Tuesday, December 14, 2010 5:36 PM, EST
It's been a tough and very sad breast cancer week.
There are so many breast cancer survivor stories. Betty Ford, Shirley Temple Black, Olivia Newton John, Gloria Steinem, Suzanne Somers, Sandra Day O'Connor, Kate Jackson and Jaclyn Smith (what is going on with the Angels, Charlie?).
And, so many people walking and running and buying pink things and wearing pink things and raising awareness and money for breast cancer treatment. It's hard to hear that someone like Elizabeth Edwards, who had access to the best health care died of breast cancer. And, for me, it's terrifying.
This past week, I've been thinking a lot about what it might be like to have breast cancer and not have children. Every time I heard about Elizabeth Edwards--first about the end of her cancer treatment and then her death, I thought about her children--Cate and Emma Claire and Jack.
I know that Elizabeth Edwards had been writing letters to her children for years (because in my spare time I still google every public figure who has or had breast cancer--has anyone heard from Teresa Heinz Kerry, lately?). Elizabeth Edwards wrote her children letters filled with her thoughts and opinions on everything. Advice for the future. Letters they could read when she was gone. In her eulogy to her mother, Cate Edwards mentioned that her mother had already shared some fashion advice with her. Elizabeth told Cate to avoid wearing prints, you might regret wearing a print, you'll never regret wearing solids, she said.
For years, Elizabeth Edwards has been undergoing treatment for breast cancer, and she has also been preparing her children for her death.
What would it be like to have breast cancer without small children?
I know that Elizabeth Edwards was not my cancer twin. But, when we were diagnosed, we both had small children.
For me, I know that if I didn't have E. and A., I would probably not have put on such a brave face everyday. I know that I would have stayed in my pajamas on more days. And, I definitely would have had more time to feel sorry for myself.
I also think that I would worry about the future less--much less.
Breast cancer is scary. As the anniversary of my diagnosis approaches the end of this month, I remember how scary and dark and unknown it all seemed last year.
A year ago today I had my second mammogram and the sonogram that indicated that I had an enlarged and asymmetrical lymph node and a lump. "Probably nothing," my radiologist said. But, she wanted to biopsy both just in case.
This whole crazy year started a year ago today.
Breast cancer is scary. Breast cancer with small children is terrifying. Nothing has been as scary; nothing has made me cry more (mostly in the shower or in the car alone--where no one could hear me) than the thought that I might die of breast cancer while Elizabeth and Andrew are still young.
Emma Claire Edwards is 12 and Jack Edwards is 10.
What would it be like to have breast cancer without small children?
I don't know. And, I try not to think about it a lot. But, in this very sad Elizabeth Edwards week, I think about it.
I do know that if I didn't have Elizabeth and Andrew I would not be researching (and buying) a new camera (with recording capability). I suddenly want lots and lots of pictures and videos of all of us. And, I also know that I wouldn't be as vigilant (some might say compulsive) about yoga and exercise and the "anti-cancer diet." Kale and brussel sprouts and low glycemic
foods . . .
And, I wouldn't have to think about my hair as much (it's always about the hair). An hour ago I made an appointment for my "first" haircut. After the call, I heard E. crying in her room. She hates my short hair. I think she just wants everything to be the way it was a year ago yesterday. And, she thought I was betraying her "I want everything to be like last year campaign" with a haircut.
So I sat with her on the floor in her bedroom, I held her close, and I told her I want everything to be the way it was a year ago too.
As "great" as this short hair may seem, like Elizabeth, I want it to be long again too. But, it needs a little help in the awkward, growing out stage. I need a trim--so that someday I can look a little bit more like I did a year ago.
I will never know what cancer without small children is like. When I was diagnosed, A. was six and E. was turning 10.
But, I'm doing everything I can to know what life post cancer with children is like for many, many years.
And, I'm hoping the odds are with me, because, after all, I had access to the best possible health care, and I have J. at my side every day--not John Edwards.
Rest in peace, EE.
moving forward to 2011,
with love and gratitude,
Barbara
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