My mothers cancer story

Dear Mother,


I am writing this letter to tell you how I felt, and how I think you felt, when you were told you had breast cancer. It had only been a few months after Dads' death when I drove over to visit you. You had a doctors' appointment the next day, so I drove you there and waited in the waiting room for you. When you came out you didn't say a word. We got into the car and started for home. I asked you then, "What did the doctor say?" I thought you had gone in for a check-up.

"The doctor says I have breast cancer."

You started to cry but stopped yourself. I told you to go ahead and cry, there was nothing wrong with it. But I remember, you didn't cry much. My heart had almost stopped beating. I knew you were missing Dad at this moment. He was the one to be with you at times like these, and he knew exactly what to say and how to say it. But he wasn't there, I was, and I knew I would be the one who would take care of you throughout the entire ordeal.

Our luck was the person I worked for was a CEO, and he was on the Baylor Board of Medicine in the medical center. When I got back and went in to work, I talked with him about you. He was a very gracious man, and he told me to bring you over, and then he sent you to the best oncologist in the medical center.

We went to see the doctor, and he confirmed what the other doctor had found. He said you needed to have your breast removed. When we left the doctors' office I could see the devastation on your face, and how very scared you were. I did my best to console you. I stayed with you and waited during the operation and visited you daily while you were in the hospital. You had to come and stay at our house for a while, but it was fine with the family.

I don't know this for a fact, but I'm sure he told you, you needed to have radiation, and you refused. I only say this because of the cancer you had later, and wouldn't take any radiation for it. I was in the room with you then.

Once you were released from the doctor, you wanted to go home, and I certainly understood. I drove you home, and I remember seeing your face when I left. I knew you would cry your heart out. I cried driving home. Not for myself, but for you. Dad wasn't there to cradle you and tell you how beautiful you were and would always be. You didn't want anyone to see you cry. That is the way you were.

The times we would go out together, you would always asked, "Can you tell I don't have a breast?" You really couldn't because of the bras they made then and now.

I don't think I ever want to go through anything like that again with a loved one. It breaks your heart to watch them, and see how scared they are, and yet how very brave they were.

Mother you were a Breast Cancer Survivor, and how proud I am to call myself your daughter.

Lynda

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