Ma mere

Breathe ...

This may be a bit all over the place, but bear with me. Or don't -- there's lots of other stuff out there to read. Like how Anna Paquin has announced her bisexuality, for instance. She's lovely, and she met my dog once and was nice to him.

So, in the midst of all that's been going on around me that I alluded to before, I'd been feeling a little something more than compassion for my friends. Of course they've been weighing heavily on my mind -- one is embarking on an unforeseen divorce where there are children and assets involved and it's been awful for her; one just lost her father; another has just had surgery for prostate cancer; another can't seem to keep herself out of trouble for very long. Add to that the long suffering broken hearts, motherless daughters, people-who-can't-see-the-forest and I've got my hands full -- willingly. I wish I could save everyone from everything but since that's not possible, this is something.

As I've said, it does comfort me to be here for the people I love (another reason to unload the toxic relationships and concentrate on the enriching ones); as someone who can fall apart so often and so easily -- though I'm getting better -- it soothes my soul to know that people can turn to me when they need me, and that I can help in some small way. Obviously this effects my moods -- I hurt when the people I love hurt, and worry when situations are out of control, but that's just the way it is.

But this time there seemed to be something more going on, or as I said to someone last week, "I'm feeling this weird sense of impending dread." As we know, I have what my sister calls "the vapors". And they were, in fact, heralding something more.

My mom invited me for lunch last Thursday; we usually meet out but she asked me to come over. We sat down and she told me we had something to talk about, and of course my tears started to well up. She's having surgery for a suspicious area of her lung that may be cancerous but very well may not be. All I heard was "lung cancer", and I fell apart, told her how much I love her and how sorry I am for any and everything I've ever done wrong, how she's my entire world. She hugged me, made me tea, got me an Ativan, made me eat and explained more -- that it might be a very specific and unusual type of LC -- or it might be completely benign, that the surgery is most often non-invasive and this is not an LC that tends to metastasize (took me three times to spell that right), and that the prognosis is highly encouraging. She scheduled her appointment to meet with the surgeon while I was there, and we hatched somewhat of a plan for how she would tell my sister, who is as hard to get on the phone away from work and kids as every other working mom is, and who lives out west.

My mom has beaten unusual forms of unrelated cancers twice before. Twenty years ago it was an extremely rare form of leukemia and she was given a fairly short window of possible cure. Apparently she looked at the doctor and said, "That's ridiculous." Twenty years later, we know she was right.

Right before 9-11 she was diagnosed with a type of breast cancer that, like this lung situation, tends to remain localized and is easier to treat. In rapid succession my Granny died suddenly, my mom was diagnosed, 9-11 hit and took away a friend and so much more, and my dad had a serious injury that required surgery and subsequent treatments. It was a challenging time, and my mom was the strongest force in it all.

She is now almost 9 years free of that cancer.

And now this. And she's not scared -- she promises me she's not scared -- and my dad and my sister are both taking their cues from her. So that's what I shall do. They did meet with the surgeon, scheduled it for later this month, and she has agreed to answer any questions I have along the way. This is a big deal; I'm the one they most dreaded telling, for reasons obvious to anyone who knows me, and so they tend to avoid frequent conversations that may elicit emotion.

This time around I will try not to fall apart anymore. This time I will be strong, level-headed, and as calm and non-teary as I can manage. This time I'll take my cues from her, and I'll try not to fear fear. I'll pray for the best, and assume all will be well.

All good thoughts welcome.

Je t'aime, Maman, toujours et avec tout mon coeur.