Amidst breast cancer treatments life goes on.  THANKFULLY I am feeling good so we’ve been very busy, as a family with two teenagers tends to be.  The GUPDATE on the hot and sour soup is that it was FABULOUS (with no repercussions)!!  Along with our Maine family, I have a relatively large family of origin and we have had an event.  My mom’s brother died last weekend.  He was 91.  At my wedding almost 20 years ago he and I were dancing and he told me I was his favorite niece.  A few carefully placed steps later he said “you’re also my only niece”.  I never realized that until that moment.  There may have been fewer girls in my family, but we certainly are GEMS!  (Mom’s side  had 4 boys and me in our family, Mom’s brother had 3 boys and a girl and Mom’s sister had 4 boys and Dad’s brother had 2 girls and a boy.)

Anyway, I’d been talking with Uncle Charlie more frequently since his 91st birthday in October.  Our conversations were always tender and full of humor and love.  We were able more recently to relate to one another’s medical issues and he was always very encouraging.  On the Saturday before he died, I was on a long call with my brother and I noticed Uncle Charlie was ringing in.  I don’t know how to work that darn call waiting thing, so I made a note and called him back on Sunday.  He sounded so tired.  Basically he said “All I can do is sit and think and I don’t like that.”  This is coming from a man who has been very active all his life.  I don’t know for sure but I think he was playing golf until maybe 2 years ago?  Always appearing fit both in mind and body, my uncle was very much alive.  We spoke of gardening and he is the one who told me the missing piece to my pasta sauce…my grandmother never put onions in her sauce.  I will miss those tid bits that can only come from that generation, so I’m planning on squeezing as much as I can out of my mom (87) and her 93 year old sister.  (Their other brother’s ship, the U.S.S. Sims went down in the 40’s, and we never had the honor of meeting him.)

Uncle Charlie and I spoke about cancer and about how we each were working to try not to make it the ONLY thing in our lives.  Since his birthday, his  medical issues were becoming the ONLY thing in his life.  This was so disappointing to him.  He had a wonderful partner who lights up rooms when she enters.  He had a wonderful daughter who was there much of the time.  He had terrific and very funny sons and grand children and great grand children and nieces and nephews and friends and siblings who loved him.  But this was not enough to sustain his enjoyment of living.  When I asked my dad what he thought about his own mortality, he said “why would I want to leave this wonderful family?” , but the time came when he was able to let go.   I got the sense at the close of my call with my uncle that he was on the brink of making a decision for himself.  This decision was not one he necessarily wanted.  He was a full blooded, first generation Italian American, and there was no darn way that he was going to linger.  I was not there when he died.  I don’t know the whole story.  But from the bits and pieces that his children, my cousins, have generously shared with me, I think he made his decision to leave this body behind.  The last thing he said to me was that he knew my treatments were hard, but that I would be fine.  “You just have that way about you, only niece Patty, and I love you.”

SO, what does this have to do with A Family’s Life with Breast Cancer ? Well, I have never had a life threatening illness before.  Just thinking about that gives me pause.  My body was attacked and we fought/are fighting to permanently evict the intruder.  My body is NOT tired as Pop and Uncle Charlie’s bodies were.  I plan to give it my all, like usual, and live fully.  I’m not tired.  That is what makes a possibly shortened life very sad to me.  However, in spite of all of this, I don’t put myself in the catagory of someone who will die prematurely.  I went to a follow up appointment with the surgeon yesterday.  I stopped when I got to town and picked up a salad and right there was a beautiful bouquet of Gerber Daisies.  And yea, they were pink.  So I snatched them and when I got to the reception desk, I asked the nurse to put them in the doctor’s office.  The doctor greeted me with a big smile, a thank you and hug and checked out the incision site saying that it looked great.  We spoke about follow up care.  She will now be ordering my mamograms and I will see her at 6 months and then yearly thereafter.  I like the idea of her being on my team now.  We spoke about the meeting with the radiologist and this current chemo.  “Basically the cancer is out and Taxol and radiation gives you the best chance of avoiding a reoccurrence.”   So I thought maybe I could now say that I HAD breast cancer…hmmmm.  I asked her if she knew the numbers relative to doing radiation or not.  We have decided that it will happen, but I was curious how that changes our odds of reoccurrence.  She said something about “the survival rate” and I didn’t really hear the rest of what she was saying.

Lately I go along with my days, grateful beyond belief that I’m feeling as good as I am.  SO giddy about this sprouting dark hair on my head.  Thrilled at the thought that the cancer is OUT thanks to chemo, surgery and tons of prayers and loving thoughts.  And in my Winnie the Pooh way, I say, OK, what’s next? Let’s move on.  Some have told me that it’s “OK to share” my feelings, it’s “OK” to have down days.  I may be fooling myself and others, but I don’t usually have down days.  I don’t usually dwell on things.   Maybe B or A or E would have other things to say about how I am.  I know when I’m tired I’m short tempered, but that has nothing to do with this journey.  I’ll ask them.  I know that I have today. I know that I do not choose suffering.  There were darker, sadder, more tired days during the first chemo episode.  But I think the readers of this blog are getting all I got.

Uncle Charlie gave me some of his last thoughts.  That is a gift.  He showed me a lot about living life fully.  Numbers and survival rates are not as important to me at this point in the journey.  When we were planning the course of treatments they certainly were, but at this point, we have decided to go the length of this marathon and sometimes questions like the one I asked the surgeon can become obstacles.  At every family affair Uncle Charlie ALWAYS found a place to park his body and close his eyes.  At our wedding it was in his suit on the lawn next to the patio.  At reunions he always found the hammock.  His usual posture was on his back with one ankle crossed over an elevated knee and his hands clasped across his chest, eyes closed.  That is the indellible image I have of him and it reminds me to trust the process, to trust my sense of what my body needs and to dig deep into my sense of spirit and peace.