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Reader Feadback - Woman's Stories...FEATURE REPORT WITH EMILY P. Click HereFrom time to time we receive letters from our readers who want to share their story. We were sent the following story by a woman who wanted to share the positive feelings she gained when her mother was diagnosed with Breast Cancer. We hope this story will inspire others to continue hoping, even after diagnosis. My Mother's FightEvery time I walk in the house she rips off her crocheted hat and makes me feel her head. She is very excited to feel the fine baby hairs that are sprouting in the once dead roots. I laugh and nod my head and tease her that her hair is going to come in white. The black circles under her eyes lighten, and I know that she fights so hard because of us. Well, maybe not because of us, but because of her love for us. Let me explain. She´s not my real mother, she´s my mother-in-law, but I can´t call her anything other than mom. When Tom and I first started dating I was often put off because there was always some kind of family affair happening, at least once a week. I didn´t understand what it meant to be part of a close family, or to feel that you would drop the world on it´s axis for them, so we would fight a little, and his family would always win the battle. When I finally met them (and there is a lot of them) I was shocked. They weren´t the family with the proverbial white picket fence that I had imagined. They worked hard, and didn´t have a lot to go around, but somehow they made it stretch for one more person at the dinner table. They had a house. It was an average house, rebuilt mostly by Dad´s hands, and any project that sprung up, the whole family would pitch in to cut wood and nail boards. It became a routine with us, especially after Tom and I moved into a modest little apartment. At least three times a week mom would phone and ask us for dinner. Partly because she wasn´t used to how quiet her house was, and partly because she felt that she had to take care of us. And every time we left, we carried leftovers and something mom or dad had made that we ˇhad to have for our house.´ What dad says goes was the typical feeling of the house, but mom carried everyone. She smoothed over disagreements, and calmed dad down when he got angry because he couldn´t hear the conversation, and refused to get hearing aids. She listened with an objective ear to my problems with her son, and understood that I loved him and nothing I said meant anything but frustration. Her hardest challenge for her was raising a mentally challenged daughter. The youngest of the three kids, Vanessa was stuck with twin older brothers (Tom and Jesse). Vanessa took patience. More then I had at most times, but mom raised her to be ˇnormal´ and with the belief that she could be anyone she wanted to be. All of her kids were taught that hard work is good work, and that when people need help, you´re there for them because one day they will be there for you. Her philosophy really came true when she was diagnosed with Breast Cancer at 51 years old. It wasn´t even shocking when she told us, and much like her, she didn´t tell us that she had found anything until she was sure. Not because she was afraid, but because she didn´t want to spoil our holiday weekend with worry. When she finally told us that she was going into the hospital for a mastectomy, we knew she was scared, and so were we but she kept a brave face and made jokes typically of her good nature. I never stopped having tea with her and complaining about her son because I wanted her to know that she was still the same person to me. I wasn´t going to treat her different because she had cancer, and I never cried in front of her, but we knew. We didn´t have to say anything, we knew. The day she went into the hospital (which she had started to call her vacation) she was smiles and laughter. We had started to tease her about being the ˇboobless wonder´ and she had reciprocated with a joke or two of her own. I think she was still laughing as she walked through the automatic doors into the hospital. No fuss, no mess. Of course not mom, everything will be fine. I went up that afternoon, and she looked horrible, which I promptly told her. I didn´t stay long, partly because she needed her rest, and partly because I was scared out of my mind. I knew this was just the beginning of the parasite that was eating her. I knew she would be sick over and over, and that there were days she wouldn´t be able to get out of bed. So I left her for the day, and brought the twins up later to see her, when I knew she wouldn´t look like death warmed over. Of course, she made friends with the woman in the next bed, she could make friends at the morgue. The months that followed included hair loss, fatigue, nausea, mouth sores, and constant dark circles under her eyes. I told her that she looked beautiful bald and life went on as normal. She told me all the wonderful things that her body was going through, and proudly showed the scar from her surgery to anyone that would look. She bore all the pain and tiredness with spirit and laughter, like she was trying to cure us and not herself. She told me one day that she visualized a tiny little monster eating at the cancer, and so I started to do the same thing. Every night in bed, lying next to her son I would see this tiny purple monster eating her cancer cells. It became a pac man game in my head but I knew that I was sending her positive energy. Christmas came, and nothing was different. We jokingly got her one of the ugliest red hats we could find. It was like the Christmas version of the Mad Hatter, and we put it in her stocking. It was a joke, but she proudly wore it all day, and for years to come there will be pictures of the Christmas Mad Hatter for us to laugh at. She was bald, she had huge circles under her eyes, and the hat was ridiculous, but she was beautiful when she stepped out for dinner Christmas night. The whole family was gathered around the table, and it was her night to shine. Constantly jumping up to refill glasses, and making small talk with our friend´s mom who otherwise would have spent Christmas alone. úTwo more people?!î She said when we had asked her if they could join us, úwell no one can spend Christmas alone. We´ll make room.î She is almost finished her Chemo now, and through it all she has endured.
She still has radiation therapy to finish her program, but to her it symbolizes
the end. Through it all, she has raised her daughter, cleaned her house,
made people smile, packed Dad´s lunches, and most importantly, she has
taught her children a valuable life lesson. When death stares you in the
face, laugh at him and serve him tea. Remember, Breast Cancer survival rates are as high as 97% when detected early. Perform regular breast self-exams and you too will increase your chances of beating Breast Cancer should you be diagnosed. |
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