It blows me away that a lump, a black hole on an ultrasound, could rob me of so much.
How is it possible to have so much and then have the whole world turn upside down? This was supposed to be my year. Just a couple weeks before the diagnosis, I was catching up with my friend Erin on the phone. I was driving down 880, Nia had just conked out in the backseat after we'd taken the ferry from Oakland to SF for dinner (an awesome day!). Erin was asking what was new and I was grinning ear to ear admitting that that nothing was really new per se, but it was all soooo good -- like everything I'd put into motion the last few years was settling in this most delicious way: The healthcare divison of conferences I'd built from scratch with my friend & colleague Corinne; my marriage -- I was working on loosing a few pounds so we could try for a pregnancy in 2013; my parenting -- Nia was blossoming into such a lovely young person and starting to stretch her wings and find her own balance of freedeom; with Nia's schooling -- Joe and I were working with other parents to pave the way for a Montessori Charter School. And it goes on: With nutrition, with gardening, with blogging, with photography, with personal relationships, with starting a little flock of chickens in our backyard....
This was the year to enjoy it all.
And then I felt a lump and saw a huge splotch on the ultrasound. And all the air in the room got sucked out.
But even when I heard the words breast cancer, I didn't really know what the toll would be. I still don't. But last night I got a taste.
Last night my little one called me a bad mother. She didn't say it to push my buttons, she said it becasue she has no other way to express what is happening -- which is that I've changed. In two short weeks, everything has changed. She's so angry and confused. As she cried herself to sleep because I can no longer nurse her gently to sleep, I sobbed too. I brought this thing into our house. I fucked up everything we had going for us.
What cancer is: It's a time robber. An energy sucker. It zaps joy and leaves fear. It is yet another part-time job: doctor's appointments, research, conversations & meetings, budgeting, synchronizing schedules... It is pushing my little one out of the nest before she might be ready. Date night with Joe? Make that a chemo date instead. What about my real job? Will this black blob take that, too? Kids down the road? Who knows. Treatment might trigger early menopause.
How much can one disease take? At first I feared for my life. I'm over that. There is no way I'll let this disease kill me. But what price will it extract in the next year? When the dust settles, what will remain of my family, my relationship, my job, myself...
I like to think we'll be stronger for this experience. You know, the so-called gift of cancer. My daughter will think of me as a fighter. I'll have life all figured out and know how to get the most from it....
Only time will tell. For now, I'll take this one day at a time. Today the sun is shining and I'm sitting up in the living room. I'm tired, but not immobalized. My mouth feels funny as the Taxol Mouth takes over, but I'm not too nauseas yet. And my little one is happily making cookies with her auntie in the kitchen. Small blessings to can add up to a lot.
