Some how, some way she stays on her feet till the bell rings.

Rebecca asks what time it is because she wants to make sure she gets her medication on schedule. And she does this despite sleeping a good 20 hours a day and saying about the same number of words.

They include a sense of humor even though there's nothing to laugh about. She tells Norman: "What are you guys doing today besides carrying me around?" She's even aware enough to comment on her hairy legs. OK, maybe that's not so unusual.

She hasn't lost her sweetness or politeness. Becca wakes to Maryclare crying and tells her it's OK. She nods in agreement when she hears the love being whispered in her ear. She always says thank you if she is present.

No doubt about it, she's here until she gets KOed. She won't take a TKO or a judge's decision to that evil beast in the opposite corner. She will be going soon — too soon — but Rebecca refuses to go down now. Unless it's on her terms.