It’s been nine days since Dr. Propeck first confirmed what I already knew, thanks to the wonders of the internet. I have breast cancer. Less than two weeks in and still two and half weeks to go before I get to meet with my surgeon and begin to lay out my treatment plan and I already feel like I’m learning something.
So many dear friends have been reaching out, checking in on me, asking me how I am. It feels like there is an expectation that I will be scared or heartbroken by the diagnosis and terrified of cancer and of death. I’ve most certainly been starting out the ride on the emotional rollercoaster, but I don’t fear cancer or death. First of all, the breast cancer I have has an excellent recovery rate. Secondly, I’m lucky enough to be in Madison where I am able to get treatment at a world class cancer center. These are great comforts.
There are other things too. I grew up surrounded by severe illnesses and by death itself. My father had a stroke when I was about four. I don’t remember it, but he told me once that my brother and I used to walk with him around the yard as he was healing. It was our job to be there for him and help him as he recuperated. My mother was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was six. I don’t remember the diagnosis, but I do remember playing with the prosthetic breast that lay on her nightstand and letting her know whenever her wig was on crooked. I also remember her dying when I was twelve. Somewhere in those years my grandma had several heart attacks and spend recovery time living with us. I do remember taking her for walks in the back yard. I wanted to walk her back to the woods, show her all my favorite places to play. Instead, we walk just a few hundred feet to talk with Dad and find out how the corn drying was going before she was tired and ready to return to the house. Illness was part of life. Dying was too. I went to my first funeral when I was maybe six or seven. It was that of my Uncle Clarence. I still remember the flag on his coffin. I didn’t know much of what had happened, but I understood that Uncle Clarence had done something important in his life to give him that honor.
Over time I’ve come to understand that life is simply chapters. Each brings us something. We learn. We hurt. We heal. I can only imagine that death is yet another chapter that we haven’t gotten to read yet. It’s only another part of the book, nothing to fear, though I will admit to hoping that this is a long, long life and I don’t get to read that chapter for many years to come. I’ve been enjoying this book for long enough that I don’t want it to end for a long time.
I’ve been blessed too by my epilepsy. For the last twelve years I’ve had the diagnosis of a disability that has changed my life and who I am. I’ve lived with the reality that I have a disability that could cause brain damage or even kill me and that I take medication that could, while doing me good, also do me harm. It’s taught me that there’s nothing else to do besides live life.
So, here I am with a new diagnosis, and the reality remains the same. There’s nothing to do but live. I do have fears and questions, but these are about how to incorporate treatment into my life, not so much about the cancer itself. How do I stay as healthy and active as I can? How do I work with toddlers after surgery and during treatment without getting sick? How do I remain seizure free moving forward?
So, there are questions. There are emotions. There are fears. But there is also much to explore, learn, and cherish. There is beauty here. I keep seeing it as I reconnect with friends and take in the kindness of friends and family. It is indeed a gift that I could have gotten no other way.
