EXcapades (13 page)

I wished I could distract myself playing in the sand with Blake.
Just thinking about us gave me strength. Right now, I needed that because I was crumpling on the inside. I felt like something was taking over my body.

Jenny, always true to her word, pulled her Chevrolet Malibu into my driveway at nine a.m., sharp. She was a darker-haired, perkier version of me and perhaps far more worldly, thanks to church missionary trips. She had spent weeks in Haiti and Kenya helping those in need. Plus, she was quick to volunteer her time within our own community. She devoted hours teaching special needs children how to read, swim, and play soccer. But her true passion was music. For years she had played the flute. Even with all of her outside activities, she maintained nearly perfect grades.

After looking at Jenny seated behind the steering wheel, I pulled down my sun visor and glanced in the tiny mirror. We shared the same light complexion. But her eyes were more blue than green, whereas mine tended to appear more green than blue. And when I looked at her, I often thought we were almost identical. Although, when we looked in the mirror together, or I saw a photo of the two of us, I got a reality slap. Instantly, I realized the effects of age and sunlight on my skin. It was as if each trip to the beach left an indentation in my face. And now, years later, my face was a patchwork quilt of fine lines.

We nervously chatted on the short drive to Dr. Young’s office and tried to act nonchalant about the purpose of this appointment. Soon after our arrival, the nurse called me back to the examining room and permitted Jenny to accompany me. Once inside the room, I sat fidgeting in my seat, anxiously attempting to read the latest
People
magazine.

After a lengthy wait in the minuscule, cold room, the doctor greeted us and carefully closed the door behind him. The concerned look on his face shook me. While I shifted on the edge of my seat,
my pulse raced so fast I could hardly stand it.

Regardless of my anxiety, I studied him briefly.
I thought he was handsome in an intellectual way. He might even be an entertaining guy after he’d had a couple drinks to loosen him up, but his “dateability” level was not the reason for my office visit.

He didn’t waste any time getting to the point. He shook his head. “This is very difficult for me,” he said, frowning. His medical training did not mask the emotions in his voice.

Tension filled the room. I took a deep breath and held steady for the tornado-force words about to hit me.

Nothing in my life prepared me for what I heard next. Dr. Young looked down at the floor. “There is no easy way to tell you this news.” And then he began speaking in technical terms, but only one word registered with me.

Cancer!

The word
cancer
reverberated like shock waves through my body and across the small, sterile office. And then silence.

Before Dr. Young continued speaking in his medical-school-trained, flat, matter-of-fact tone, his steady gaze fixed on me. I could read the concern in his eyes, which sent my stomach into panic knots. I knew there was more. Much more.

The cancer was advanced pancreatic cancer, stage III to be exact. It did not appear to have metastasized or moved to the other major organs of my body. And that was the good news. But there was no hiding the dire reality of my situation.

“There’s more,” he explained. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but the cancer has become inoperable because it has invaded the major blood vessels immediately surrounding the pancreas. It can’t safely be removed by surgery. We should try chemotherapy to help kill the cancer cells, but really we are limited in our ability to treat this aggressive cancer.”

I listened with my eyes squeezed tightly and my lips pursed together. I wanted this discussion to end. Then I fell back in my seat feeling faint, letting out a moan.

I fought the urge to throw up. Despite my best efforts to remain strong, I began trembling. A jolt shot through my senses like I had been doused with icy water. I had a primal urge to run away—far away. Run. Run. I wanted and needed to flee the cancer and any other demon that haunted me. I just wanted some peace, even if it were temporary.

Dr. Young handed me a stack of papers. “Here are some pamphlets that should be helpful. Of course, you have the option to refuse treatment. But if you want to try to buy yourself some time, we should start treatment soon. I know this is a lot to process, but unfortunately, you have to make this choice pretty quickly.”

Jenny wiped the tears that spilled from her eyes. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, reached over, and squeezed my hand
.
She gazed glassy-eyed at the doctor and in a trembling voice asked, “Are you sure about the results?”

“Yes.
I will show you how the tumor looks on your imaging scan.”

He illuminated the screen and pointed to the outline of the tumor. I had just been introduced to my enemy lurking within, and my eyes were magnetized to the shape that the doctor pointed toward—an unwanted intruder in my body.
And in my life . . .

It suddenly made sense, all of it. The recurring stabbing pains and my breathlessness had not been products of my imagination. But I didn’t find the reality to be a relief. Now I knew the truth, even though I had been hiding from it.

Jenny sniffed. “What about radiation?”

Dr. Young shook his head. “I don’t consider radiation an option because of the location of the cancer. There are clinical trials with new types of treatments, but they may produce unexpected side effects. The materials I gave you will discuss those options in greater detail.”

All of this technical information seemed almost too daunting for one person to handle alone; I felt grateful for Jenny by my side while
I tried to absorb the facts.

“I don’t have a solid, viable treatment plan to halt the growing cancer. I wish I did. But we should try chemotherapy. It’s not a guarantee, but it’s worth trying, in my opinion,” he said.

How could all of this be true? My frustration dissipated quickly and turned into utter sorrow. Overall, I had lived a charmed life. I considered myself lucky—until today. Now I felt like I was getting all of that missed bad luck paid to me at once. Times two.

In the forefront of my thoughts was my struggle to fight the cancer growing inside me; in the back of my mind was my concern about how this disease would impact my newly rekindled relationship with Blake.

The doctor looked at me with compassion, although he had probably seen it all before—often. Nonetheless, this must be the most difficult part of his job. Especially in a situation like mine where modern medicine had not yet found the answers to the disease that ravaged my body. I could tell from his concerned expression that this was a frustrating position to be in as a doctor who had devoted his career to treating patients, to give them minimal options for a cure.

“Can we try surgery?” I asked in a weak voice. I could barely get the words out.

“No. If we caught the cancer earlier, that might have been an option.”

The sad reality hit me. There was no easy solution. I closed my eyes tightly as if to make the words less painful.

Reluctantly, he continued. “If you decline to be treated, you will need to look into hospice care, as soon as possible. They are an amazing group of people and will be helpful for you in the following months. The literature I gave you should be informative about what to expect.”

I sat wide-eyed, listening to my prognosis.
I was under siege, and the enemy within was a sharpshooter.

Sadly, there weren’t many medical options to deliberate over. I did know that, as a result of the uncertainty of success, I opted to forgo the clinical trials. I did not want to suffer in what might be my few remaining months of good health.

Thank goodness for Jenny, but I wished the rest of my family lived closer—at least in my area code would be nice. My parents were older, refused to travel, and lived miles away. Susan couldn’t leave the veterinary hospital. I didn’t really have any other close relatives to fall back on in tough times. Suddenly, I felt very isolated.

And I wondered what was going to happen next. I didn’t want the pain that came on in waves—but fully receded—to settle into my body. I already felt tired. Was this feeling going to consume me in the days to come?

Jenny held my hand as I stumbled to the car, pale and drained. My mind had become numb, and the actions of the world were in slow motion. Finally, I came out of my trance. I glanced out the car window and saw the world as I knew it zoom by. I wondered if my remaining days would have the same feeling as if life whizzed by and I simply watched, frozen. The birds still chirped, and the children still played, but for me everything felt—different.

Then I looked over at Jenny driving without blinking, her hands gripping the steering wheel white-knuckled as she navigated the familiar streets. Sweet Jenny, my pride and joy, who was on the verge of becoming a woman. More than anything, I wanted to see her graduate from college, start a career, and hold her children one day. She had become such a strong person and would be fine without her mother, but I didn’t want her to have to live that way. Not yet . . .

Regardless, I did not want to give in to this deadly disease, and I felt determined to fight for my life.
I must fight!

Ten minutes later, we arrived home. As we walked into the house, I had this overwhelming feeling of living in a bad dream. I pinched myself, trying to wake up from this nightmare. No use. This situation had become powerfully real.

Jenny said the words I had been thinking. “Well, what should we do now?”

“What choice do I have?” I asked in a weak, defeated voice.

I will be strong and face the enemy; I will find strength!

And then in a louder, stronger voice, I said, “Don’t look at me through eyes of grief because I won’t look at myself that way. I only have one life, and I’m going to enjoy all of it. I will not waste a moment having a pity party for myself. And I don’t want your sympathy, either.”

Impetuously, I blinked the tears that tried to fill my eyes, and I gave Jenny a forced smile. My nerves got the best of me, and suddenly I could not stop talking. “I’m not going to let anything get me down,” I blurted out, surprising myself with my gumption. “Not the divorce from your father or this cancer. Nothing is going to depress me.”

Jenny smiled tight lipped and then hugged me. “I love you, Mommy.”

“I love you, too.” When I looked at her, I realized I loved her more than I thought was possible. I wanted to protect her from the world. My own mother sometimes seemed overbearing, but really she must feel this protective urge.

“How can I help you?” Jenny asked.

“I know you need to get
back to school, dear.” Jenny nodded reluctantly. And I added, “I’ll be fine.”

Jenny looked at me, and with what sounded like forced cheerfulness, said, “Yes, you are the most resilient person I know. But nonetheless, I’ll stop by Sunday night. I can pick up a takeout meal for us. Or maybe we can go to a favorite restaurant like the Angus Barn? There’s nothing better than a perfect steak.”

“That’s a great plan, sweetie.” I smiled appreciatively. And suddenly I felt a surge of strength.

Jenny glanced at me as if she wondered how I could look so calm and relaxed now. Maybe I had come to peace with how my life was unfolding.

Despite her hesitation to leave, Jenny walked out the door. I followed with Elky at my heels. I stood on the front porch, proudly watching my grown daughter. I loved every day of being a parent; it was the most gratifying experience of my life.

At first, the idea of motherhood had unleashed a series of apprehensive thoughts. But from the first glimpse of my adorable baby girl, I became a
devoted mother
.
Of all the names I had been called in the past, Mommy was my favorite. I tried my best to give my daughter everything. I was always active in the PTA. I embraced every sport, musical, and academic endeavor she pursued over the years.

Just as Jenny was leaving, she stopped and turned in my direction. “Thank you for being a wonderful mother
.
I know you made sacrifices to put me first. I want you to know that I appreciate you,” she said, her voice filled with gratitude. “And if anything ever happened to you, I don’t know what I would do.
I can’t imagine being in this world without you. You’ve always been my best friend.”

Hearing Jenny’s sweet words,
I was not sure if I felt sorrier for myself or the struggles I would be putting her through. It felt so painful to think about Jenny suffering in any way. But I would insist that she continue her college education, regardless of my health.

Although Jenny looked to be in better spirits than she had been earlier, she still seemed dazed. “Call me if you need anything. I’ll be here for you,” she said in a scratchy voice. She suddenly looked years older.

In such an ironic twist of events, Jenny wrapped her arms around me as if she were the one comforting a child.
She smiled at me, and I found myself smiling back at her.

“Thank you, dear,” I said gratefully. “And thank goodness,” I sighed, “for your support today.”