Last week we got the devastating news that my youngest sister has breast cancer. It was caught early and her prognosis was excellent. Surgery, radiation and then done. Stage 1. Baby cancer. Annoying cancer.
Today we learned that it was stage 3. Not nearly as easy as 1, 2, 3. Not even close. Her tumor is 10 cm – the size of a bagel. How is that even possible? Of course she found the lump. It’s enormous.
Devastating isn’t the right word. We were devastated when my dad told us he had lung cancer and would die within months. This diagnosis is different – it’s not a death sentence. It’s not devastating. But it is. In a different way.
My sister is 39. Too young to even get mammograms on a regular basis. (Thank God she found the lump herself.). She’s incredibly healthy. She doesn’t even have enough body fat to get her breast reconstructed, should she want to. She watches what she eats and how much screen time her kids get and doesn’t drink soda. It’s incredibly unfair that this is happening to her.
My nieces are 10 and 7. So little. Too little to understand that my sister’s chances of a 5 year survival are 73%. Too little to understand that hair loss is the least of our worries. Too young to have to contemplate losing their mother for even a minute. Going back to school (fucking COVID) is probably out of the question for them now. But who knows. Maybe the risk is worth a little bit of normal for them right now.
I’d love to feel like a fighter right now. I hope she does. I feel humbled and exhausted and so, so sad. I want to be tough and help support her, but I’m so afraid.
OK-Masons 