“Mom. Can I lay with you tonight?”
“Sure, bud. When I get out of the bath, it’s a date.”
……………
“Beeeeeee! Come on up! I’m ready to lay!”
Snuggles in tight.
“Do you just want to lay or do you want to chat?”
“It’s just that all day, while I was at school, I wanted to be at home, laying next to you. It’s like I just needed that to happen.”
pause.
“Ah, bud. Were you worried about me because I was crying this morning? I didn’t mean to make you sad or worry.”
pause.
“It’s just that. I just feel like you’re going to die.”
pause…
“Ah, man… Remember, I told you I got good news at the doctor today. Have daddy or I ever said that mommy is dying from cancer?”
“No. But I just know that people die from sicknesses. And cancer is a real sickness.”
“Well. You know what my doctors tell me all the time… ‘You’re not going to die from this.’ And I think they know a lot about cancer.”
“Okay. But why is it taking so long to make it go away?”
……
And we talked and talked. And I hated myself a bit for having passed on my anxiety to him. That he has to have that as part of his genetic makeup. And that he emotes similar to me. But still, we talked and talked. He cried. And snuggled me tight. And I told him over and over that we would not have chosen this, it’s not what we expected, but now we have to live through it. We have no choice. And so we will live through it. And that sometimes, we’ll have good days and sometimes we’ll have harder days. And some moments we’ll smile and some moments we’ll cry. “But that’s any kind of life, babe. Not just a life with some cancer thrown in the mix.”
……….
And why was I crying in front of him this morning. Because I’ve had some pain the last few days. Some pain in my ribs. On one side. In my bones, I thought. And it worked me in to a tizzy. Because when I was diagnosed, I was first told I definitely had DCIS (stage 0), and then… Stage 1, because it didn’t appear there was any node involvement and then… Stage 2… Which is still early. But I still have fears. That at any point, it could change again. Because, well, that’s life. And like I talked about the other day… The what ifs. They will drive you insane. But I forget that what my doctors and nurses tell me over and over again… That the chemo is killing every cancer cell in my body. I forget that there are a hundred aches and pains caused by chemo and Neulasta. I forget that worry doesn’t help.
So I mentioned the pain to my nurse. And I told her all about my fears, and she talked to the doc, and the doc said, “we can X-ray it and we’ll know.” And even though my nurse told me that, as they’ve told me before, all of my labs look great (even something that measures bone disruption), and that my original EKG of my chest didn’t show anything, and that my ultrasound of the area where my sceroma looked clear, the minute she told me yesterday that I could do an X-ray this morning when I went in for fluids, I FREAKED. I tried praying. I called Adam in tears. I just. I just cried. I called in one of my tribe members who drove to my house and talked me through my FEAR plan {thank you, Kar}, I had a couple of friends visit {thank your Kris, Erin, and Molly}, I drank some wine, we danced in the kitchen, I talked to some of my survivors and my fellow warriors, I snuggled with the hubs, and was feeling much better by bedtime. And then, morning broke and guess what, like every morning for the last two months+, I had cancer. And a test looming.
I’ve never done well with tests. Just ask my parents what my ACT scores were. I just don’t function well with the unknown. I’m working on it, I’m getting better, but I am pretty sure the ACT would still have me curled up in the fetal position, asking for my mommy.
So, I cried at the counter this morning. And my sweet sweet 6 year old boy hugged me. And began to cry, too. And I thought, damnit Ashli. Pull yourself together. You’re being selfish.
And then, the Oldest asked for a post-it, and brought me this:
Be still my beating heart. Which one of us is the parent here, I wondered.
…………..
And then, tonight, he talked to me about death and dying and cancer and stress and worry. My boy who has only walked the earth for 6ish years is having to try to understand things that we as adults don’t even fully understand. So we talked and talked, and I told him, “I do not plan on going anywhere.” I sang him three little birds. We snuggled tight and I told him I would email his teacher so he can talk to his counselor. I told him that I intend to be around until I’m old and grey. And that I won’t let my boobs kill our family’s spirit.
He told me, “this is a hard thing to deal with” and I told him, “I agree”. I told him I trust God and I love Jesus and that cancer is only a small part of our family’s story, not the main character. We talked about focusing on each day. And we talked about challenging one another to be in the moment. And I thought about how little and big he is at the same time. And I told him how proud I was that he kept expressing his feelings and his thoughts. And that he kept asking questions.
And then, without any prompting, from the neighboring bed, I hear the Middlest ask Adam, “when are you going to die?”
Geeeeezie Louisey, people.
I know that there will be more tears ahead. I know that the boys will continue to grow through and with this process, even as the cancer shrinks. I know why they call it a journey. And I know that I have to drag them along on mine. But I don’t have a choice in that. If I did, I wouldn’t choose this for them. But it’s where we are. And so, we talk, we cry, we live, we dance, we snuggle… We just do.
I’m not going anywhere. I had to tell him that. And I had to tell myself. Right now, I have stage 2 curable breast cancer and nothing else. It is not in the bones. I am not dying from cancer. I am living with it. And I need to remind myself of that every day. Most days, that’s easy. Some days, that’s hard. But seeing the fear and worry in the eyes of the Oldest, I realized, I have to suit up every day. I have to put on my armor, even on days when it feels heavy. I have to show him I am fighting. I have to show the Middlest, I am not dying any day soon. And I have to prove to them what I know to be true, I am a badass and a bright light and a positive force to be reckoned with and cancer will not own me every moment of every day. Sometimes, it’s inevitable that it will creep in. And sometimes, they will still see me cry, because I have to be real. But they have to know that I’m crying to cope… To get through… To move on… And to survive. Not because I think I will die anytime soon.
Because when it comes to death and dying, we don’t want any of that here. We’re survivors. And we plan to live the shit out of this life.
No matter what.
