It's been a long year...

A year ago yesterday started off like any normal day. We tried to treat it as any normal day even though there was a dark cloud hanging over it. I did my best to busy myself and not watch the clock tick away the seconds until my mother would call. Today would be the day we got the news. I prayed and prayed for good news and hoped that everything would turn out alright.

I remember clearly when my phone finally rang. I was driving on post (though I cannot for the life of me remember why now, probably taking food to some MPs or something), I answered and was greeted by my mother, sister, and grandmother on a conference call. This couldn't be good. I ignored the no cell phone use on post rule. This call was worth a $75 ticket.

What my mother had to say shocked me to my core. You never think it can happen to you or people you love. It happens to strangers, it happens to acquaintances. The grocer, the pharmacist, the guy down the street. My bubble world I lived in shattered that day.

The words were simple, yet scary. "I got my results today. I have cancer." My mother. Mine. Not someone else's, but mine. The "good" news was there was only a 10% chance it would kill her. That's how the doctor put it. She would have to have a complete thydroidectomy and radiation treatment to be sure it hadn't spread. I held it together fairly well for the phone call but as soon as I hung up I burst into tears. Cancer is scary, regardless of the chance of survival.

Regardless of what some other people may think, I was my mother's rock through it all. The day she went into surgery i sat by her side until they took her away cracking jokes and being highly inappropriate. I wouldn't let her see my smile falter despite the fact that I was shaking with terror inside. They were slitting her throat for the surgery. How could I not be terrified? I held myself together until they wheeled her away and that's when I lost it.

I cried and cried. I paced, I worried, I walked into the men's bathroom because I was so distracted. I cracked jokes to my mimi and step father. I pestered the nurses. When my mom finally came into recovery then was taken to the room where we could see her, I sat by her side, not wanting to leave at all in case she woke up and I missed it.

When she did wake up and start moving around we could tell she felt better when she threw a brush and a bed pan at steve for making her laugh. I poked fun of her Frankenstein scar and still do to this day. It's our reminder that we made it through the dark time together. I stuck by her side and visited her daily in the hospital (for the whole 3 days she was there and even spent one night with her during which time 3 polar bears froze to death and the penguins migrated to south america).

I did it because I wanted to. Not because I felt some obligation to her. I did what I did for the right reasons, not the wrong ones. I knew my mother would not go through this alone because I knew I would be there no matter what. I wish some other people had realized that and not made choices that put my mother through hell again later. You know who you are, if you even read this.

It's been a year and mom and I have both been to hell in back, in different ways and in similar ones and we are still going strong.