Encapsulate the year 2010 in one word. Explain why you’re choosing that word. Now, imagine it’s one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2011 for you?
I didn’t have to think very long or very hard to assign a word for this year. Cancer consumed my energy and time, but the one word I would use to describe this year is hope. Hope is what drives me, what gets me out of bed every day. Hope is what I see every time I look at my daughter. Hope is why I subjected myself to all the ick of treatment.
For what am I hopeful? A cure? Of course. And until then, I’d like to battle this cancer back, and not have any recurrence.
I’m hopeful I’ll have many more tomorrows.
I’m hopeful I’ll outlive my daughter’s childhood.
But there’s more than that – I’m 40 now, it’s about time for a midlife crisis. Imagine what happens to a midlife crisis when the universe says this might actually be the end of your life.
I’m a late bloomer: at 40, I’m still working on getting my bachelors degree, I haven’t yet started a career from which I could eventually retire, I’ve never been off this continent, I’ve just been married a few years, and my daughter isn’t even two yet. This mid-life crisis had already been messing with me when I was diagnosed with stage 3 breast cancer.
There is so much I want to do with my life. Most importantly, I want to be the one to raise my daughter, to guide her through adolescence and into adulthood, and to be there for her if and when she starts her own family. I want to get old with my husband. I want to travel around the world. I want to finish my degree – for myself, but also as an example to my daughter. I also want to write a book, and more than that, to make a living as a writer. I’ve wanted to be a writer since I first comprehended that someone wrote the words I was reading when I was in Kindergarten. I have two big ideas for non-profits I want to get started. I want to make a mark on the world. I want to make a difference. I want to make the world a better place.
So hope it is: Hope that I can be here to raise a confident, intelligent, and compassionate young woman, and Hope that I can finish my degree, muster the confidence to start submitting my writing for publication (perhaps even some travel writing from all the adventures The Husband and I will have together), and get the ball rolling on righting some wrongs in this world.
That’s a lot to pack into one little four-letter word.
I’ve been thinking about the direction and purpose of my blog in relation to this breast cancer diagnosis. When I first found out I was pregnant with my daughter, I swore I would not let CoffeeJitters turn into a mommy blog. It took about a month to figure out that idea was a little ridiculous. My daughter is just about the only thing I write about any more.
I suspect over the coming months cancer will continue to consume my thoughts as it has this month, and that’s bound to have an effect on my choice of topics for posting. On the other hand, writing about my daughter makes me happy. Cancer, not so much.
Although there has been some pressure to use CoffeeJitters as a clearing house for my cancer updates, I would like to reserve this blog (and facebook) for me, for what I want to write about. To avoid allowing CoffeeJitters to become cancer central, I’m setting up a site through http://www.lotsahelpinghands.com where I will post updates on my condition as well as details about help we will be needing on issues such as housekeeping, child care, transportation, and meal prep. Please contact me directly if you would like access to that site.
That said, here is a quick update on what’s going on: The mass has grown to 8 cm. It is a combination of two kinds of cancer: Ductal Carcinoma in Situ and Invasive Ductal Carcinoma. There is no good cancer, but the first kind is preferable as it stays in one place, while the invasive cancer, well, invades other areas. From the images, they can not determine what percentage of the cancer is in situ and how much is invasive. They won’t know exactly what stage I’m in or what the prognosis is until they operate. So far it looks as though the cancer has kept to the breast although a few of the lymph nodes look suspicious. The condition of those lymph nodes will be the most important factor in determining the stage of the cancer and prognosis. So step one is the mastectomy (which we are still working on scheduling) which is both the primary treatment for the disease as well as providing more diagnostic information.
I’m not declaring the blog a cancer free zone, I’ll probably write about it from time to time. Breast cancer that strikes women under the age of 40 tends to be particularly aggressive. Additionally, these women often have very young children they are raising. When we think of breast cancer, we usually think of grandmas, not women who have to suddenly wean their infant because the breast is going to be removed. This is a whole new demographic of women challenged by breast cancer that has received little attention. I’m sure I’ll be writing on this topic from time to time.
Meanwhile, rest assured that I am eating my vegetables, exercising, and researching all the different options available to me.
It’s so easy to get caught up in the idea that this time of year belongs only to us.
Newsflash: the existence and acknowledgment of other beliefs does not damage or diminish your beliefs – unless you choose to let them. It’s all on you.
If you think that your Governor acknowledging the existence of other beliefs is oppressive to Christians, you’re lucky that you haven’t experienced real oppression and you don’t really understand what oppression is.
In 1991 my mom brought home Matt; I was not happy. Although I had moved out, I still had a room at the homestead – a room I needed to clear of my belongings so it could go to this new kid. But that’s not the whole reason I was upset.
Taking in kids was nothing new in our home. I had four younger brothers and we had all, at one time or another, brought home friends to stay for extended periods of time. My parents took in my cousins, kids who had aged out of the foster care system, and runaways (there was always a phone call to the parents to let them know where the kids were). My parents would not turn their backs on a child in need. Eventually they decided to start taking in foster children, and Matt was the first of many special needs placements my parents welcomed into their home.
But Matt was scary. He was a 16-year-old, severely developmentally challenged kid that had been held in a motel room 24 hours a day for months because they could not find a home that would take him. After time in the foster care system, Matt had an attitude, and he was very difficult to care for because of his medical needs as well. Along with an improperly formed brain, Matt had cerebral palsy and hydrocephalus; he functioned at the level of a two year old. He was difficult to look at. His hair grew in funny little tufts around the scars from all his brain surgeries, he shuffled along all bent over, he had a vocabulary of only 50 words, and he was a head banger. By head banger I mean that whenever he was frustrated or angry or for whatever other reason he would haul off and slam his head on whatever hard surface was handy, often drawing blood.
He terrified me. I did not like the idea of this kid living in my parents house.
Why am I using this Mother’s Day post to tell you about Matt? Because Matt became a part of our family. My Mother would not give up on him. No matter how hard it was, no matter how many late nights she sat up wondering “what have I gotten myself into,” she would not be just one more foster home that sent him back to that agency. He deserved better than that. And we learned a valuable lesson about acceptance and love, because we all came to love Matt. As he became more accepted and comfortable in our home he started to blossom at school, and at church where Mom took him every Sunday. By the time he passed away in 2000, he had touched so many lives that his funeral was standing room only. An entire community had learned a lesson about acceptance and love.
Mom has always been a caretaker. It’s her calling, her gift, and she’s very good at making people feel better when they are ill. When my dad was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in October of 2006, we were all devastated, but we all knew that he was in the best hands. While the doctors may be prescribing the chemo and performing surgeries, and the nurses attending to vital stats, it was Mom that cared for him and fought for him. She was the one that kept him going, and made sure he kept his brain active, and held his hand through the emotional roller-coaster of dying.
My Dad was never a big talker, that just wasn’t his style, but Mom always made us talk on the phone together even if we didn’t think we had anything to say. Dad and I would sit there on the phone, sometimes it felt like forever, trying to think of something to say to each other. We talked a lot about baseball, we talked about mom, we talked about work – his and mine, we talked a little bit about the cancer and it’s side effects, we talked about the weather, but most importantly, we talked.
Don’t get me wrong, I loved my Dad. It’s just that both of us are introverts – and completely unskilled in the art of small-talk. The point is, I had conversations with my dad, about nothing and everything, that I hold dear in my heart, and I wouldn’t have had them if she hadn’t made us talk.
She is the glue that holds our family together, and through the most difficult time of her life, she found ways to meet each of our needs.
In the six months since my father’s death, Mom packed up and moved to Seattle. Sure part of it was to be near me. But really she’s here because she’s taken over as the primary caretaker for my 97 year old grandmother. And she’s loving every minute of it, because helping people feel better is what she does, it’s her gift.
Happy Mothers Day, Mom. Thank you, and I love you.
Happy Mothers Day to the rest of you moms out there too.
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