Cancer. It's the most evil 6 letter
word on this planet, and a word that is much too real for me.
The summer before grade 10 was
amazing, unlike any other. It was a warm day on the beach that summer
that would change my families life forever. “I have lung cancer.”
When those words slipped through my mom's mouth, my first honest
thought was great, guess we won't be spending all summer at the
cottage. I have no idea why that selfish though was my first one, but
what I do know is my brain just would not accept the fact that my
mother was seriously sick. As the news started to sink in, so did the
blame. I blamed God for putting this on such a committed member of
the church, loving mother, and most amazing kindergarten teacher. I
blamed my sister for her wild high school days that could only have
put stress on my mothers body, I'm such I put some blame on my
brothers and father, but I also blamed myself for not even noticing
she was sick, or trying to comfort her when we found out the news.
It was only 2 weeks after her
diagnosis when it was determined that chimo and radiation were out of
her time limit she had and that she needed to undergo a very
high-risk, intense operation to remove the bottom half of her right
lung. The next day she was prepped for the operation and ready to do
in. All within 2 weeks. All without explanation. My mother had never
smoked in her life or been exposed to any chemicals that typically
trigger cancer in the lungs. My entire family was blindsided. My mom
however never missed a beat! She was her usually over-cheerful self,
stopping to chat with everyone at the store and spent her days on the
boat and in the gardens. To this day I can't thank her enough for
being so positive for the entire family. She was the sick one AND the
one carrying the family through the hard time.
August 11 2011, operation day. No
doubt was this the hardest day of my life. My Mom was my life, my
best friend. I couldn't imagine her going under that knife, with
statistics against her. Harder to wrap my head around than that,
saying goodbye that morning. No teenage should ever have to say their
goodbyes to their mother or ever anticipate their death but with
survival odds at 25%, there was no way I couldn't say goodbye. I
couldn't get half the words out I wanted to say. Give her half the
thanks she deserved. It was all too surreal. 2 weeks ago she healthy
and happy go lucky, and today, well today she could be gone. She
kissed me on the cheek and told me she was so proud of me and knew I
would always continue to make her proud. That this wasn't goodbye
because I would be seeing her again no matter what happened. She
would always be there for me just like she always has been. Watching
her walk away was so bitter-sweet. I wanted more than anything for her
to feel no pain, to be healthy. But in a selfish way, I did not want
the risk, I did not want to say that final goodbye.
6 long hours later the operation was
over, and we were beyond elated with the news. The operation was a
success and she was 100% okay. The smile on the doctors face when he
entered the waiting room was something I will never forget. Although
I knew she had a long stay in the hospital and over a years worth of
recovery, she was okay. She jokes around today saying “As if I had
time to die, between 4-H, church, my class, and keeping you wackos in
order I wouldn't have had the chance!” Which in some sense, in
true.
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