Thank You!

I'm in hermit-mode right now but I must write to tell you how exceedingly grateful we are to have received your wonderful comments on my last post.

My parents have read all of your encouraging words many times and are really floored by your generosity in taking time and effort to keep us in your thoughts and prayers. We are confident these prayers are like doses of magic, designed to promote healing and restoration of balance.

My mother's operation was yesterday and how we're waiting for pathology results, to determine next steps. That info will likely not be available until next week - perhaps by the time I arrive in North Carolina to spend some quality and fun time.

Yeah, it stands to reason that cancer will be semi-regular downer (to put it mildly), hovering at the margins of our pleasant visit, and over the next few months, but now we must find a way to functionally integrate concern into daily life (something to savor and bless under all circumstances).

I don't really know how I feel about all of this right now. In some moments I am utterly my regular self. In others manically positive. Occasionally, and I'd be dishonest to omit this, I am afraid and sad. It overcomes me, seeps in at the margins of my consciousness. It's like a flood that comes out of nowhere. Mercifully, I have lots of metaphoric mops. And a metaphoric contractor to shore up the foundation. And then normal re-emerges.

I'll leave you with this: I went for my own check up yesterday - an exceptionally friendly and efficient experience. Hilariously, the technician told me about the "modesty divide" - how some women will try to find ways to wear a blue gown even as they're having a mammogram while still others are entirely non-plussed. She said this as I whipped off my clothes like Houdini. I mean, I don't have time to wait for someone to leave the room and become otherwise occupied while I take off my shirt and bra! Note: Wear your most gorgeous bra (though not one that's delicate if you're having ultrasound, cuz you'll have so much of that lubricant shit to wipe off, you don't want to risk any staining). Why not undress to impress, I say.

At any rate, to say these technicians have seen it all is an understatement. I mean, they have to smush  boobs into an x-ray machine day-in and day-out. Which I why I was entirely chuffed when my tech said, while looking at my chart: You're 43?! You're boobs look 33, max.

Yeah, I have managed to work this into every conversation I've had in the last 24 hours. And will continue to do so. And, don't lie, you would too. :-)

In Which I Ask For Your Support

The old axiom is true: You really never do know how you'll respond to shocking news. For example, when my father called me on Sunday to tell me that my mother has breast cancer, I was oddly calm. It helped that my father was stoic (he always is). In truth, I'm the kind of person who freaks about every meaningless thing and keeps it all together while the house is falling down.

This is in no way to imply the house is falling down. It's much easier to be calm when one has been assured that prospects for full recovery are very good. My mother is exceedingly fortunate that she found the tumor where and when she did, and that she has access to excellent medical care. She is young (65), healthy (other than this glitch, soon to be remedied) and highly knowledgeable about Western and alternative medicine. She is optimistic and exceedingly clean-living. Seriously - the woman is a juice-aholic vegan (the kind who gets adequate protein), doesn't drink, has never smoked and counts meditation amongst her vices. She's like the anti-Kristin.

As luck would have it, for her (not the cancer), she is the most willful person (other than my child) that I've ever come across. Cancer should quake in its boots. My mother is fucking scary.

I'm sharing this information (with my mother's blessing, of course) for a few reasons, not least of which is to remind you to check your breasts, like, every three minutes, for any suspicious behaviour. I, for one, have a mammogram and breast ultrasound booked on Friday morning. This is by no means my first mammogram (my maternal aunt also had breast cancer and is living a wonderful life more than 25 years later), but it is my first breast ultrasound. My mother's cancer is located in a spot (near the sternum) that was NOT traceable by mammogram. Ultrasound, however, caught the tumor immediately.

I'm also sharing the information to ask you all - my community through thick and thin - to keep my mother in your thoughts and prayers over the next couple of months of treatment - and particularly this Thursday when she's having surgery. Please, please, please sign our metaphoric petition to the universe to restore health and balance at the earliest opportunity.

I'm sure my mum would be thrilled to hear positive stories of recovery from cancer - yours or a loved one's - and any lessons learned (practical, metaphysical, psycho-emotional - I'll let you decide). I, and my sister, would be so grateful for any positive stories and practical tips for daughters.

We are resolved to approach this challenge with optimism, partly because it's indicated and partly because my mother is strongly of the perspective that optimism is a choice. Please join us in this action. xoxo