It started out like everyday at work, more emails than I can answer, meetings to attend and people walking in and out of the office and the phone ringing. One call would change my life. My dear daughter was telling me that the doctor called and wanted to talk to her, and to bring someone with her.
A biopsy had been done a few days before and she feared the worst. I left work immediately. The sky was colorless, the traffic moving along but my mind was not on driving. Another doctor months before told her not to worry about the breast lump, she was young, it was nothing even though the lump was large. After a few months, my daughter decided she wanted a second opinion.
My mind wandered back to Kristin as a little girl, my beautiful, smart, and petite child always getting sicker than my other two girls. She was now the mother of a vivacious seven-year old and Kristin possibly was facing a fight for her life.
I made it to her house in record time, about seventy miles away. Her husband was waiting and we headed to the physician’s office. I took notes…“aggressive cancer, we’ll hit it with everything” and my world is slipping away. This isn’t the way life should unfold. I should have cancer, not her. Give me the cancer Lord, not her.
Having worked in healthcare for over twenty years, I expected treatment to move quickly. It is not to be. Time stands still. When is your appointment with the surgeon? A month away. When is the surgery? Can’t get her scheduled for five weeks. The lumpectomy didn’t get enough and the sentinel lymph node is cancerous. When is the next surgery? Over a month away. I wanted to scream out loud what was continually in my head. It is the scene with Shirley MacLaine in Terms of Endearment. That’s my daughter! Help her! Doesn’t anyone care! How can you wait with the cancer spreading! I find myself forgetting to breathe. I work but can’t tell you what I did days before. I forget weeks of my life.
Doctors change, she now has a great surgical oncologist and appointments and surgery moves ahead quickly. Eleven of the sixteen lymph nodes are cancerous but the surgeon gets clean edges and the lumpectomy is successful.
The journey continues. We are hopeful. She is a fighter and will see her own graduate from college and get married and hold her grandchild one day. The alternative is unthinkable.
Chemotherapy started today, once every two weeks for six months and then radiation therapy. Life is suspended. I’ll laugh again. I pray continually as do many friends.
What is the color of fear? It is the color of the storm that passes through me.
Read Part 2, They Chose to Laugh
