As those words came from her mouth, I was so filled with confusion I almost started laughing and asked if she was serious. I searched her face to give me some inclination that there was jest in her statement. The expression was flat and scared. "When did you find out?"
"This morning, the doctor called and told me." She suspected... and perhaps she knew all along. She was bleeding for several, several months. She started saying things like, "Jill, what if it's cancer?" Mama is smart... she knows more than I give her credit for... I, being a little more laid back would say, "Mama, it's not cancer... even if it is, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it." I thought back to all those times I told her it wasn't and encouraged her to bring it up to Dr. Milder, her primary doctor. I don't know that she ever did.
I asked about the type, which I assumed was uterine (and it was), what stage, what options we had to combat the cancer. Not many questions had answers, but it was only the day of the diagnosis. We still don't know what stage. We won't really know anything more until after tomorrow when they take out her lady bits. It's gonna be a long day of waiting and silence.
She walked in the living room and sat on the couch. She said, "I'm not afraid of this cancer. I'm not afraid of dying. I've lived a good, long life, and I know where I'm going." At this point her voice started to break and tears welled up in her eyes as she said she would be with her sister. Her fears fell to telling Daddy and how it would happen. She's always said that he can't be alone, swiftly followed by the obligatory "don't be mad at Daddy if he gets remarried." Sigh... MOM!
I waited until the following day to tell my friends about it. Wanted the diagnosis day to be just for my family. It was hard finding out. The words didn't seem surreal, and that's what I expected. I expected to feel a little light headed and when I didn't feel that, I thought to myself, "oh, my God, this is real life."
By Wednesday, two days after diagnosis, I decided that I had to trust that God knew what He was doing, the doctors will know what they are doing, and that medicine will do what it's meant to do. Even if it didn't, the modern miracles of medicine are far better than they were 30 years ago when Nana passed away. Of course I had those, "please God, don't let my mama die" prayers. Totally selfish. Totally.
I had to get back to "normal" as soon as possible, I told myself. So I stopped moping. I had/have a good support group in my family, circle of friends that I've had for [a] decade(s), and new friendships that have formed through social media. Several of which have relatives that were diagnosed with and beat cancer. The right people are in my life to keep my head on straight and give me hope.
I think because my mom handled the news so well, I did, too. I was so distraught that Monday. My world turned upside down. I didn't want to be with Jack, I didn't want to eat. All I wanted to do was lie in bed and cry. We always think of our parents as invincible. We never want to think of the day when they won't be just a phone call away or a walk through the yard in my case. She's my best friend and absolutely irreplaceable. We pray for the best tomorrow. They take away an unwelcome part of my mother and we'll find out more 'tails (cred to Tom Haverford). So if the cancer has spread to more than just her uterus, then radiation therapy will begin. Otherwise, she's just going to have the surgery. I trust that this is a pretty routine procedure and that I won't have to worry too much.
Thanks for reading this little bit of my life. Don't feel sorry for us. Please pray for the doctors, pray for my mom, dad, and my brothers and me. And if anyone wants to stop by Cabrini Hospital tomorrow, I'm sure Dad and I wouldn't be too terribly upset!
