The last competition of the season.....

A few weekends ago marked the last competition of the season for my 13-year-old. Of course, these types of events can be stressful, and usually they are; however, this year was a bit different....

Around that time last year, I was undergoing tests, mammograms, and biopsies to check for what was suspected to be breast cancer. It was determined that I was in the early stages and would need a double mastectomy soon. I did not handle this as well as I had thought I would. My mother was recovering from breast cancer and all the treatments that came along with it during this time. She was diagnosed on October 13th, 2022, and for her specific diagnosis, she required chemo, radiation, and a double mastectomy. She had her mastectomy in the early spring of 2023. During my waiting period to receive my results, I caved. I refused to get out of bed. I cried a lot. I was angry when I wasn't crying. Sometimes, I was angry when I was crying. I would answer calls or text messages. I didn't want anyone outside my home, except my mom, to know about what was happening. Looking back, I am not sure why I reacted this way, seeing that I hadn't even received a diagnosis, but I clearly remember knowing. I knew I had cancer. Call it crazy or intuition or negative thinking, but I knew. And I knew that life would be different from now on. My mom sent me text messages that I had sent her... "You have to do this; you have no choice." and "Just get up and handle it because that is what we do." Like I said, I didn't think I would be the one to give up and think the worst immediately. But I was. I was the one who wallowed in self-pity and thought I could not do it. I was the weak one, which nobody expected as I was perceived as strong. The one who could handle practically anything, the one who didn't let anything bother her, and the one whose feelings were hard to hurt. All of which was not true in any capacity, I was just a great actor. There was no acting with cancer. Cancer scared me. Cancer was a villain that could not always be taken down by the hero. Cancer had shown its ugly face with my Papa and showed me what it could do to a person. It was terrifying and heart-wrenching and left everyone around feeling helpless and hopeless. Cancer is truly the nightmare you so frantically want to wake up from but can't. I felt this when my mom was diagnosed, but I never let her know how scared I really was for her, how worried I was, or how much I cried. I played the strong one, hoping it would be contagious and she would follow suit. Never did I think I would be living that same nightmare, and I had never felt so alone in my life. I couldn't wake up from reality, so I escaped in my dreams. I slept a lot.

Mom rang the bell - April 20th, 2023

Mom rang the bell on April 20th, 2023. I never imagined that I would receive my cancer diagnosis on April 15th, 2024... Tax Day. I was teaching 5th grade and decided to take the day off because I knew the house would be empty. I needed the silence and to be alone. The phone rang around 1:00 pm that afternoon. It was the cancer center with my biopsy results from Friday. I heard the nurse say, "Cancer, estrogen-fueled, intermediate-grade, stage 0 breast cancer." She asked several times if I was ok. No, I was not ok. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't see anything because my eyes would not focus. Everything was blurry. I felt my blood pumping loudly through my veins, and I could hear it. I was going to pass out. I remember thinking, "Holy Cow, I am going to pass out." Fortunately, I did not pass out. Not completely, anyway. I was semi-conscious, I was alert but not really. I never really fully regained full consciousness for months after. I didn't find out until later that the nurse knew me as she was close friends with my aunt Mary. Her concern was genuine, and I am sure having to tell me something like that over the phone was hard for her. Of course, anyone else would have been relieved to have caught it early. Not me. I was devastated. A good report would have been no cancer, and any cancer report containing any stage or grade was considered bad.

So, the surgery date was set for June 6th, which seemed ideal because it was the day after the last day of school. I would see my class graduate the 5th grade, my son graduate kindergarten, and my girls receive their end-of-the-year awards. At least something in this nightmare seemed to go my way. On the day of the surgery, Justin had to have me at the hospital at 5:30. I didn't want to get out of the van. In fact, I refused to get out altogether. I refused to have the surgery. I sat there in the passenger seat as tears streamed down my cheeks, with my arms crossed. I wasn't getting out. Then, just as quickly as the refusal came, I finally got out of the van and walked to the door without a word. I didn't say a word until we got into the pre-op room.

I don't remember much after that. I vaguely remember the recovery unit and the transfer to the room for observation. I clearly remember coming home that day, and the pain that was creeping in... One memory that is burned into my brain is when my bandages were taken off so that I could shower. The scars and the void. The void. It was more than physical; it was everything—a missing piece to something that would never be complete again.

Recovery went as expected, and I seemed to be textbook patient. Physically, everything healed as it should. Emotionally and mentally, well, that is still to be determined.