Lost my sister two months ago at the age of 23

Just as my title suggests, I lost my younger sister to breast cancer two months ago.  She was diagnosed at the age of 20 with metastatic breast cancer right from the start....it had spread to her bones, most concerningly her spine and at the time, a slight, very slight shadow on her liver.  I will NEVER forget the phone call I received.  I was out for a jog, knew Jamie had had a few concerns but didn't think much of it other than she hurt herself at work (she was a CNA while in college and one day at work she heard a cracking sound in one of her ribs while coughing and then a lot of pain)...I knew she had the appointment and was just waiting for her to get a hold of me when all was done.  I got a phone call from my Aunt instead of Jamie.  She told me she has breast cancer and that things didn't look good and that we should all come to Omaha right away.  I was in a complete daze.  I am not sure why I got the phone call first, but I think it was because of my level-headedness...I called my mom...she was driving.  I asked her to slow down and pull over to the side of the road because I had something very important to tell her.  After she did so I told her the news and her first response to heading to Omaha was..."but I have to work".  I know she was in shock. 

Prior to Jamie's diagnosis, there had been subtle signs...but not anything that couldn't be written off.  She said she felt a lump a couple of days after getting her nipple pierced (rebel), but chalked it up to an infection of sorts because her nipple did get very inflamed and was draining fluid after...it retracted and she had to take the ring out.  The retraction didn't leave so she went to the doctor.  They gave her an antibiotic.  She went home. She didn't tell us.  Only until after her diagnosis which occurred six months later.  

The same week she graduated college (associate's degree in graphic design) and moved into her apartment with her boyfriend...she got the news.  I cannot, still, wrap my mind around that.  A time, when a young young girl should be having a blast and seeking a job and loving life, my sister had it all taken from her.  The first oncologist we saw was absolutely baffled.  He basically said the cancer was everywhere and offered little hope...he did not even suggest to take her off of birth control and she was hormone positive.  At that point, and because Jamie very quietly said she wanted to fight this...we told him we weren't happy with the option to do nothing.  There were many tears shed that day.  I know if it weren't for him my sister would not have been around for the next few years.  He called up a friend of his at UNMC, Dr. Cowan, and even though he was an extremely busy man, he was able to see Jamie the very next day and take her on as a patient.  I appreciate this man so much!  I do not know if, because he deals in breast cancer research if this why he chose to treat her, but he stuck by us until the very end and was very competent in his knowledge.  I shouldn't say "us"...Jamie had the cancer and fought it...we all fought our own battles during her illness and honestly..I will never be able to understand the depth of her fear, her anger, and her sadness and fight.  

I could go on and on about this battle.  Most of you here are familiar with it as caregivers.  My sister's last few months were not what you would expect.  She had married her fiance 8 months prior to things changing for her.  They had a home.  She could not work due to disability and medicaid and such...she wanted to...but she would lose her healthcare coverage.  After their wedding it seemed that her pain had increased.  But she was soooo tough.  She wanted to live as normally as possible and chose to stay with her husband instead of coming home.  I often wonder how this was for her because her husband worked late hours (as a graphic designer...they met in college) and she was alone a lot of the time due to the distances between all of us.  I would call her toward the end and she would repeat things.  Or we would text and she would repeat things as well.  I should have known.  I bought a bundle of books to send to her and her response was that she wouldn't have the time to read them.  She made many pointed remarks like this.  Jamie was considered an adult.  She kept most of her medical records from us.  I do not know why.  Her last chemo knocked her out and put her in the hospital for 7 days due to low WBC count and an underlying infection.  Once she left the hospital her pain seemed to increase and two days later she was back in the ER.  I received many phone callse that Jamie was in the ER but that she signed a privact policy and no one could come and see her.  I don't know why she did this.  Her husband paced outside...she told us she was there...but wouldn't allow us to come visit her.  I wonder it it wasn't because she knew what was happening.  It had to be this.  She eventually gave in and allowed us to visit...but then was sent to Omaha for better pain control.  It was at this point that I got a phone call.  See, we live over 7 hours away and as a nurse and my hubby being a teacher...we weren't able to get away all the time.  I will never get over this guilt because at the beginning, before we relocated, I was with her a lot throughout her appointments.  I left for Omaha immediately when her husband called to say the doctor said two days to two weeks.  See, they were so young.  I think her husband was disillusioned about a lot of things.  The months leading up to this Jamie slept more and her speech slowed drastically.  

When I walked in the room most of our siblings were there.  My husband and my son and I entered.  Jamie was my sons godmother and she loved him so much.  She cried.  I hugged her and told her it's okay.  Because seeing her then, I knew that she knew.  I knew she was also very afraid.  Her speech was slow.  She wasn't eating much.  We chatted about wedding rings.  She loved hers.  We chatted about ways to decorate our homes.  She was so creative.  She held my son.  She tried to get up many times but was very unsteady.  I helped her shower.  I helped her put makeup on.  Then the doctors came in to prepare to dismiss her home with hospice the next day.  They shook her hand.  She smiled.  

On mother's day...she turned to my mom and said that the flowers were so beautiful.  She had bought my mom a bouquet the day before for mother's day.  My mom said...yes, I know.  Thank you.  Jamie said...no, the flowers in my head.  Then she opened her eyes and said "and I'm not crazy".  She turned to her husband and said, I am going to miss you so much and I want to see you all everyday".  We told her that she would see us everyday.  That we just wouldn't be able to see her.   Then extended family came into the room and said their goodbyes.  That was the hardest.  Knowing that Jamie knew and I couldn't protect her from this.  That she knew she was going to die.  We left an hour or so later for her home.  But...Jamie didn't want this...she wanted to stop at a restaurant to eat...we were all worried...she wasn't capable of standing but we decided...let's do it and to Joe's Crab Shack we went.  She hated seafood...but she tried it all that day.  One last thing to do that was new to her.  And that is how Jamie was.  

 There's so much more to say but I won't detail you with more.  The winding down of my sister's young life is something I will never know how to bear I don't believe.  She was not ready to die and that's the hardest part for me to deal with.  When she could no longer speak coherently she pulled herself up from her slumber to say something...of which I will never know to me...she said my name and the rest was a groan and a breath and a groan...she went around the room with all of us.  I've learned that the human heart can bear a lot.  SHe saw things that weren't there.  She repeated the names of people we'd never met.  She saw our grandfather.  She asked me why I didn't see the things she saw.  I read to her.  I turned her.  Bathed her.  And then the hospice nurse checked her vitals.  She told us to call those who needed to be here.  To call the pastor that had married her and her husband.  We sang.  I watched her take her last breath.  I called her name.  We prayed.  And when we opened our eyes, the smile that wasn't there before was there.  

Thanks for reading this.  I know it was long.  But I am not doing okay and I struggle with the permanency of losing her everyday.