FIRST PERSON | When my mother unexpectedly showed up at my door on a bright California day in September 1993, I never dreamed she'd say: "My doctor thinks I might have breast cancer."
Unable to speak at first, I stared at the petite 64-year-old. Divorced and single since the age of 33, Mom had worked all her life, reared three kids (with no child support), and survived two heart attacks. We had no family history of breast cancer. Life's not fair, but my mother had already endured enough.
She decided to simply go on with life and take her chances. Her denial was a normal reaction to scary medical news. Considering her stubbornness, I soon developed superior persuasion skills. It took days for my mother to agree to a biopsy.
The biopsy confirmed the doctor's suspicions. Based on the findings, the oncologist urged a complete mastectomy. I recall the terrified look on Mom's face as she came to terms with the diagnosis and recommended treatment. However, she recovered quickly, arched an eyebrow, and quipped: "It's not as if I need the darn thing anymore."
Awaiting a mastectomy two days before Christmas is bizarre. It got stranger after Mom was back in her room resting after the procedure. My sister rushed to close the door on a group of carolers who suddenly exploded in the hall, trilling "Joy to the World." No sooner had the door shut than my mother started chuckling. Soon all three of us were laughing until tears streamed. We took Mom home on Christmas morning.
Her sense of humor and her tenacity saw Mom through the rehab and follow-up treatment. As her primary caretaker, I performed everything from incision care to routine chores. Her graceful acceptance of receiving help was the most rewarding part of the whole ordeal.
My mother survived breast cancer. She lived 12 more years before passing away from heart failure.
Less than two months after my mother died in 2005, my "older" twin daughter was diagnosed with breast cancer.
Andrea wasn't quite 30 -- my beautiful, fit, adventurous girl. I crumpled to the floor in emotional pain.
She lived in Michigan. I ached to leave California and speed to my daughter's side. We discussed her scary news, which only compounded the grieving over her grandma's death. We decided that keeping to our familiar routines might be best. She was in a committed relationship, her twin sister was nearby, and she promised to call immediately if her prognosis turned dire.
Andrea underwent a lumpectomy followed by aggressive chemotherapy. She lost her hair, eyebrows, and eyelashes. Although we frequently talked on the phone, she wouldn't send pictures. She thought they'd upset me.
While I was plugging away at my job in an adolescent drug and alcohol treatment program, listening to the problems of young clients, I felt a million miles away Andrea. Though I was grateful she had her sister and supportive friends, I wanted to be near her, too. Mothers need "skin" -- the physical touch of offspring. I also sensed there were problems with the man in Andrea's life. Though I'd never met him, I secretly blamed him for keeping me away. When he answered the phone, his responses to my questions were vague, icy, detached. I thanked him for supporting Andrea, and asked repeatedly if they needed me to be there. He'd say: "No, I've got this. We're fine. It's no big deal." No big deal?
I'd encouraged my daughters to be independent. Being a hands-off mom, unless beckoned, has worked well for my girls and me. There's a balance of closeness and healthy detachment. I didn't see Andrea for three years when she served in the Peace Corps in Ecuador. Though I worried about her daily, I trusted her judgment.
However, about three months after she finished chemo, I moved to Michigan. The time felt right and both daughters were happy about the decision.
Andrea's boyfriend left her shortly before I arrived. A mom just intuitively knows these things.
Still, Andrea flourished and her life got fantastic. She's been cancer-free for eight years. She tested for the BRCA gene mutation, and she doesn't have it. Andrea's more athletic than ever, she loves her career, and she enjoys a fulfilling relationship with a man who truly "gets" her. She says she might marry this one.
Two precious family members who survived breast cancer, plus two different experiences as a co-survivor, made me one deeply grateful and humbled daughter and mother.
- Health
- Family & Relationships
- breast cancer
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