Perspective

Today did not go how we thought it would. We spent three hours at the cancer clinic, most of that spent waiting, only to find out that the test results that we were waiting for weren't in. It was a disappointment and an inconvenience and threw off our whole day. Normally this all would have irritated me but not today.

Today I walked in the doors of the cancer center, feeling perfectly healthy, joking around with staff as I got my wristband. It was just an appointment to talk about things anyway -- not much to complain about. Then I turned around and saw her. The same young girl -- maybe a teenager -- that I've seen a few times before. There she was with bald head and scar down the back of her neck, her weak body slumped in a wheelchair, wearing a surgical mask, and in tears from pain and worry. She was there on my first visit after I was diagnosed. At that time she was in good spirits and excited about her new wig, but not today. Something big was going on. She had about ten people with her and some were wearing "Team Avery" shirts. Her mom and dad were hugging her, rubbing her back, and seemed to be gearing up for something. There was a photographer with them and several other group members had cameras as well. Everyone seemed a little grim and expectant. A staff member finally came and escorted the group through the glass double doors. Maybe I just made it all out to be something it wasn't, but it really looked like Team Avery was off to face something difficult.

I understand the things we tell each other. When someone is diagnosed with cancer we grasp for the right words to say and we're scared of saying the wrong thing. We rely on rhetoric that we've heard, seen, read. We embrace the "brave hero" jargon and say what we're supposed to say. But like I've said before, every road is different and mine is certainly different than Avery's. She deserves those words -- brave hero. She's fighting hard and yet she might never have what I have -- great experiences, an amazing marriage, two precious kids, and unending things to be grateful for. 

When I was diagnosed, that first week was torture. We didn't know much of anything and we weren't telling many people. There just wasn't enough to tell. My biggest fear at that point was how all of this would impact our kids, especially our sweet boy, CB. Just last summer we lost my beloved aunt to primary brain cancer. It was tragic and heartbreaking. CB took it so hard, struggling with anxiety and panic attacks for several months after her passing. We had explained to him then what cancer was and why hers was so dangerous and hard to make better. With my diagnosis, now seven months later, all I could think about was our sweet boy going through that pain again because of me. I absolutely hated to tell him but we did. We explained that all cancers are different and mine was a very treatable one. He climbed on top of me and cried. How I didn't lose it right then I'll never know. We gave him some time to calm down and think about things and then BHE asked if he had any questions. Our 8-year-old boy asked his daddy if mommy's cancer was the kind that killed people. BHE's response? "Nope." Wrong answer. So BHE revised his statement to explain that sometimes it can but lots of women get totally better. CB's had his ups and downs since him but I expect the real difficulty will come later when I have surgery/treatment.

I'm writing all of this to process, remember, and explain, maybe for other people to understand but also for me to relate better to others as they go through the same thing. My point is that I'm no hero. I'm no inspiration. I'm not battling anything in warrior mode. I have no pink ribbons. That's the state of my current road. As we get more test results my path may change. Maybe I do have a battle ahead of me. Maybe I will need to fight, but not right now. So far I'm just a healthy person walking around with a small mass of uncontrolled cell growth. I'm going to my appointments when they tell me to. I'm not freaked out by doctors, hospitals, tests, etc. I've been here before with other things. I'm actually quite fond of most doctors. :)

I looked around the waiting room this morning and it was filled with all different kinds of people. One women sitting behind me remarked that Avery was lucky to have so many people to support her. That's true, and I immediately thought of who I have. You're too many to count. If there was ever a "convenient" way or time to face cancer it's here and now with me. Amazing friends and family for support, access to the best physicians and technology just down the road, great insurance to cover everything, and flexible schedules to bend to appointments. Life could be much scarier than what we're facing. For me, if it were Andy, the kids, or another loved one I can guarantee that I would have absolutely nothing witty to say. I'd be mad, hurt, and scared. Some of you may be feeling that on my behalf and I get that. I'd be feeling that if it were you with cancer. But I'm telling you that for now I'm okay and that has nothing to do with being brave. It's just what it is. We'll see what song I'm singing as my April 2nd surgery date gets closer and closer. For that I reserve the right to get angry and ugly at any point!