The day I found out I have breast cancer was by far one of the most difficult days of my life. I was in Kentucky with my son trying to spend a weekend with him. Some mom and son time. I knew when we went on or trip what may happen while I was far from home. I knew I had to call my doctor for my biopsy results while I was there. It was what it was; and I couldn't change that. Our trip was definitely affected by this. Before I received the results, I was distracted; and I couldn't stop thinking about the results I might receive. I called my doctor for my results while sitting on the end of my hotel bed. I had been awake since 6 a.m.; and I had already showered trying to occupy myself and pass the time. When I called my doctor, my hands were shaking, and I could barely breath. My son was still sleeping in the other bed, but I knew I would wake him up talking on the phone. Hearing my doctor tell me I had breast cancer over the phone hit me like a tidal wave My doctor kept talking about his plans and what we would need to do; but I heard nothing past the word cancer. I couldn't think. I couldn't breath. I was crying so hard I couldn't breath. Yet I wasn't making a sound. I held so much inside because my son was just a few feet away from me. He was scheduled to drive a Nascar race car in just a few hours. He had been looking forward to doing this for months, and here I was ruining his trip with cancer.
As hard as I tried to keep things together, my son knew something was wrong. He sat on the bed behind me and hugged me. He knew I wouldn't have been crying if it was good news, so he was able to draw his own conclusions. I allowed myself to cry for a few moments; but after a period of time, I had to pull myself together. I had to get myself ready and get him to the racetrack. I refused to allow cancer to ruin something he had looked forward to for so long. As I was doing my makeup, I kept tearing up. Tears would bubble up inside me and find their way down my cheeks no matter how hard I tried to keep them inside. I felt like a storm was building inside me, and I was fighting to hold it back. I have faced many trials in my life, and I have prided myself on staying strong for my children and always trying to keep it together for them. Often, my children had no clue the sadness inside me or what I was hiding with a smile pasted on my face. I became a pro at hiding my emotions in the name of my children's happiness. This was just another one of those days. I could do it.
Once we arrived at the race track, my son had to attend his training class before he could drive. This left me sitting alone in the bleachers. I found myself looking around and thinking about how my life had changed with just one phone call. I had cancer the day before yet this particular day was different than the day before because now I knew. I kept having to wipe tears away that were creeping down my face. There were strangers all around me, and I didn't want to draw attention to myself. I remember thinking "how am I going to get through this day?". At one point, I simply closed my eyes and asked God to give me strength and to simply let me enjoy this day with my son. Somehow, someway, could't I smile and forget the news I was just given. It was then my son walked out in his racing outfit. He looked so happy and excited. I silently thanked God for his answered prayer.
The photo above was taken of me and my son as he awaited his turn to drive. Right after I asked God for my reason to smile. To give me strength to get through the day. I had a few moments here and there that the news would creep into my mind, but I shoved it away and focused on the moment at hand. I watched my son live out his dream of driving a race car. I do not think I've ever seen him so happy. Watching him climb into his race car and drive around that track was just the distraction I needed. As I was standing at the fence watching my son prepare to drive his car, I met another parent whose son was driving the car right next to my son's car. He only had a camera and couldn't video his son's driving, so I told him I would be happy to email him videos of his son if he gave me his email address. It was easy to video his son along with my son. Together, we cheered for our boys and encouraged them. It was fun to cheer and be myself. While we were waiting for our son's to exit their vehicles, he gave me his email address and thanked me for my kindness. I emailed him the videos a few days later with an apology for taking so long and explaining the news I had received that morning. He replied that he was shocked to read about the news I had received that morning, as he would have never guessed based on the vibrant, happy, and full of life woman he had met. He is a doctor at Cincinnati Children's hospital you see. Trained to spot illness. Yet, I pulled off the ultimate act of covering up the hurt and pain inside of myself. Even a trained physician didn't pick up on it. I have told this story to talk about strength and cancer.
As I drove the 3.5 hour trip home, my son slept. I cried most of the way home. It was truly my first opportunity to allow myself to be weak and sad. While my son slept, I felt like I was finally able to allow myself to be upset. I didn't need to be strong and paste a smile on my face for anyone. It was the longest 3.5 hours of my life. The miles seemed to stretch on forever and ever. I knew upon arriving home I had to be strong again for my family. I had to talk to my daughters and break their heart. I knew hearing I had cancer would hurt them worse than anything they had ever faced in the world. I was dreading it. No parent wants to hurt their children, and I had no choice but to do it. Upon pulling in the driveway, I again put my emotional armor on. Before speaking to my daughters, my husband came in the laundry room where I was folding laundry in an attempt to pull myself together. He shut the door and hugged me. I began crying again. Maybe I never really stopped? I brokenly said "I just want to go deep into the woods and scream. Scream as loud as I can--over and over". The storm was building again. It was bubbling over the top, and I just kept pushing it down. After a moment, I pulled myself together and took a deep breath. I had to speak to my daughters.
My daughters were in the kitchen waiting for me. They knew something was going on. They know me well. I asked them to go to my daughter's room to talk. We sat on the bed, and I took a moment to look at their faces the moment before I broke their heart to memorize that second before I changed their lives. It was an eternity in a brief second. Upon telling them my news, I watched their faces contort in anguish and hurt. They immediately began crying and saying "no mommy. It can't be right. I can't lose you". My heart was breaking with them. I too was hurt, sad, scared, and completely unsure of where this was going to lead me; but I had no choice but to pull myself together and be strong for them. I did my best to use all those tough sayings we all hear over and over. "I will beat this", "I'm too stubborn for cancer", "This is just another bump in the road; but it's not the end". I had to convince them it was okay. Inside I was falling apart; but on the outside, I was tough, strong, and reassuring.
While I've taken on the "I can do anything" role my entire life, this was my biggest challenge. I was facing a life threatening disease; and everyone was watching how I handled it. My children were drawing strength from me. When no one was looking, I would break down and cry. I would go to the bathroom just to sit on the toilet and cry. I had to hide to cry. Everyone kept telling me to be strong and fight. No one told me to cry and it was okay to be weak. When I did break down and begin crying, I would get a lecture about being strong and not thinking about anything but a positive outcome. Did I want to wallow in self pity? No, but what I really wanted and still want is for someone to be strong for me the way I've been strong for them. Being the rock for everyone in your life is a very lonely place. The rock gets beaten and battered by the crashing waves of a storm over and over. The rock stays firmly in place, but the waves alter the rock by smoothing out the sharp edges. The shape of the rock is changed by the crashing waves over time. Yet it is affected. The waves don't stop to consider their effect on the rock. They just do what they do--crash into the rock over and over.
Since my diagnosis, I have longed to stop being the rock and be allowed to be the waves for a while. I'm tired, and I want it to be okay to admit weakness sometimes. I think about this for a few moments, and I realize that while I have moments of weakness, I could never be the waves. The waves are inconsistent and lack shape and form. They crash through life only affecting other people and never finding a place to rest or be the constant for those they love. As the rock, it may be lonely and difficult, and the waves affect me daily. They have shaped and changed me. My rough edges are being smoothed. But as the rock, my children know without a doubt where to find me. I am constant and unwavering. So, while I struggle to remain strong, to fight and be tough, I know I must continue to do so. Not only do I not know any other way, but it's part of who I am.
I only ask that each person reading this take a moment to consider if you're the waves battering the rock or are you the rock standing strong while the waves crash against you? No matter which role you play, consider your actions and strive to be a little of both.
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