A great many women have helped to shape who I am today and the life I have been blessed to lead. One woman, however, has had a great impact than any other.
My mother is so many things....
A daughter.
A sister.
A wife.
A mother and a beloved grandmother.
A Rotarian.
A caregiver to those less fortunate, as evidenced by her involvement in Meals on Wheels and a variety of other community-focused activities.
A neighbor.
A friend.
But just after Thanskgiving, my mom -- my role model and one of my truest, closest friends -- was diagnosed with cancer.
In the face of cancer, one can chose to crumble, to give up, to refuse to fight, to adopt a negative attitude. Those choices are available. I don't know whether they ever crossed my mom's mind. I don't know whether she locked herself in her room and cried herself to sleep after she heard the words.
I know that the selfish part of me was furious with this disease -- what right did it have to threaten my mother's life? My friend's life? And the worst of thoughts crossed my mind -- what if I were to lose her? And not just me, but what about dad? Tim? All of her grandkids? Why have so many people I loved been threatened by this disease in the past? Why? Why? Why? Questions to which there were no answers.
Somehow, through the agonizing months of waiting for test results, through the weeks that passed as she waited for her surgery, my mom, with dad at her side every step of the way, remained amazingly, remarkably positive.
I wonder if that was just because she's my mom... as a mom, I know the need to spare your children negative thoughts, concerns and worry. But I believe in my heart her faith and her general positive energy were what showed -- true and clear, as always.
For those of us sitting in the waiting room -- my dad, my grandpa, two of my uncles, fellow Rotarians and mom's friends -- the surgery, which took place one cold morning in late December, seemed to take forever. Few words were exchanged. I tried, and failed, to focus on a journal submission I was editing. We shared coffee and tea, tried to eat something.
The not knowing -- that's hard.
What would the surgeon say? Would she get through the surgery ok? What would her prognosis be?
And then, suddenly, he was there, the surgeon, standing at my side, in his scrubs.... he talked for what seemed like an eternity about things that weren't really relevant to the immediate issue. Was she OK?
But finally he said the words we all needed to hear. "The surgery is over. It went well. I'm very pleased." Relief. I was flooded with utter relief. She survived.
And the news that followed brought us joy beyond anything we'd expected. "The pathologist was in surgery with me. He's examined the tumor. It hasn't spread beyond the uterine wall. I expect her to make a full recovery."
We peppered him with questions about lymph nodes and further treatment. We thanked him with words that failed to express the gratitude we all felt for the gift he had given us. And when he left, we cried.
Cried with joy at the news that our mom -- our friend, my dad's wife, my grandfather's daughter, our children's grandma -- was going to be ok. And we cried with the knowledge that we would be able to take pictures like this with her for many years to come.
I left Chicago a few days later to celebrate Christmas in Denmark with grandpa (who joined us -- thank you grandpa, for spending the holidays with us. It meant the world to all of us), Steen, the boys and our Danish family. I left Chicago with a new perspective. With a desire to live for today, to tell those around me how much they mean to me. With the knowledge that I am so absolutely, incredibly lucky to have been born into this amazing life.
I also learned that if you a post-menopausal woman, you should see a gynecologist immediately if you experience bleeding or spotting. This is the message the surgeon asked me to spread -- so there you have it.
