I honestly do not know what to write. When Erica gave me the
opportunity to be a contributor to the blog this week I jumped at the chance to
share my side of my mom’s breast cancer survival story. But now, it being 6
a.m. and staring at a blank word document that has been written and rewritten
five different times, I’m not sure what to say (& for those of you that
know me, this doesn’t happen to me at all, making the feeling even more
perplexing).
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In late November 2004 my mom, dad and I went out to dinner
to celebrate my grandma’s birthday. Everything was normal as usual until my dad
made some reference to the future and then my mom cut him off mid-sentence to
change the subject. Knowing my parents, it seemed like something was up to me
and I was right. Later that night my mom told me that they had found a
cancerous mass from her mammogram images and her and dad would be meeting with
an oncologist to come up with a game plan.
When my mom told me she had cancer, and even later that
night, I didn’t cry. Seems weird right? As a 17-year-old hearing your mom has
cancer you would think one would break down and sob hysterically but I didn’t.
Although I was scared and had thoughts in my head of “Will my mom see me finish
high school? Will my mom see me graduate college? What about when I get married
or have a family? Who is going to be there to tell me how to do it – how to get
through life?” I still didn’t cry –I didn’t know what to feel because I had no
idea or thought on what to expect and what would happen in the next couple of
months let alone day when we would find out more news.
After being diagnosed my mom underwent three different
surgeries including double mastectomy to get rid of the entire left and right
breast and the cancer as well.
I cried hysterically at each surgery. Even after the very
first surgery I remember my entire family - dad, sister, brother and me - huddling
in the hallway outside the pre-op room. All of us crying, huddling like a team
in the middle of the hallway. Of course we were a team, we all had one goal
(for mom to get better) and felt the same main emotion that we didn’t know what
would happen tomorrow or in a few hours because of breast cancer, but we wanted
mom to survive it.
The hardest part of my mom’s breast cancer fight was
hands-down the chemotherapy. Again, being 17, I felt like I was living two very
separate lives. By day I was going to school, hanging out with friends and
talking about whatever issue that was catastrophically ruining our lives at the
moment (most likely it was the sheer fact that it was Monday and we didn’t have
plans for the weekend yet). By night, I was coming home to see my mom on the
couch, tired, dazed and lifeless from the various rounds of chemotherapy. It was hard to see that day in and day out,
but even harder to see it from the one person who, when you’re 17, you count on
to take care of you.
I even remember one time before a basketball game, (I
cheered for 4 years in high school) another cheerleader and I were at my house
getting ready and she mentioned to me, “I like your mom’s wig. It’s cute.” To
this day that comment makes me shutter. Although there were only the best
intentions intended from this compliment, these are the things that you hear
and think, “I shouldn’t be hearing this. My mom shouldn’t have breast cancer.”
Because of breast cancer I was already coming home and witnessing the effects
of chemotherapy, having meals brought to us by various people in our church and
strangers who I wasn’t even sure how they knew my family and in general hoping,
praying and wishing that the whole cancer situation would be done, gone and out
of my family’s lives. Hearing this comment was just another reminder of the one
thing I didn’t want to be reminded of: my mom has cancer.
Fortunately, after 3 surgeries, 4 rounds of chemo and 4
rounds of radiation, my mom will be 9 years cancer-free this spring. Looking
back, I’ve noticed there is a strange thing about cancer: although it has the
potential to tear one person up, it has a greater potential to bring that
person and the people around them closer together.
As you read and can see, there were a lot of moments
throughout my mom’s fight with breast cancer that, as a witness to the process,
just plain sucked (are you seeing the common theme here?). Yet, there were a
handful of moments that because of going through them, I know my family as a
whole, and each person themself, have an unbreakable bond that some families
just cannot replicate. You know someone will always be there for you (even in a
different city or state) when you have a phone call with barely any words
spoken but instead tears and sniffles (my sister and I), you know you have
someone who believes in you when they tell you it’s okay your report card has
C’s instead of your usual A & B grades (note to the reader: to say I’m a
perfectionist is an understatement - anyone who knows me knows that I’m OCD and
not only dot my I’s and cross my T’s but will go back and check those I’s &
T’s 235 times so C’s were a big hit for me) and you know you have experienced
true, selfless love when your mom, in between the various rounds of chemo,
apologizes for missing a majority of your cheerleading gigs and you can see the
pain in her eyes that she can’t be there to see you, even though that is the
one and only thing she wants in the entire world right now.
So, over a thousand words, two cups of coffee and an hour
later - that is it. That is my mom’s story and now my story as well. To confess, this is the first true time I’ve
shared my view and recollection of co-surviving breast cancer with anyone and
yes, I will answer the question you are all wondering: why don’t I share this
story more often or tell people my side of the story? And to be honest, nobody
asks.
Cancer is one of those things that for most people unless
you’ve had it or witnessed it first hand, it’s just two-dimensional. Yes you
may ask what stage it is in, how that person is doing and even offer to help
but there’s so much more to it than a simple answer & small talk. It’s a
three dimensional process and it doesn’t just apply to the one fighting it, it extends
to the family and community around that person as well.
There is a quote that applies to Christianity that says, “I
believe in God just as I believe that the sun has risen, not only because I see
it but by it I see everything else.” (C.S. Lewis).
Being the daughter of a breast cancer survivor has changed things
for me. Like the C.S. Lewis quote, some things are a little more ‘real’ in my
point of view because of what my mom went through. My health, how my time’s
spent, even Breast Cancer Awareness Month holds a different meaning for me than
most people sporting hot pink and ‘liking’ a breast cancer article: it’s real.
My hope is that me sharing my story with you has made the effects
of cancer a little more real for you too. I hope that my experiences have given
you a glimpse of the true dimension of cancer and what it can do but also bring
light to the beauty of not just a person but an entire army of people beating
cancer like my mom did.
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