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"Get that phone for me,"
I said to my friend who was visiting for the afternoon. My hands were in
the dishwater at the time. She picked up the phone and said, "It's for
you, it's your mom."
"Hello," I said.
"Well gal, got some bad news to tell you.....I have the big C."
My heart started pounding so loud I thought it would burst from my chest.
What do you say to your
mom when she calls and tells you she has cancer? What CAN you say? You
have a lump in your throat so large you can't speak.
"Mom, are you sure?" I
asked.
"Yes, I'm sure. They
want to operate immediately but I want to wait until the Holidays are
over."
In my heart, I knew we
shouldn't wait. I knew each day counted.
We waited at mom's
request until two days after Christmas. The doctor had told us a month
wouldn't make much difference. Mom wanted to wait until New Year's had
passed, but we couldn't.
Mom lost her battle with
cancer a year later, on December 23, 1982.
I can never forget her
battle. I can never forget her strength. I've always said if it ever
happens to me, I hope I'm as strong as she was.
Then it happened. I got
the dreaded call from my doctor's office. "We have some bad news. You
have cancer." It hit me like being punched with a huge rock in my
stomach. "Be in my office tomorrow morning at 9:00," my doctor said.
I think that night was
one of the hardest I've ever had to deal with other than losing those that
I love. I think I slept maybe an hour. My mind kept asking a million
questions. How long did I have? What stage was I in? Would I have to
take chemo?
Most of all, would I
want to take chemo? I'd seen what it did to my mother. I
heard her say, "Enough, I can't go on like this."
The next day I sat in my
doctor's office. They were sure they could get it all with surgery and I
would be spared chemo. I told him I needed a while to think. He told me
I didn't have a long time to think, that the surgery had to be done
immediately. I was scheduled. It took a total of four surgeries to get
all the cells.
My husband had Hodgkin's
in the 70's. He had to take chemo for 10 months. The doctor told him
then if he followed everything he told him to do, he could beat it. He
has beat it.
I know the fear of being
told you have cancer. It is a feeling that is hard to explain. It is
fear.
As I write this, I have
two friends who are battling cancer and one aunt. Two friends have
ovarian cancer, my aunt has breast cancer. My heart goes out to them. I
know the fears they are living with every day of their lives.
When my sister-in-law was
diagnosed with cancer of the stomach almost seven years ago, she
crumbled. I had to be her rock. I knew hers was worse than what I had to
go through. I walked that long road of battle with her. I was with her
in the end when we both had to say good bye. Saying good bye is the
hardest thing we ever have to do.
I live every day knowing
my cancer can return. I wake up every single morning and when my eyes
open I say, "Thank you God for giving me another day."
© 2007 Sharon Bryant
1946 @ bellsouth.net |
