When the News Is Bad
My mom has breast cancer. There it is, typed out with letters, strung together to make a really shitty collection of words.
As we waited for the biopsy results, Mums was rather casual about the whole thing, reminding me that no one in her family has ever had breast cancer.
"That's because nobody lives long enough to GET IT," I testily replied.
Mums acquiesced. It's true.
Mom was stunned by the results. I was not. Call it my super positive attitude, but I had a bad feeling. Not overwhelming anxiety or a sense of impending doom but just a resigned, this-is-gonna-suck feeling that this bullet would hit us.
And so it did. Honestly, I feel like we've been dodging bullets so well lately, between my father-in-law's health and my mom's nasty pulmonary embolism a couple years ago, that I knew it was a matter of time until the phone would ring with bad, bad news.
I'm a real positive person.
Since the diagnosis, I've learned that gaining the answer to one question (biopsy results) leads to about one billion MORE questions. So, this post will be a frustrating lack of information, because we know so very little right now. Consultations and tests and plans for plans are being made.
It's maddening.
I know breast cancer has the highest cure rate of all the cancers, and I know my mom's was caught very early (get your annual mammograms, ladies!). We're optimistic that this particular collection of evil cells is contained and can be (relatively) easily wiped out. But we have fears. Mums, my brother, my dad, me, everyone---we all have them.
When Mums called me with the news, I thanked her for doing so at cocktail hour. "Oh, darlin'," Mums said, "I'd be making a strong drink, even if it were ten in the morning. In fact, I'm going to make one right now."
"May as well," I said. "It can't hurt at this point, right?"
TOO SOON?
She laughed. "That was totally inappropriate."
"But you're laughing!"
So, I encouraged her to call a friend and get looped (AFTER calling my brother) and to stay away from Dr. Google, even though I spent the next hour getting a fake medical degree from Google University myself.
My dad, who was away in California, cut his trip short and came home. A relief. And since then, we've had time to inform people, process the news, and gird ourselves for battle. (I don't know why I say "we"---this is Mama's war to fight, but damn, I do visualize myself with a shield and sword, too.)
Here's the thing: Mums is a willful, stubborn, high achiever with a healthy sense of humor. She also has a temper. (It's true. She's not offended by me typing that BECAUSE SHE KNOWS IT'S TRUE.) She's pissed, and that's good. Seething, she will rid herself of this inconvenient cancer, she will pulverize it for threatening to take away years with her grandchildren, she will raise holy hell and FIGHT it. She will make it pay.
She has an army beside her, full of pissed off women (and some ticked off men), willing this cancer GONE. As my beloved prof (who passed away this past spring from breast cancer) would say, "Head up, stomach in, tits out!"
Ready, set, FIGHT.
As we waited for the biopsy results, Mums was rather casual about the whole thing, reminding me that no one in her family has ever had breast cancer.
"That's because nobody lives long enough to GET IT," I testily replied.
Mums acquiesced. It's true.
Mom was stunned by the results. I was not. Call it my super positive attitude, but I had a bad feeling. Not overwhelming anxiety or a sense of impending doom but just a resigned, this-is-gonna-suck feeling that this bullet would hit us.
And so it did. Honestly, I feel like we've been dodging bullets so well lately, between my father-in-law's health and my mom's nasty pulmonary embolism a couple years ago, that I knew it was a matter of time until the phone would ring with bad, bad news.
I'm a real positive person.
Since the diagnosis, I've learned that gaining the answer to one question (biopsy results) leads to about one billion MORE questions. So, this post will be a frustrating lack of information, because we know so very little right now. Consultations and tests and plans for plans are being made.
It's maddening.
I know breast cancer has the highest cure rate of all the cancers, and I know my mom's was caught very early (get your annual mammograms, ladies!). We're optimistic that this particular collection of evil cells is contained and can be (relatively) easily wiped out. But we have fears. Mums, my brother, my dad, me, everyone---we all have them.
When Mums called me with the news, I thanked her for doing so at cocktail hour. "Oh, darlin'," Mums said, "I'd be making a strong drink, even if it were ten in the morning. In fact, I'm going to make one right now."
"May as well," I said. "It can't hurt at this point, right?"
TOO SOON?
She laughed. "That was totally inappropriate."
"But you're laughing!"
So, I encouraged her to call a friend and get looped (AFTER calling my brother) and to stay away from Dr. Google, even though I spent the next hour getting a fake medical degree from Google University myself.
My dad, who was away in California, cut his trip short and came home. A relief. And since then, we've had time to inform people, process the news, and gird ourselves for battle. (I don't know why I say "we"---this is Mama's war to fight, but damn, I do visualize myself with a shield and sword, too.)
Here's the thing: Mums is a willful, stubborn, high achiever with a healthy sense of humor. She also has a temper. (It's true. She's not offended by me typing that BECAUSE SHE KNOWS IT'S TRUE.) She's pissed, and that's good. Seething, she will rid herself of this inconvenient cancer, she will pulverize it for threatening to take away years with her grandchildren, she will raise holy hell and FIGHT it. She will make it pay.
She has an army beside her, full of pissed off women (and some ticked off men), willing this cancer GONE. As my beloved prof (who passed away this past spring from breast cancer) would say, "Head up, stomach in, tits out!"
Ready, set, FIGHT.
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