There’s no place like home
Two weeks from today, Russ and I and our stuff will head to West Michigan. When we considered moving, this wasn’t our original plan, but life doesn’t always play by our rules. And if our journey is gonna have a layover, there are few better places than this.👇 What better way to recover than with family? What better place to recuperate than in my happy place?
The past month has been a blur since I heard the words “it’s cancer.” Caught in a vortex, I tried to comprehend what the woman on the phone was saying as she ran through her script, the list of things they have to tell you when they deliver the news. She asked if I was available in two days to meet with a surgeon, and I thought, “who says no? What else could be more important right now?” I sobbed as she gave me directions to the cancer center, and I thought, “shut up, I’ll Google it. I just want to be alone.”
As that day went on, I didn’t want to be alone. I called everyone who knew about my biopsy to deliver the news. To one friend, I said, “everything matters, and nothing matters.” Not in a pessimistic, nihilistic way. But in a “life thrust into perspective” way.
I rarely gave much thought to my chest. My boobs were never a significant part of my identity. But in a few short weeks, they became the center of my universe as I confronted the idea of losing one or both of them. My PCP recommended early screening for a lump, even though it’s been there for years, unchanged. I went for a mammogram and ultrasound of my right breast, but they found something suspicious deep in the left breast. A few days after my 39th birthday, I had both breasts biopsied. We hoped and prayed it wasn’t cancer. But something in me just sensed that it was, in the left breast. In the following weeks, my breasts were poked, prodded, pushed, smushed, handled, held… left bleeding, bruised, and sore. I was inundated with information and given any number of options. All of which sounded horrible. None of which I want. One of which I must choose.
Every person I processed this with asked the same thing, “what do you need? What can I do?” Most people don’t know what to say, but I don’t need words. There is no “right thing” to say. I’ve said, and this stands true today, what I need is simple: love me and love each other. But also, pleeeease have a sense of humor about this. Trust me, the floodgates have opened, and I’ve cried to the point of dehydration. Yet, from the moment the possibility of cancer presented itself, I found the humor.
One of my favorite comedians (and cancer survivor), Tig Notaro, said, “I made so many jokes over the years about how small my chest was. I started to think maybe my boobs overheard me and were like, ‘You know what, we’re sick of this. Let’s kill her.’” My diagnosis isn’t that dire. It probably won’t be my boobs that take me out. Whatever has crossed and will cross my path, I know, with certainty, deserves some levity.
There are so many stories I want to share, in due time, because many are quite humorous. For now, I want to say thank you. Over the last month, I’ve marveled at this feeling that I somehow wasn’t standing on my own. Everyone’s support and love felt visceral, more actualized in me than I remember feeling in a long time. I knew I was loved, but through this, I really knew I was loved.
Thank you for the thoughts, prayers, tears, hugs, cards, beers, texts, calls, and, most importantly, laughs. I’m grateful for early detection due to the diligence and rigor of my doctors in Pennsylvania. I’m thankful for their coordination with my team at Spectrum when I decided to seek treatment back home. I’m overwhelmed by the support of friends near and far. I’m strengthened and comforted by the love of family; and by the humor, love, and steadfastness of Russ. I’m delighted to recover with walks along this beautiful lake.
As I navigate what this all means and we count down the days to our move, I’m taken aback by how lucky I feel. Not just because my odds are so good and treatment may be minimal, but because I’m so loved.
It’s a profound thing to be understood.
It’s an incredible gift to be so loved.
