Throughout this breast cancer roller coaster ride, I have tried to prepare myself to hear all sorts of news; weekly blood cell counts, test results, doctor recommendations, etc. It is tempting to prepare yourself for the worst so you aren’t caught off guard, but this can also be a slippery slope. Focusing on the bad news, setbacks or loss can bring its share of melancholy, fear, anxiety and depression. Once you steer down this rabbit hole, it can be difficult to climb out. My body has been physically wiped out by the chemotherapy and my mind has raced through every scenario and cloudy maze of possibilities – both good and bad. But as hard as I have tried, I cannot see what the future holds. I can only trust in the choices we have made, trust in modern medicine, trust in God’s ultimate love for His children and hope for the best. In The Mockingjay, a book in the Hunger Games series, a character advises the heroine that it is best not to give into the madness because it takes ten times longer to put yourself back together than it does to let yourself fall apart. I have found this to be true. I am usually a positive person by nature, a make-lemonade-out-of-lemons kind of person, but no one can stay positive 100% of the time. There are many negative people in the world, Debbie Downers who thrive on looking for the worst in others, the downside of all situations, or the tragedies of life. The internet is full of trolls and haters who continually look for opportunities to put others down, stir the negativity pot and dish out their ugliness. I wonder if spreading their pessimistic attitudes are an attempt to make themselves feel better somehow or if it secures their notion that all in the world is as ugly as they choose to see it. I have found that it takes just as much energy, if not more so, to remain in this constant negative emotional state. Being a grumpy cat can be exhausting. How we choose to see the world is an individual choice and everyday we wake up with the opportunity to choose for ourselves. We each have this free agency. No one can tell us which road to take because it is our decision and ours alone. I have found that trying to prepare or brace myself for bad news only robs me of experiencing small pleasures and receiving my daily allotment of joy. Did you know that each day has a joy allotment? It can be easy to miss if we are focused on the negative – but it is there. It might sound corny, but I can see it in the way the tree branches sway in the wind, I can hear it in the laughter of my children and sense it in the wag of my dog’s tail. Scripture reminds us that we are creatures who were meant to feel joy in our creation. It is not ignorance or tunnel vision, it is a choice in how we see the world around us. I must take responsibility for my choices – they were and continue to be mine alone – I own them.
As difficult as chemo was, it did its job. It killed the cancer cells and my tumor shrank to almost nothing. We were given the opportunity to choose the least invasive surgical option available. Tomorrow I will undergo surgery, a lumpectomy of the tissue area surrounding the tumor, the removal of my port and several lymph nodes. So in other words, it looks like I get to keep ‘the girls’. I could choose a mastectomy, single or double, but this is ultimately not what I wanted. I know several friends tried to look for the positive in all of this by pointing out I could have a boob job, but to be honest, I have never had the desire for a boob job. My breasts might be saggy and covered in stretch marks, but they are mine and I am thrilled to keep them in whatever capacity possible. We should have the pathology results from the surgery in about a week, but we feel it’s more of a precaution. I will start radiation treatments in September. In the meanwhile, I will recover from the surgery and look forward to starting my graduate teaching assistantship at BSU on August 15th. We are going camping for a few days and plan to enjoy the rest of the summer.
I sat with my feet in the neighborhood pool the other night and watched my kids swim, splash and joke with each other. We each felt joy in our creation – joy in our existence, in being together, in being alive. This is what God wants for us, this joy… its our job to find it.
My last two eyelashes shot out from my right eyelid. Defiant little buggers, as if they could make a case on their own. Hmmm, these must be resilient, determined, stubborn eyelashes. They must not realize it’s the Alamo; all their friends have fluttered off in the wind. What do they hope to prove? They look ridiculous these two, all by themselves in contrast against a watery eye with a murky, muddy pupil. I used to have dark brown eyes, now they are more like hazel mush. Eyeliner doesn’t stay on or help much. My eyes have become lost in a blank landscape of steroids and medications; a pale and puffy bla. As much as I touch, rub or moisturize, this is not the face I know. Breast cancer has taken who I used to be over the past six months and left a blank faced blob in its place. It is usually easier not to look, to avoid mirrors when possible, but there are times when I catch a passing glimpse and I am shocked by the bald stranger peering back at me. Today is different. I sit behind the wheel of the car, feeling a light breeze while waiting in a parking lot. There is not much to do other than lower the visor and flip up the mirror to take a gander. I focus heavily on the two absurd eyelashes and wonder what makes them cling on… nothing. They are just remnants which don’t realize they’ve been left behind. With a small squeeze, they release their stronghold, no pain, no twinge of angst; they lay motionless on the tip of my numb fingertip. Now what? Make a wish baby. I remember balancing an eyelash for my daughter several years ago; it had fallen lightly on her cheek, I scooped up the treasure and we grinned at each other at the excitement of making a wish. Any wish. The options were endless and she relished in the moment of her heart’s desire. With a light puff the eyelash was gone and the wish delivered to the universe on the breath of a beautiful child.
Today is different. Today is just a desperate woman, staring at her last two eyelashes, wondering if the wish counts since she pulled them out herself. A wish is still a wish afterall… Today we’ll have the MRI. Today we will see if the months of pumping my body full of chemo treatments have done the job they were meant to do: the necessary evil of killing the growing cells, shrinking the tumor and somehow saving the rest of my body. Today my body will tell a story. Like most stories, the climax is cleverly disguised near the end and we must wait patiently for the answers to be recited back to us in a doctor’s office. We meet with the surgeons on Thursday. We will calmly discuss how much of my body to amputate, how much must be taken, as if the toll we’ve paid so far has meant nothing. This has all just been superficial. The loss of hair, the loss of health, physical strength and my place in the world. Even as fingernails bubble up, throb a steady pulse and threaten to fall away, I know they do not matter. They are collateral damage to the bigger picture. Have we done enough? Have we damaged the body to a point where the cancer will release its twisting grasp and relinquish its selfish claim? I imagine that if we damage the body with enough certainty, then the host becomes inhospitable, right? Unfriendly and unwelcoming to the foreigner who decided to set up camp several months ago. Get out of my body, I want to scream, you can’t have it anymore. But the words are weighed down below my collarbone, the suspense tightening around my chest like a vice, squeezing my ribs until they ache, making it difficult to breathe. I close my eyes and lean back, letting go of the fear, frustration and madness. I breathe in through my nose and peak out to see if the eyelashes still hopefully exist. There they stand, the two lonely lashes, balancing precariously on the tip of my pointer finger, waiting to be cast out into the world. Ok, you two little buggers, here we go: I examine them closely and wish for my life back. I wish for my husband’s happiness and to see our children grow old. I wish for time to slow down enough to savor every minute of each given day. I wish for laughter around the dinner table and the warmth of the sun shining on the faces of those I love. I wish for peace of mind and doctors who know how to help my body heal. I calmly blow the air out, every ounce I can muster and all the wishes I have left. The eyelashes are gone… a silent offering delivered to the universe on the breath of a wishful woman with muddy eyes.
