[Knowing many families have lost a loved one to Breast Cancer, I humbly share a snippet of my sister’s story. Even as I publish this post, I pray for a dear friend’s mother whose fight is not over. Each story is different. This is just one.]
October 2009
Looked down at my cell phone buzzing. My sister Sandi, A.K.A. Sippy, calling me on her way home from work. Nothing unusual about that. She once said that I’m like her morning cup of coffee. Can’t live without it! So we talk every day. Pretty much.
“I felt something under my left armpit a few days ago.”
Silence.
“I’m going to get it checked out. Do my routine physical. It’s probably nothing.”
“Okay,” I responded after pulling my voice out of my stomach. “Yeah. Probably nothing at all. But get it checked out. That’s a good idea.”
Silence. Heavy breathing. Then the tears.
Through the tears she said, “But. What if. It is. Something?”
“Nahhh,” I reassured her. “People, women, get little odd things all the time. Cysts, lipomas, all very innocent. Nothing to worry about. Get it checked out. Don’t worry about it. We don’t have any family history. You don’t know anything, so just get it checked out. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Sigh.
“So what else is new?”
Laughter.
“Nothing.”
And of course we found other things to talk about. Our growing collection of war stories as moms of little ones and older ones. This one doesn’t want to do her homework. This one was up at night crying. But…a nagging unrest seeped into our hearts and minds, as often does when a spotlight is cast on the unknowns of life.
She had her physical, and the doctor said, “You need to get that mammogram A.S.A.P.”
Two days later, the mammo done, the results raised further concern. Sheesh. More tears. More tests. Next came a sonogram and a biopsy.
For sure these would turn up negative.
Not so. The biopsy results took four days. Four days of waiting by the phone. And after the nail-biting, sleepless nights, the lump turned out positive.
What did all this mean?
The “C” word. Cancer. More tears. Floods of tears. An extra large pill to swallow. A day none of us saw coming. Next came the urgency for a lumpectomy. The surgeon scheduled the procedure two days before her birthday. The pathology would be ready on her birthday. Sigh. Not quite the party we expected, but at least we would know her body was cancer free.
She made it through her surgery. The surgeon only said one thing: “One lymph node I took out looks larger than normal.”
NOOO! Not another curve ball. How many more to come?
Her birthday came and the test results weren’t ready. Another blow. More waiting. More tears. More wet shoulders. Finally, four days later, a call from the surgeon. The node was positive.
BAM! A blow to our hearts and we could hardly breathe.
“We need to schedule you with oncology right away, and expect a higher probability of chemotherapy.” The words fell on us like a sea of arrows.
Shoot! This couldn’t be true.
At my OB’s office for my own check up, my sister called me with the latest update. She rehashed all the details from the surgeon. She spoke as if she were talking about someone else’s life. Very calm, matter-of-factly, “It is what it is”- like. Then came the silence. Sighs. More silence. Then the dams broke. And we both cried and cried and cried.
God, how could this be?
After all she had been through, why her? Why Sandi? I couldn’t help but ask. I knew God didn’t owe me any explanations. I knew His ways were higher. I knew the promise. Him. His presence. That was the only guarantee. Still, sadness enveloped me like a wet blanket on a rainy day. I wanted to erase the last month. Start over. Protect her. Keep her from suffering. But that would be keeping her from His arms. And playing God. The position is still filled last time I checked.
April 2010
 |
| Sandi’s favorite color is pink. |
My birthday marked the day of my baby sister’s last radiation treatment after months of chemo, her beautiful hair gone, and days her body felt exhausted and broken. She called me that morning to wish me happy birthday, and at first we talked in circles. Soon, I couldn’t talk anymore without her discovering that I was weeping. She made it, and now another waiting period began. When she noticed I wasn’t responding, she began crying as well. Through tears, we choked out words of gratitude to each other and to God for the journey. Not leaving us alone. Being there for each other.
I can’t imagine going through this life without God.
I can’t imagine life without my sister.
October 2011
On the two year anniversary, we are back where we started. Except, we can never totally go back. My sister’s hair grew back. She ran the Susan B. Komen 5K, and followed that with the three day/60 mile walk last October. She ran the 5K before, but this was different. This time, she ran as a survivor. This time, it was a victory run with each step she took, not just when she crossed the finish line. With each breath she breathed, she exhaled another victory over her battle with cancer. With each monthly and yearly check up, every time the doctor tells her, “Everything’s fine,” and “See you on your next visit,” this marks another victory. But these stories are still being written. We won’t guess or worry. Just hope and pray.
And just as some things have changed, some things remain the same. We still call each other most days. To exchange stories about homework wars with our kids, the trials of parenting teens and tweens, and the art of disciplining our youngest children. We continue to share tools we’ve learned on how to improve our marriages, and dream of our next get together. Looking forward to when we can see each other face to face.
We always end our chats with “I love you.”
Because in the end, whether we’ve solved a problem or just been each other’s sounding board, whether we’ve made progress working out and eating right or just finished off too many cups of coffee and some chocolate, whether our kids soared on their last exams or we’re visiting their teachers because they’ve been acting up, whether we’ve been on a great date night with our spouses or had a blow-out fight the evening before or whether we’re feeling close to others or wanting to run away for some me-time…
The bottom line is always the bottom line.
As my littlest used to passionately say when she wanted to express how she felt about a sister, a friend, or her Sippy Massi — Sarah opened her eyes really wide, leaned into me till the space between us disappeared, and burst out the words:
“I LOVE HUH!”
I love her.
Sandi, I love you.
*Thank You Lord for my Baby Sis! Happy Two Year Anniversary!
**Do you know someone who has fought with Cancer? How has the journey been for you?
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Thanks so much Julie! I am very thankful for my baby sis. And every day I get with her!! 🙂 Thanks for visiting!
Oh, Raj….you told your sister’s story so beautifully. I felt it down to my toes. You’re so blessed to have such a close relationship with your precious sister. Thanking God right now that she celebrated her two-year anniversary. Much love to you and your family!
Hey Shannon! thanks so much for your sweet comment! And so glad to to hear your Mom is doing well!! Life is so fragile… Cherish every moment! Thanks for reading!! pass it on! 🙂 🙂
Sincerely,
Raj
p.s. back in NY….missing my grandma 🙁
Hi Raj…it’s Shannon from the hospital! I told you I would sign on and start reading! Well so far this story touches me to no end. My Mom (who is most certainly my best friend) went through uterine cancer last year and it was exactly like this…unexpected pieces of news, one after the other. It was a rare type, a lymph node was involved, chemo had to be extended, etc. In the end, VICTORY! She is happy and healthy this year and has her next follow-up this coming week. There is nothing as touching as sharing these fragile moments with others and I thank you for this post.
Thanx for sharing your heart and snippet of your battle. I remember visiting you during that time. 🙂 I sent my sis some pink boxing gloves early in her fight along with Nicole Johnson’s dvd of her “stepping into the ring!” soooo powerful!
Raj, what a beautiful testimony. Thank you for sharing the perspective from a loved one’s point of view. I went through my own cancer (lymphoma and melanoma) 6 years ago and the specter never quite leaves you entirely. You are right to say it changes you forever.
I just loved reading your positive thoughts and your trust in a faithful God. Your title caught my attention because I have a pair of pink boxing gloves hanging from my car rearview mirror that has been there since my fight began. They serve as a soft yet frequent reminder to me that God is faithful and has carried me through some pretty rough times and will continue to carry me through other battles that arise.
Thanks!!! Hugs are always welcome!! 🙂
Loved this whole posting, Raj! I cried, too, as I read it. My favorite part:
“I wanted to erase the last month. Start over. Protect her. Keep her from suffering. But that would be keeping her from His arms. And playing God. The position is still filled last time I checked.”
Good stuff there. Sister love is so special, but God’s love transcends all. Love and hugs to both you and your sister.
She’s my best friend!!! But you already guessed that! 🙂
Okay Raj – Now I made waterfalls too while reading this story. Am just glad it has a happy ending, I love a happy ending. And lucky you, to have such a relationship with your sister.
LIZ!!! I totally thought of you as I wrote it!! XOXOXO right back atcha!!
MY LOVE GOES OUT TO SANDI! AS A 12 YEAR SURVIVOR I CAN TELL YOU THAT IF IT WEREN’T FOR GOD, FOR JESUS, I WOULD NOT BE HERE. CANCER CHANGES YOU FOREVER, YOU WILL NEVER BE THE SAME AGAIN. MAYBE ONE DAY I CAN MEET HER, HUG HER AND TELL HER I UNDERSTAND………..LOVE YOU RAJ!
XOXOXOOX
LIZ