For the first few days in Tucson, the only people who knew about my diagnosis were my surgeon, my primary care doc, B, S (the friend I was visiting in AZ) and I.  After the visit, I attended a work related summit at a very luxurious resort.  It was from that spot that I called all 4 brothers.  It was time for me to put the word out and they were the first ones I needed to talk with.  I was lifted after talking with them all in spite of the tears their love brought on. To some, my family’s support is amazing.  To me it is what I wrap myself in whenever I am in need.   I am so grateful for the love I share with my family.

After those conversations, I went out to dinner with some colleagues that I’ve known for many years. We had a delicious dinner where I exclaimed that the roasted beet and goat cheese salad I was eating was making me feel something inappropriate.  We all laughed.  The next night, I recommended that salad to others and I totally got into imagining them all in their own sensual bliss.  It made me laugh out loud.  It reminded me of a part in the book Like Water for Chocolate where our main character makes a sensual quail with rose petal dish which affects those eating so much that her sister runs out to the outside shower, stripping along the run as she tries to cool herself off, only to set the shower on fire.  She runs out and gets picked up by a Mexican on horseback and rides off all naked into the sunset.  It struck me as so funny.  Everyone was practically licking their plates. Good medicine.

Once we had all the scans done (that’s ANOTHER story), I decided to take a trip to NY to talk with Mom.  I hadn’t told any of my NY people because I did not want it getting back to Mom through the love mill.   I knew that this news would be better understood if she could see me.  Both of my kids had stuff they had to do at home, and honestly, I think they both needed a break from me.  This dose of mortality is too close for comfort no matter how you slice it. 

The ride down was beautiful.  There are not many cars on the highway at 6am on a Saturday.  I put in JT’s greatest hits and did one of my favorite things.  I sang at the top of my lungs practically all the way south.   Thanks to the luxury of long legs, I was able to get in the groove, especially at times when my knees could navigate the straight-a-ways.  “Fire and Rain” and  “How sweet it is to be loved by you” had me just rockin’ out.  The performer in me especially loved it when a car would go by.  The rest of the ride was rather boring.

 When I finally got to Mom here’s how it went:

 Mom: Sweetheart, it’s been such a long time since I have seen your hair that short! It must be easy to take care of.

Me: Yea it really is, I love it.  Mom, I have something I came down to talk with you about, it has to do with my health.

Mom: What is it sweetie?

Me: I was diagnosed with breast cancer this summer.

She looked at me with eyes losing their sight to macular degeneration, and a mind that goes into stall sometimes.  It looked like the information was filtering in slowly.  I reached for her hand, her skin was smooth as silky tissue paper.  She squeezed.

Mom: breast cancer?

Me: yea, thankfully it has not spread to other parts of my body. 

Mom: well that’s a relief, so it’s just in your breast?

Me: And probably in some lymph nodes. Remember when Pop got his nodes out after that melanoma?

Mom:  Yes.  So can they take it out?

Me: I’m going to have chemotherapy first to shrink it down so the surgeon can get it all.  Do you remember when P had breast cancer 9 years ago?

Mom: I do remember that. 

Me: You know she would be happy to talk about it if you ever want to learn more about how hers went.  I feel so healthy, isn’t that ironic? That’s why I cut my hair so short.  If it falls out because if the chemo I didn’t want to deal with big clumps.

Mom: That was a smart idea. You have beautiful hair.

 So that was that.  My mother is an angel.  She always has been.  Now she is a cute angel.  Her hair is always flyaway.  She has an innocence in her eyes that I’ve come to just adore.  The fact that her mind is blank some of the time, makes me sad, but she is not in pain. I asked her what she thinks about when she is quiet, and she said ‘nothing at all’.  She describes it as just disengaging for a time.  She completely responds to my affection when I visit.  I crawl in bed with her in the mornings, we laugh and snuggle.  We hold hands all the time.  She laughs at herself, and at stories we remember together.  She loves her family more than herself.  Being her only daughter is an honor.  She is such a beautiful person.

 Now that Mom knows, the world can know about my diagnosis for all I care.