Telling My Family and My Own Fears
My sister, BB, and I are very close. We are often asked if we are twins, despite our nearly six year age difference. I'm the older one. We share, with our mother, very expressive and animated faces, and a somewhat unexpected goofiness. My father too had an expressive face and could be a goofball, so I suppose we all have that in common. We also share the same humor, which includes some gallows humor.
While my ultrasound, mammogram, and biopsy appointments were happening, I had been texting with my sister and keeping her updated. After I received the cancer diagnosis and B and I were whisked to the counselor's office, BB texted me to ask for the results and also to tell me a story about how she had felt like an asshole for honking at a car who had, unknown to her, been stopped waiting for an old lady to cross the street. All I could text back was "I have cancer." She texted me back a question, which I no longer remember. I replied "The cells are malignant." I then put my phone down to try to focus on what the counselor was saying about what the next steps would be and ignored her phone call. We texted more later that day, mostly focused on what the next steps would be and when to tell our mom. Our mom was currently visiting family out of the country, and I weighed not wanting to ruin her trip, with my knowledge that as a mom myself, I would want to know immediately if it were my daughter.
BB insisted on coming over the night I was diagnosed. She walked into my kitchen and wrapped me in a hug and broke down sobbing. (We are extremely close, but she and I don't hug often). She said "You can't die on me, you bitch. And how could you tell me you have cancer in a text?!" We cackled together through tears as I told her I guess it was only fair since she told me that our dad was missing through AIM (I'll explain this in another post). We laughed harder at how she was texting me about her inane driving story only to receive my my dead-pan response of "I have cancer." Of course, being who we are, we then talked about next steps, the fact that I would get a new pair of boobs out of this and laughed until our stomachs hurt about other things I can't remember. I am lucky that my sister is a medical professional, and she has gone deep down the rabbit hole of learning about breast cancer with me and what other testing was needed, and what possible treatments I would have. The rational helps us with the emotional.
I ultimately told my mom within a day of my diagnosis. My sister and I had ignored her text messages asking how my appointments had gone, and I knew she would want to know. I also knew that by this point, she had to be suspicious. Finally, I called her and told her the news. My mom ended up cutting her trip short and flying home on the next available flight even though I uselessly told her not to.
B and I talked about how to much to tell our 4 1/2 year old daughter, R. Our son, L, was only 20 months old, so telling him wasn't something we considered. But R is perceptive, extremely sensitive, and does better knowing things in advance. I told her mommy had a germ called a cancer germ in her boobs and that I would likely need a big surgery to remove them. I told her I may also need treatment that would make me feel bad and make me go bald. I told her I would be going to the doctor a lot. R asked a lot of questions including how they would make me new boobs, "with meat?" she asked? I cracked up at at that one.
There have been harder conversations with R. We received a children's book called "You are the Best Medicine." It's a story for kids about a mom going through cancer treatment. Last month, when I was feeling particularly vulnerable as the seriousness of the COVID crisis was becoming apparent, I re-read the book to Reese. One of the first few lines in the book is the mother expressing that she is scared about being sick, but also thankful that cancer is not something she can give to her kids. I broke down reading that line because I am BRCA2 positive. This means that I can pass the the gene to one or both of my kids and increase their risk of several cancers. Reese had to get me a tissue. My heart broke a little further that night when Reese turned to me and said "Mommy, when I grow up, I don't want to have breast cancer." All I can say is I hope that advances in the medical field will come farther than I can imagine in the next 15 to 20 years, and she will never have to deal with this.
I can't deny that before more testing was done following my diagnosis, I worried about whether I would die. I was scared. After the experience with my father, I was well aware of my own mortality. When I was initially diagnosed, they were unable to tell me what stage of cancer I had because additional tests were needed. I worried about what it would mean for my kids if I didn't have long to live. I finally made my will and my advanced directive, something I'd been putting off since my daughter was born. I laid awake at night and told B that if I were going to die, I planned to write letters to my children for each "big" moment in their lives, to be given to them at the appropriate time (the loss of a first tooth, my daughter getting her period, starting each grade, weddings, graduations and on and on). I told my family what I wanted done with my remains. When I finally finished all the additional testing (more on that later) and was diagnosed with Stage II A breast cancer I felt relieved. I didn't feel so scared anymore. I felt ready to fight.
While my ultrasound, mammogram, and biopsy appointments were happening, I had been texting with my sister and keeping her updated. After I received the cancer diagnosis and B and I were whisked to the counselor's office, BB texted me to ask for the results and also to tell me a story about how she had felt like an asshole for honking at a car who had, unknown to her, been stopped waiting for an old lady to cross the street. All I could text back was "I have cancer." She texted me back a question, which I no longer remember. I replied "The cells are malignant." I then put my phone down to try to focus on what the counselor was saying about what the next steps would be and ignored her phone call. We texted more later that day, mostly focused on what the next steps would be and when to tell our mom. Our mom was currently visiting family out of the country, and I weighed not wanting to ruin her trip, with my knowledge that as a mom myself, I would want to know immediately if it were my daughter.
BB insisted on coming over the night I was diagnosed. She walked into my kitchen and wrapped me in a hug and broke down sobbing. (We are extremely close, but she and I don't hug often). She said "You can't die on me, you bitch. And how could you tell me you have cancer in a text?!" We cackled together through tears as I told her I guess it was only fair since she told me that our dad was missing through AIM (I'll explain this in another post). We laughed harder at how she was texting me about her inane driving story only to receive my my dead-pan response of "I have cancer." Of course, being who we are, we then talked about next steps, the fact that I would get a new pair of boobs out of this and laughed until our stomachs hurt about other things I can't remember. I am lucky that my sister is a medical professional, and she has gone deep down the rabbit hole of learning about breast cancer with me and what other testing was needed, and what possible treatments I would have. The rational helps us with the emotional.
I ultimately told my mom within a day of my diagnosis. My sister and I had ignored her text messages asking how my appointments had gone, and I knew she would want to know. I also knew that by this point, she had to be suspicious. Finally, I called her and told her the news. My mom ended up cutting her trip short and flying home on the next available flight even though I uselessly told her not to.
B and I talked about how to much to tell our 4 1/2 year old daughter, R. Our son, L, was only 20 months old, so telling him wasn't something we considered. But R is perceptive, extremely sensitive, and does better knowing things in advance. I told her mommy had a germ called a cancer germ in her boobs and that I would likely need a big surgery to remove them. I told her I may also need treatment that would make me feel bad and make me go bald. I told her I would be going to the doctor a lot. R asked a lot of questions including how they would make me new boobs, "with meat?" she asked? I cracked up at at that one.
There have been harder conversations with R. We received a children's book called "You are the Best Medicine." It's a story for kids about a mom going through cancer treatment. Last month, when I was feeling particularly vulnerable as the seriousness of the COVID crisis was becoming apparent, I re-read the book to Reese. One of the first few lines in the book is the mother expressing that she is scared about being sick, but also thankful that cancer is not something she can give to her kids. I broke down reading that line because I am BRCA2 positive. This means that I can pass the the gene to one or both of my kids and increase their risk of several cancers. Reese had to get me a tissue. My heart broke a little further that night when Reese turned to me and said "Mommy, when I grow up, I don't want to have breast cancer." All I can say is I hope that advances in the medical field will come farther than I can imagine in the next 15 to 20 years, and she will never have to deal with this.
I can't deny that before more testing was done following my diagnosis, I worried about whether I would die. I was scared. After the experience with my father, I was well aware of my own mortality. When I was initially diagnosed, they were unable to tell me what stage of cancer I had because additional tests were needed. I worried about what it would mean for my kids if I didn't have long to live. I finally made my will and my advanced directive, something I'd been putting off since my daughter was born. I laid awake at night and told B that if I were going to die, I planned to write letters to my children for each "big" moment in their lives, to be given to them at the appropriate time (the loss of a first tooth, my daughter getting her period, starting each grade, weddings, graduations and on and on). I told my family what I wanted done with my remains. When I finally finished all the additional testing (more on that later) and was diagnosed with Stage II A breast cancer I felt relieved. I didn't feel so scared anymore. I felt ready to fight.
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