She told her doc, “I’m 90-years-old, I’m hitting the road”
In July of 2015, 90-year-old Norma’s husband, Leo, passed away; they had been together for 67 years. During that same period, Norma was diagnosed with uterine cancer and given her treatment options. She told her doc: “I’m 90-years-old, I’m hitting the road.”
In late August, Norma took off with her son and his wife in their RV. Norma and the retired couple hit the road on an indefinite road trip across the United States and have been documenting their uplifting journey on a Facebook page called, Driving Miss Norma.
The threesome are still exploring the US and you can see photos from their journey below, along with a recount of Norma’s story that was published on Facebook last September.
For many years Norma and Leo would listen to Paul Harvey’s “The Rest of the Story” at lunch time in their humble home in northern Michigan. Now, this is the rest of her story…
During the same two-week period, her husband, Leo, was dying, Norma, was traveling through her own medical maze. Having some blood detected in her urine during a routine exam, she was sent for an ultrasound, then another. The day after Leo was admitted to Hospice we learned that she had a large, likely cancerous mass on her uterus. Two days after Leo died we found ourselves sitting in an OB/GYN office talking about treatment options.
You know the drill: surgery, then radiation and chemo in some order. When the doctor was finished he asked her how she would like to proceed.
You know the drill: surgery, then radiation and chemo in some order. When the doctor was finished he asked her how she would like to proceed. A tiny woman at 101 pounds and under five-feet tall, an exhausted Norma looked the young doctor dead in the eye and with the strongest voice she could muster, said, “I’m 90-years-old, I’m hitting the road.”
The doc and the confused first-day medical student who was shadowing him looked at Tim (her son) and me (her daughter-in-law, Ramie) for some clarification.
We had time to talk to Norma beforehand about the likelihood that there would be some bad news coming from the doctor. She made it VERY clear to us that she had no interest in any treatment. We “got it” and were in complete support of her decision.
But what next? We couldn’t imagine leaving her in a nursing home, especially after walking down the long halls of the local Tender Care to visit Leo in the last room on the right, reserved by Hospice, for the dying. No way. There is also no way she could live at home alone without Leo. They were truly a well-oiled team of 67 years.
Having recently read Being Mortal: Medicine and What Matters in the End by Atul Gawande (please put this on your reading list) our best idea was to take her on the road with us. Norma currently is not in pain, her mind is sharp, she loves to travel, and she is remarkably easy to be around.
We explained to the well-meaning doctor and his student that we live in an RV and that we will be taking her wherever she wants to go. He didn’t hesitate to say, “RIGHT ON!” We asked if he thought us irresponsible for this approach. His reply was telling.
“As doctors,” he said, “we see what cancer treatment looks like every day. ICU, nursing homes, awful side effects and honestly, there is no guarantee she will survive the initial surgery to remove the mass. You are doing exactly what I would want to do in this situation. Have a fantastic trip!”
Meanwhile, the medical student stood discreetly next to the exam room door taking it all in. Until that point she had spent her first day working with pregnant women — the waiting room was filled with them — all thinking about the beginning of life, not the end. The look on her face during our conversation indicated she had just received the education of a lifetime.
The following story was originally published on Facebook on September 21, 2015. Follow Driving Miss Norma for the latest updates on their road trip.
