One Year Later
One year ago today, my life changed in a way I had least expected it to.
March 10, 2016. I woke up to a warmer, spring-like day, got the kids ready for school, walked down to the bus stop taking in the fresh air, blue skies, and the kids, excitedly recognizing the fresh green blades of grass that had recently popped up from the now unfrozen ground of what was a very cold winter. It was a normal day.
Until my 2:00 pm appointment with Julie. I was so excited to see her; not many people can say that about their gynecologist, but Julie was different. She greeted me, her contagious bubbly smile making me smile. Her brown, shining chemo curls growing in strong from her recent journey with breast cancer. We excitedly hugged hello, before catching up on all that life has offered in the last five years. Five years that I had let go of not coming in to see her because of a million excuses I allowed myself to believe were more important than taking care of my own health. We went over the usual questions and medical updates: “no to all of the above” I answered. I calmly and comfortably laid down on the paper covered brown chair that all women dread. Not because I wasn’t worried about anything, but because that’s how Julie makes you feel. Calm, comfortable, at ease. She had been checking out my lady parts since before I was a mother, and had experienced the birth of both of my babies with me. I knew that in Julie’s care, I would always be ok. We continued to talk about our kids, working out, her journey with cancer. We talked about the weather, our husbands and upcoming family events. And just like that in the middle of her breast exam, my arms comfortably relaxed behind my head, my legs stretched out and crossed at my ankles, came the words that will forever be engrained in my mind: “You’ve got a lump in here, lady”.
“A lump”, I asked. “Right here”, she said, placing my fingers where hers were pressing. Sure enough, there was a lump. Deep beneath my left breast. Even if I had been doing the routine self-exams I reported at the beginning of the appointment I surely wouldn’t have felt that lump. Would I have? I remember not being overly worried; in fact, Julie wasn’t overly worried. I wasn’t sick. I didn’t have any typical signs of breast cancer: I didn’t have any pain, there was no abnormal discharge from my breast, no notable changes in my breast. I exercised daily, I ate healthy for the most part and had just recently complained about the cost of making sure my family ate fresh and organic foods. I did probably minimize my 1-2 social drinks per week I reported at the beginning of the appointment, but that couldn’t possibly be enough to give me cancer. Could it? Julie asked me about family history of breast cancer. My aunt, on my mom’s side I responded. Do you know if it was a genetic form of breast cancer? How old was she? Did she receive treatment? Unbeknownst to me, these would be questions I would go on to be asked numerous times during the next month. It was the lone factor that led to further questioning, further testing, raising a concern. It would be, along with my age, the lone factor that would allow me to qualify for extensive genetic testing to rule out (or in) being a carrier of a gene mutation that would not only increase my chances of having a reoccurring cancer, but also increase the chances of my daughter having a reoccurring cancer. Julie, in true Julie fashion, calmed any nerves that began to become unsettled. “I’m 95% sure this is probably just a fibroadenoma.” A fibrowhat? As she explained her thoughts on the lump, she stopped and looked at me, “You’re going to be fine Sam. BUT. I’m going to send you for a mammogram and ultrasound so we can be sure.” She later handed me a piece of paper with local breast cancer centers to have the screenings done, circling her top two choices. I remember seeing the word CANCER on the piece of paper. I remember the feeling of calling and making the appointment for the screenings, and later the biopsy; a feeling of the unknown, my voice trembling as I confirmed the appointments with the woman on the other end of the phone. This had to be a fibrowhatever. We had just lost my grandmother, we had just lost Donna, this surely couldn’t be happening again.
Little did I know that 14 days after I calmly laid on that paper covered brown chair, I would be sitting in my office at work when I would get the phone call that would turn my normal days upside down: “your results came back. You have cancer.”
A year ago today, we were relishing in the newly popped green grass as we waited for the school bus. Stopping quickly to document the happy faces of my smiling kids by snapping a quick posed picture of them pointing at the new grass. It started off as just a normal day.
Today, a year later, it’s a blanket of white outside my window as we get the call that schools are closed. And it’s still a normal day, it’s just our new normal. A normal filled with new anniversaries of starting and finishing treatments; a new normal of before cancer and after cancer. A new normal, but a good normal.
My life has changed, but for the better. Because I am still here, and I am living a life surrounded by love. My life has changed because I now know my inner strength, and while it was always there, it is now real to me. My life is richer because I allowed myself to connect with new people, to take in their journeys and their love. My life has changed because I now know how quickly it can change. I’ve learned to open that fancy bottle of champagne, to book a trip on a whim, to make the time to have lunch with a friend, to slow down and take care of myself. I’ve learned, and am still learning, to stop putting things off and to do things that make me happy rather than just to do them.
Just like the weather, our lives are unpredictable. They can change in a moment, without explanation, without warning. They can be riddled with a mixture of sunshine and snow, both beautiful but in different ways. We know time doesn’t stand still, we recognize how fast things can change, but we rarely make the changes we need to bring out the better and stronger version of us. We wait. We wait until we have to make a change. And then most times, we regret waiting so long to make that change. My favorite line from Randall in the recent episode of This Is Us after his father passes away from Cancer and he decides to quit his job: “What are you going to do? …maybe instead of running in the morning, I’ll go for a walk, slow it down a little. Talk to my mailman. That seems like a good way to start the day.”
Make your change today. Slow down. Take time for yourself. Set a goal, small or large, and even if it takes baby steps to reach it, at least you know you’re on your way. Have a new normal, just make it a better version of your old normal.