Simply not my story.

Breast cancer is not my story, I told Amna. My heart tells me that I had my share of drama in this life and no way I will test positive. Apparently, I was wrong.

This Tuesday morning I woke up feeling refresh for the first time since my surgery. I texted my sister, and brother-in-law saying, I slept great last night and am at my computer ready for the day. I didn’t receive a reply. A couple of hours later my sister called to inform me that our mother passed away.

The dam broke and my inside flooded with emotions that I still haven’t had the time to process. My mother was loved by so many. She had the capacity to love.  She just didn’t love me. I accepted that reality a long time ago. In the last couple of days, I have been searching my brain in hopes of recalling one compassionate moment that my mother and I shared. I cannot recall a single moment.

I can say that my mother was a great cook. She had the ability to taste a meal and decipherer every ingredient and replicate it. She was a creative person and enjoyed writing, art, and sewing. I wish her peace.

I sat at my desk and began to pound away on my computer when I received another call. It was the oncologist. “You have cancer,” he said. Then he continued dictating our plan of action. I listened though I didn’t hear him. I called my sister back to tell her my news.

Since Tuesday, I have had many reach out to me either to give me their condolence or to say sorry about my cancer.

You see, cancer is not my story. It is not my story because I have played a major role in countless other stories. My story is of an abuse survivor; my story is of a mother than a single mother; a friend; a sister; an immigrant; an activist; a Girl Scouts Leader; a writer; a storyteller; a learner; a hiker…my list goes on. Cancer is not my story because no one thing can or will ever define me.

Cancer is simply a chapter. I will put words into this chapter and give it a meaning. During Brene Brown’s commencement speech to UT Austin graduates last week, she talked about plans and detours. She told the graduates to not let COVID-19 steal their accomplishments. Instead, let getting up define you, she told them.

COVID, cancer, even the feeling of loss for what could have been, are just a chapter in our book. It is not our story.

Cancer is simply not my story.

Thankful

I just returned from my Atlanta trip and was gearing up for a week in New York. It was the beginning of February and I already had the rest of the year’s calendar filled with work trips and vacations. Upon returning home in the stack of mail sat my second reminder from the Texas Breast Imaging Center. I was overdue for a mammogram. I reluctantly made an appointment and went in for my routine checkup.

A couple of days later I receive a call, not the usual letter stating all is good but a call. They wanted to perform another mammogram, a diagnostic mammogram to get a better look at something. My first thought was, is this covered under my insurance? This began several months of back and forth with my OB/GYN’s office and the oncologist office then a biopsy. In the middle of it all, COVID-19 shelter in place began.

The oncologist set up an appointment despite COVID. There the surgeon mentioned doing a lumpectomy in order to get a better look except hospitals weren’t performing nonessential surgeries. Great I thought, I didn’t want a surgery to start with. While everything was on hold, I called my insurance so I can “decide” if this was a good financial investment or not. Even though being a mother of two daughters, I knew that it was a necessary “investment” for the three of us.

The day after restrictions were lifted, the office called to schedule. Frankly I wasn’t nervous. I was more concerned about the cost; about how will I take care of everything; about my job; and my girls. But I also wanted to be prepared so I made a list of my accounts; my life insurance; where I had my retirement funds; made sure that Miriam was added to my safe deposit box; and made sure that Amna received a document with details, just in case. Then I began to look at my house and wanted to make it as simple as possible for my girls to put the house on the market. So I started to declutter and started to look at my stuff with a question in mind, does it have a purpose?

Two days ago I had a lumpectomy. I don’t know the results yet. Something tells me that it will be benign. Perhaps it is wishful thinking but I am truly not afraid.

When I woke up from the anesthesia, I said ‘thank you’ so loudly that I startled myself.  I am thankful that I am surrounded by people who love me. Thankful that I am able to take off from work and not worry about being late on my bills. Thankful that both of my daughters will learn from this experience that routine checkups are important. Thankful that after boxing up the countless amounts of clothes, shoes and household goods to donate, my house is still full, not just of stuff but of love.

I am simply thankful.