Numb

There we were. Driving. Numb. Now What? I think we both had the same thought at the same moment-we have to tell the boys that their mom has cancer! "How in the hell do we do this?" When kids hear ‘cancer’ they think ‘death’. Heck, when I hear 'cancer' I think 'death.' I have been there before; except I was an adult when my dad called to tell me he had prostate cancer. It was awful. I remember how scared I was. I remember wondering if he was going to die. So now, I'm in those shoes:

How do I tell my 12-year old who is extremely soft-hearted? 

How do I tell my 15-year old who cannot even watch the movie "Backdraft" because his Dad is a firefighter and it scares him to think about his dad dying in a fire?

How do I tell my 19-year old who will always share his birthday with the anniversary of my diagnosis?

I consider myself a strong person. It has always been important for me to show my boys that women can do {tough and hard} things. But now, my boys are going to see me in my weakest moments. And, for the first time in a really long time, I felt weak and I doubted myself.  

“Can I actually do this?”

And then, I told myself, “Pull your shit together. You need to be strong for the boys.” After all, if I was doubting myself and my ability to fight this fight, how were they going to believe that I was going to be okay. Sometimes we just have to "fake it 'til we make it" and this was my time to "fake it" because I sure as hell had no idea if I was actually going to make it. 

            Let me back up for a minute. Wayne and I didn’t know if we should tell anyone what we were going through-the lump-the mammogram-the ultrasound-the biopsy. Finally, on the previous Sunday, we thought we should tell our boys and family just to give everyone a ‘heads-up’. But, right now, in this moment, Wayne and I are the only ones that know the results.

We decided that it would be best for the boys to miss their church activities that night so we could all be together. I called my sister-in-law because Logan was at their house. I told her to let Logan know that we would be there in a few minutes to pick him up and that he would not be going to confirmation. Mariah said, “Okay. Is everything alright?” I started crying, or just continued to cry…I don’t really think I’ve stopped crying yet, and replied, “No. We just met with Dr. Hoffman. I have breast cancer.” She responded so sweet, even though I’m sure she was just as terrified, “Okay, so what’s next?” I remember that question so clearly because it caught me off guard. But, it also changed my focus. It made me switch my thinking, in that moment, from "I'm going to die" to "Focus on what you need to do next." I told her that I would be making a phone call to Piper Breast Center the following day, and we will go from there.  

We pulled up to Eric and Mariah’s house and I knew this was going to be the toughest person I would face-my 12-year-old little Mr. Logie. I didn’t want him to be scared. I didn’t want him to worry about his mama. But, let’s be real, I was scared. I was worried. How couldn’t a 12 year-old feel all of those feels, plus more? I started walking up the steps to their house, and Mariah met me to give me a hug. I cried more. She cried. Then, I walked into the house and faced Logan. I didn’t want to tell him yet. I wanted to wait until we picked up Isaac from the school so I could tell them at the same time. So, I said, “Hey bud” and gave him a quick hug. He knew something was wrong, but he just kept walking past me to the front door, and then outside. I stood in the kitchen at Eric and Mariah’s house and shared with her what I knew.

We got back in the truck and headed up to the school to get Isaac. Logan was quiet, but his eyes were full of fear. He knew why I was crying. He knew we were waiting for these results. I can’t imagine what was going through his head in those couple minutes. Remember, I thought about having to write letters to my boys for them to read at milestones in their lives. Was he thinking this? Was he wondering if his mom would be there when he shoots his first deer, or to see him make the big tackle in his football game, or his 16th birthday when he gets his driver's license?  But, he didn’t say anything. We got to the school, and luckily Isaac came right out. It’s very uncommon for Wayne and me to be together-picking the boys up from sports practices. So instantly, Isaac’s eyes filled with that same fear that engulfed Logan's eyes. He knew too. Then, I had to do the toughest thing in all of my mamahood, I turned to the back seat of the truck and said, “Boys, I got a call from Dr. Hoffman today and he wanted me and dad to come meet with him in his office this afternoon. He told us that I have breast cancer.” Tears now filled their already fearful eyes while they stared-the deer in headlights stare-at me. Logan started to cry out loud. I reached back and hugged him. Then Wayne interjected, (this is when it’s super helpful to have him around), “Boys, you know your mom. She’s pretty tough…and stubborn (they giggled through their tears), and she’s going to get through this.”

We started heading home, but we decided to go to Wayne’s parents’ house. I was no where near hungry, but the boys had to eat, and my in-law’s house is always a good place for the boys to fill their tummies. We walked into their house and my mother-in-law knew right when she saw us, “It's cancer?” She asked. We continued to share what we knew with them. Isaac headed right for the food and Logan stood by me and hugged me as I was talking. Then, both Wayne and I got on our phones. He called his siblings, and I called my mom, dad, and sister. I honestly can’t imagine getting a phone call from my child or sister telling me that they have cancer, yet that’s the phone call I was making to them. They were quiet. They listened. They were strong for me. They had questions. Finally, my sister asked me, “Are you okay? You aren’t crying. Why aren’t you crying?” I replied, “Right now, I just don’t have anything left in me.” Wayne and I got done calling our family members, now, we needed to call Dylan, together. We walked out to the garage and put him on speaker phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey bud! Happy Birthday!”, I said, and continued to ask him about his day. Wayne then said to him, “Well, we found out today that mom has breast cancer.”

“Are you serious? Ah man”, he responded.

We told him everything we knew. He was quiet. The other two boys have seen me. They were able to give me a hug. Dylan is hearing this through the phone. He can’t see me. He can't give me a hug. I said to him, “I’m so sorry this happened on your birthday. It kind makes for a shitty birthday.” He replied, “You don’t have to worry about my birthday, I’m sorry you have to go through this.” We talked for bit more, and then hung up with him. We gathered up the other boys and drove home.

            I was so exhausted. We got in the house and I looked at Wayne and said, “I need to talk to Melanie.” I’m still trying to digest this news. But, all I wanted to do was to cling onto all the hopeful, successful, cancer stories that I knew of. I text my friend Melanie who is a very recent breast cancer survivor. She called me when she was available. I told her I was just diagnosed with breast cancer. I asked her where she had her treatment and surgery. She, too, went through Piper Breast Center. So, I felt quite confident in this choice. Prior to this phone call, I remember thinking back to Melanie’s journey and hearing about her surgery and treatment. I heard about her cancer spreading through many of her lymph nodes and thinking, “Shit. That’s not good.” So now that I am also diagnosed with breast cancer, I thought, “Even after how bad hers was, Melanie is now a survivor. There’s no way mine is as bad as hers was. It’s going to be ok.” Back to our phone call, we started talking about the specifics of our pathology reports. I’m not sure why I thought this was going to be a good idea. Like I said earlier, I was trying to cling onto any hope that I could. But, we got to the point of talking about our Nottingham grade and scale numbers. We exchanged our numbers; and tears, once again, began to roll down my cheeks. My numbers were bigger than hers. “How could this be? She went through a lot of shit and she survived, but what are the chances that I am also going to survive?” We talked some more, and she told me to reach out to her whenever I needed to. I thanked her for the phone conversation and we hung up. After we hung up, I stood in our kitchen and thought to myself, “Man, I can’t wait until I am in her shoes and have the ‘survivor’ title.” However, I knew I was so far away from that day. Meanwhile, another friend, Amber, was messaging me because my sister reached out to her and asked her to contact me about where she had recently gone through her breast cancer treatment. Again, terribly similar stories and she, too, went to Piper Breast Center.

            This had just been the longest, most exhausting, heart-breaking, and terrifying day of my life. In this moment, I was extremely confident in where I was going for treatment. But, I have also gone from; “I’m going to die” to “I’ve got this” to “Holy shit, I really am going to die” to “Alright, I might be okay” in a matter of three hours. I had hopped on this rollercoaster of emotions and it was time to hold on through the awful.