'You Have Breast Cancer'
And those words were what Dr. Barbara Smith said to me, to us – Cate and John and me – on the afternoon of November 3rd, the day after the election of 2004.
The words open our personal Pandora’s pithos and all sorts of frightening things fly out. The worst, death, we banished from our thoughts. But there was still a grueling treatment, a year – maybe more – of unpleasant treatments and side effects ahead. And the person I was would somehow disappear and a new hairless, exhausted, achy me would take my place.
Despite my fear about what breast cancer would mean to me and to my family, I was oddly at peace about the disease. For several reasons. We had lost our eldest son in a car accident; Wade’s death insulated us: we had already heard the worst news, and breast cancer was a poor second to that.
Another reason is that we had hope. Remember, the last thing left in Pandora’s box is hope. Wade had died instantly; we had no chance to save him. But we – with teams of dedicated and compassionate health care providers – could fight this cancer. We were resolved, not defeated. And I had health insurance, so I didn’t worry whether I would be able to get the care I needed; I didn’t have the additional worry that too many face when getting this news.
And finally, I had a loving, supportive family: a husband who would be there for me, even for every chemo session; and an older daughter who would leave her job to be with me for surgery; and younger children who, though they might tax the new exhausted me, reminded me each day why this fight was important.
For Cate, for John and the children, I admit that I was afraid to lose this fight. Watching Cate, our older daughter, get the news was one of the hardest moments I faced. But with the news also came a familial resolve.
Our reaction is the reaction of so many who face this disease. When Barbara Smith said those words, that it was cancer, we rallied. We now had a dragon we could slay.
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