At some point, I'll have something more uplifting to post about, but for now, I'm living in a shadow of the good life. I'm in a dank and musty cave, buried in the gloom of the rocks around me, looking out on the dappled golden sunlight, dancing on the surface of fair waters, just out of my reach.
The latest news, my mom has breast cancer. I found out a few weeks ago and simply haven't been able to collect my thoughts enough to write about it. I am sure there are many, many people out there who know exactly how I am feeling right now. There is the shock of the news. The unbelief. The denial. And the age old question, "how could this happen to us?"
I don't think it truly hit me with all the gusto of a hurricane until Monday night at 11:00. My mom had just gotten out of surgery to remove the lump and two of her lymph nodes and lay in a hospital bed at the southern medical hospital. My mom is 5'10. She is an amazon. She's always a presence in the room, but that night, she was like a dusky green-dried out shell of herself. Her skin and bone structure seemed to droop, only kept in place by the coarse cotton sheet she lay on.
It was dark, cold and quiet in that room and only the sound of the machines she was hooked up to broke the silence. My dad sat in a chair by her bed, holding her hand, his shoulders making an upside down U under his rumpled shirt. The picture of sadness. It was a dark time for us. A very real look at what could be the future of all of us.
The positive news is that they caught my mom's cancer very early on and the doctors seem to be confident about her chances of making a full recovery, although, the robots that they are, no one will come out and say it. She'll have to undergo seven weeks of radiation treatment at best, chemo if necessary, but we are hoping that won't be the case.
She's back home now, surrounded by a garden of flowers and plants from friends and loved ones. Her color is coming back and the desperation of Monday night is slowly receding into our memories. Somehow though, I hope it doesn't disappear completely. It is a great reminder of the fragility of each of our lives and good to remember, even when we venture out from our gloomy caves and turn our faces up into that shower of amber sunlight beyond.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
