what do you say when a woman you love... a woman you admire... a kind, intellegent, witty woman tells you that she has breast cancer? where do you find the right words to console her in the way that she needs to be consoled? does she need to laugh? cry? break something? how will she tell her eight year old son who adores her that "mommy has breast cancer"? is she scared to lose her hair and do you ask that question for it's possible she hasn't even thought of it yet? and where do you find the strength to not cry even though it feels like someone just punched you in your gut?
2 weeks ago, at 8:30 on a sunday night, these were the questions rolling through my mind when my sister, my only sister, called to tell me that the biopsy results were in and with one word, the course of her life was forever changed...
malignant.
rewind 3 weeks before this call. i was driving home on one of those gorgeous, orange-sky indian summer afternoons. i was thinking about my sister. growing up she was more of a mother-figure to me than a sister. being 11 years my senior she always gave me partial credit for christmas gifts she bought our parents, let me visit for long weekends when she was away at college, influenced my love for classic rock, and introduced me to a variety of priceless eighties movies that i otherwise would never have known but are now my favorites.
i flashed back to a saturday afternoon when i was younger. my sister and i watched "stand by me" that afternoon and when the theme song played at the end, she took my hands and we danced. and laughed. in the den of the house we both grew up in and where our parents still live happily today. i went in my room that afternoon and wondered what i would do if my sister "left" like gordie's brother did, in the movie. it was the first time i remember being worried about losing someone i loved. i could have only been 7 or 8. and i cried.
now, she is so much more than a mother-figure. she has become my confidant. my best friend. the person who "gets my giggle box turned on" as my mom says, the first one i call with gossip, and a lady who i admire more than words can express. driving home that afternoon, with the tangerine sun blazing into my car's windshield, i realized how blessed i was to have her in my life. 2 days later, she called to tell me she found a lump.
i live all of 180 miles away from the small town that we grew up in. where she moved back to after graduating from college. where she teaches middle school english and has made a beautiful family with her husband. although i love the coastal waters of charleston, i would be an outright liar if i said i didn't miss the nearness of my family. weeknights when they gather for a birthday celebration. impromptu visits to say "hey". sunday lunches after church. i miss so many of those special moments and it makes the life my husband and i have chosen here in charleston seem questionable at times. but never before have i wanted to be home more than when she called with her biopsy results. never have i
so wanted to make an impromptu visit to her house, with a tub of ben & jerry's and a hug. the distance from her house to mine seemed like an eternity that night. the first of many nights.
my sister, voice quivering over the phone lines, felt the need to explain that she was "only chattering because [she] was standing outside". it may have only been 40 degrees but i'm no fool to believe that's the only reason she was chattering. she was weepy. and coming from a family that doesn't have very many weepy moments that is a difficult emotion to face. we are lovers of the laugh. even in the worst of times. i often find myself creating a joke to avoid a potentially sad or emotional moment. but there are no more jokes when it's cancer on the table and to hear even the slightest tremble in my sister's voice was enough to silence my laugh.
this unwelcome visitor has brought along with him an mri, a diagnosis of stage 3 invasive ductal carcinoma that has spread into some lymph nodes, a blur of hurried acceptance, and a ct and bone scan which are going on as i type this post. the restlessness of waiting on those results until friday is almost overwhelming. the impossible waiting game.
my courageous and beautiful sister, over the next few months faces chemotherapy, radiation, and a double mastectomy. "atleast i get a free boob job," she says. an eternal optimist and jokester. but let me tell you from personal experience that, unless she is booking rooms for bike week at myrtle beach, you never want to be faced with having to ask your sister to pick out a head scarf for you to give her as a gift. though somehow we even found a joke in that when she said she would kick my (ear muffs) ass if i bought her one of the "love your bald self" t-shirts.
upon getting this upsetting news my sweet and funny nephew told my sister that he knew of a good hospital in phoenix called "tempur pedic" that he had seen on wwe. i mean, who wouldn't want to battle cancer in a hospital halfway across the country with a bunch of wrestlers? and although he thought it was "cool", he also wanted assurance that mommy wouldn't be bald forever. for all the laughs that i'm sure my sister will need throughout the next few months, i'm glad to know this 8 year old comedian will be there.
my sister is incredibly brave and will beat this unforewarned disease but not without a mighty fight. so, for now, we are all covering ourselves in pink - pink thoughts, wishes, t-shirts, and bracelets. and praying that this wife, mother, daughter, sister, niece, teacher, friend and fighter will look back on this battle in 40+ years with blurry remembrance. and until then maybe she can humor herself in memories of long-past reenactments of her as johnny castle and me as baby in the final dance scene of
dirty dancing. :)
TEAM PAIGE!
