Saturday, November 14, 2015

The relief of an unbearable weight

It wasn't until I received the results that I physically felt the pressure that had been weighing down on my shoulders.  After unexpectedly finding out I might be diagnosed with cancer during a routine doctor's appointment,
I spent two, almost, three weeks making phone calls, setting up follow up appointments, and doing lab work.  Every night that I struggled through dinner time, bath time, bed time and all the other normal night time routines with my kids, I kept thinking this is something that I might not be able to do forever.  I think most parents deal with the thought that some day when their kids get older these golden, bittersweet days of night time routines will be over, but for me it was almost like the harder I tried not to worry about the possibility of having cancer the stronger the fear grew.  The stress about the small stuff was what helped me not to focus on that fear.  However, as much as I tried not to worry, there were times when I would.  I'd be playing on the floor with my six month old while my three year old tried to climb on my back and the thought would occur to me that there was a possibility in six months to a year, I might not have the chance to do this again.  The thought that I might have to go through chemo and in three maybe less months wouldn't be strong enough to take care of my kids on my own was probably the scariest thought that I had.  This Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years and my youngest's first birthday might be lasts....

Three weeks after I was told I might have cancer, I got a phone call with the results of the lab work I had been doing for a week.  I was working when I got the call, and since I was trying hard to focus on the day to day life instead of hypothetical tragedy in my future, I was in no rush to return the call or listen to my voicemail.  When work got out, I drove to my daycare to pick up my girls and on the way there routinely hit my voicemail button.  The message began as I slowed to a halt at the stop sign.

"This message is for Vanessa." I slowly turned left into traffic and came to an immediate stop as there was construction.  I noticed the man holding the stop sign was smoking a cigarette. "I don't normally leave detailed messages for patients due to privacy laws..." He blew smoke slowly out of his mouth and nose at the same time while turning his sign to slow. "...but since there was a note about how urgently you wanted the information I thought it would be best to say it here." I let my car lurch forward and stared at the water flowing under the bridge I was crossing. "My name is Cindy and I am the nurse working along side your primary care provider."  Her message felt like it was in one ear and out the other, I looked at the dreary gray sky above the hill that my car was struggling to climb while the message continued. "Your lab work came back and we want you to know that it was negative." I am just barely rolling over the top of the hill and the sky looks clearer further down the road. "What that means is that there were no cancerous cells found. As far as we know, there is no cancer." I am listening more attentively now, and slowing down to turn towards the daycare where I need to pick up   my daughters. "You will need to go in for some follow up work with a specialist, but I just wanted you to know you can stop worrying about the cancer."  The voicemail ends with the nurse giving me her name and a call back number as well as some final details about the follow up appointment, but I don't hear any of the details because I am now in the drive way to my daughters' daycare and I can see my three year old laughing and playing outside with her friends while the six month old smiles and watches from a stroller.  A tear is running down my cheek and as the news is really sinking in, I realize how heavy a fear it was to carry, that I might have a potentially fatal illness.  I wipe away my lonely tear, take deep breath and feel the burdensome weight of my worry physically lifted from my shoulders.  Hearing my daughter scream "Mommy!" while running, arms open, towards my car, as soon as I open the door, was the most beautiful reception after receiving the most relieving news.


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