"Dealing"
This is part of an e-mail I just sent to a dear friend of mine. My friend has gone to TX to help her sister-in-law who is dealing with breast cancer, chemo, a wonderful husband and three lovely children. Apparently my friend's nieces and nephew are having a tough time dealing with the fact that their mom may lose her hair (and just dealing with the cancer in general). I wrote to my friend about my experiences growing up with parents with cancer. My mom is actually a two time cancer survivor. The first time was in the seventies. She found a lump on her breast and her doctor actually told her to keep an eye on it and come back in six months! Can you imagine? When the doc left the room, the nurse told my mom to go get a second opinion. My mom did, and it turned out to be breast cancer. She had a masectomy and went through chemotherapy for two years. When I was a sophomore in high school, my extremely healthy Dad was diagnosed with colon cancer, which spread to his liver. He died my senior year of high school. He was an amazing man, sometime I will write about him on this blog. And, then, right before my husband & I were to get married in 1993, my mom was diagnosed with uterine cancer. Well, that strong lady beat cancer once again and is now a two-time cancer survivor! Anyhow...here is the excerpt from the e-mail that I mentioned...
My mom never lost her hair, which really shocked us all as we expected it. Actually my dad did not either & of all things, his hair actually went straight--he had very naturally curly hair!! So, we never had to deal with that, but it always seemed insignificant in the big scheme of things. I was in the second grade when we went through breast cancer with my mom. To be honest, I remember very little of the whole ordeal. One memory that I have actually involves a lie (I know, a great memory to have :) I told that I will never forget. Hospitals were so much stricter then about children and visitation. After my mom had her surgery, all of us kids went up to see her (I was 7, the others were 13, 14, 15 & 23). There must have been talk in the elevator about the visitation minimum age requirement being 16. I remember trying to hide in among the others. As soon as we got in the room to see my mom (I only remember her being in a bed, not being sick or anything), a very nice nurse came in and looked at me and said, "Well how old are you?" I looked up at her and said (in my shaky seven year old voice), "16." Everyone laughed and then the nurse gave me chocolate ice cream. I was so scared that they would make me leave & not let me visit with mom. Luckily, that reward for telling a lie did not teach me the lesson early that lying gives you chocolate. But it did teach me that the truth is better & is less scary. I did not like the way it made me feel to tell the nurse that I was 16 (although I still don't understand why I ever thought she would believe it--did I ever tell you that I used to be a blonde? I did, makes sense, huh?).
Well, I am not sure why I felt the need to share that except that it is part of who I am! And dealing with the cancer of my parents was and is what made me the woman I am today.
My mom never lost her hair, which really shocked us all as we expected it. Actually my dad did not either & of all things, his hair actually went straight--he had very naturally curly hair!! So, we never had to deal with that, but it always seemed insignificant in the big scheme of things. I was in the second grade when we went through breast cancer with my mom. To be honest, I remember very little of the whole ordeal. One memory that I have actually involves a lie (I know, a great memory to have :) I told that I will never forget. Hospitals were so much stricter then about children and visitation. After my mom had her surgery, all of us kids went up to see her (I was 7, the others were 13, 14, 15 & 23). There must have been talk in the elevator about the visitation minimum age requirement being 16. I remember trying to hide in among the others. As soon as we got in the room to see my mom (I only remember her being in a bed, not being sick or anything), a very nice nurse came in and looked at me and said, "Well how old are you?" I looked up at her and said (in my shaky seven year old voice), "16." Everyone laughed and then the nurse gave me chocolate ice cream. I was so scared that they would make me leave & not let me visit with mom. Luckily, that reward for telling a lie did not teach me the lesson early that lying gives you chocolate. But it did teach me that the truth is better & is less scary. I did not like the way it made me feel to tell the nurse that I was 16 (although I still don't understand why I ever thought she would believe it--did I ever tell you that I used to be a blonde? I did, makes sense, huh?).
Well, I am not sure why I felt the need to share that except that it is part of who I am! And dealing with the cancer of my parents was and is what made me the woman I am today.
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