There is never a good time for someone you love to say, “I have to have a biopsy.”
No matter how many times you have heard the words before, that sentence can literally take your breath away. For me that moment came when I was pregnant with our oldest daughter, Kate.
The words were reluctantly spoken by my mom, only because her best friend threatened to tell us if she didn’t. In the first mammogram of my mom’s life, a lump was found.
My mom, true to her personality, didn’t want to worry us. Her plan was to have the biopsy, and if necessary, have surgery without my brothers and me knowing.
But she did tell us and I think the news of the impending biopsy hit us especially hard as my dad had died of cancer just over a year before.
The instant the words were spoken our family journey took a detour. Suddenly, baby prep was not my highest priority. When we got together, the focus was on how Mom was feeling, what test was next, when surgery was scheduled, and discussions about follow-up treatment. The journey changed exactly as it should have, but there was certainly no decrease in interest in my pregnancy or the arrival of “baby Kate.”
With everything going on, my husband and I made the decision that I would quit my job to focus on being with my mom and getting ready for a new baby.
As much as we tried to make everything feel normal, it was not possible. Suddenly, pink bows that had been “baby girl bows” were now “breast cancer ribbons.” Seeing grandmas with their granddaughters brought tears more often than smiles.
Things that I had taken for granted were no longer a sure bet. I had seen my mom in her role as grandma to my two nephews and my niece. It was a role perfectly created for her. My baby was already going to miss out on having the best grandpa ever, I couldn’t wrap my mind around her not having her super grandma.
Upon hearing the biopsy results and finding out she did indeed have breast cancer, my mom said “I just want to live long enough to see Kate and know that she is OK.” Nope, that is not the goal here. I wanted my mom to live to see birthdays, holidays, dance recitals, ball games, graduations, weddings, and great grandchildren.
I wanted a promise of more. I needed more. Baby Kate deserved more.
One week before my due date, Mom had her last radiation treatment. I remember walking out of that hospital overwhelmed with relief, but afraid of the unknown.
Our next hospital visit, just a couple of weeks later, was one filled with joy. Baby Kate was born and Grandma was her first visitor! There were no words to describe seeing my mom hold my daughter for the first time. And my mom’s reaction to getting to hold this baby — not that she loved Kate more than the other grandkids — was the realization of her goal.
My mom lived to see the birth of another granddaughter and a grandson. She made it to ball games and dance recitals, celebrated birthdays, and holidays. She didn’t make it to my kids’ graduations and won’t be there for the weddings, but her influence in their lives will be with them always.
After 27 years, I still remember the shock of learning that my mom had breast cancer. Trying to manage the feelings of overwhelming joy of being pregnant while dealing with the fear and uncertainty of my mom’s illness. That pregnancy was much different that my others because right in the middle my hopes and dreams changed dramatically.
I would love to have my mom here for the big events, but even more for the day to day. Being able to pick up the phone and tell her something my kids did because no one was ever more excited about her grandkids.
I can’t change what has happened, but I can make sure that my kids know that in the few years their grandma was in their lives she loved them more than many people are loved in a lifetime.
And in our family in October, we wear pink.
