Going Pink for October
It's almost the end of the month, and I've been meaning to do this post all month. One in eight women will be diagnosed with breast cancer during their lifetime. But many more than that will be directly affected by breast cancer. I am one of those women.
My grandmother was diagnosed with breast cancer a few months before my wedding. I was young, and selfish, and wrapped up in my own world at the time, and I don't remember a lot about her initial diagnosis, except that I think it came shortly after Christmas. The only comment I remember from her about it was that she was worried about going through chemotherapy because it meant that she would be bald at my wedding.
My grandmother was one of those women who would take an hour putting on make up and curling her hair to perfection just to walk out and bring in the mail. So, it was a miraculous relief that after her lumpectomy, it was discovered the cancer was "encased" in a material that had prevented it from spreading any farther. Upon further evaluation, it was determined that no chemo or radiation would be needed. I still sometimes wonder if the doctors had reccomended she have chemo as a preventitive messure, if my grandmother would still be alive today.
But she didn't have the chemo and she attended my wedding seemingly healthy, and without a hair out of place. But a few months later it was discovered that she had lung cancer. I'll never be fully convinced that the lung cancer was not in some way related to her bout with breast cancer. This time, chemo was not an option. She started it soon after her diagnosis, and seemingly over night she went from the healthy, active grandmother I had always known, to a sickly, home-bound woman I barely recognized. She lost a drastic amount of weight. All of her hair fell out. She needed an oxygen tank almost all the time. I remember sitting in her living room with her as she cried because she hated what had become of her life. Of all my grandparents she was the last of them that any of us expected to get sick. She was healthy and active, and to see her change so dramatically in such a short period of time was frightening.
A few weeks after beginning the chemo, a scan revealed that there had been no change, and instead the cancer seemed to be spreading. My grandmother made the decision to stop chemo therapy treatments. Initially, I was angry. I felt like she was giving up hope. But I think she knew the treatments weren't going to make a difference, and she wanted to spend her remaining months healthy enough that she could be around her family.
During this time, Shawn and I found out we were pregnant with Connor. My grandparents were the first people (after my parents) to find out we were expecting. I had told my grandma just a few weeks earlier that we were going to start trying for a baby. We got pregnant on the first try, so when we told them the news, the first thing out of her mouth was "What? Already?" Although neither of us spoke of it, I know we were both hoping for the same thing.....That she would live long enough to see our child born.
But it wasn't to be. The last few weeks of her life, she was bed-ridden. My mother and my aunts had practically moved back into my grandparent's house to care for her. She was delusional from the drugs, and lucid moments were few and far betwen. Several of my cousins had gone to visit her and say their goodbyes. I was at the house on three seperate occasions before I could even go into her room. But I refused to say a formal goodbye. This woman that the cancer turned her into was not the woman I wanted to remember. I had my memories to hold on to......of sleepovers at her house, of cookies and milk for midnight snacks, and of the never-ending lectures that she was famous for.
One night, after going over to their house to visit my mom, I walked into my grandma's bedroom. My aunts were helping her sit up in bed, and she looked at me, and for that fleeting moment, I felt like she was the woman I had known all my life. We both began to cry, and I hugged her and we both said I love you. That was as much of a goodbye as I needed.
On Thanksgiving day, November the 28th of 2002, my grandmother became my unborn child's guardian angel. I had done a fair share of grieving before she passed away. I grieved for myself, for the loss of my grandma. I grieved for my child who would never know this woman who had been so instrumental in my life. I grieved for my grandpa, who after nearly sixty years of marriage, seemed to be losing his reason to live. I grieved for my mother; for the heartbreak and loss she was going through.
A few days after her death, I was standing next to Shawn, nearly 5 months pregnant, in a three-piece black maternity suit while we watched them lower my grandma's coffin. It's the only time I've ever been to her grave site.
Despite our loss, our lives went on. My mother and my aunts moved back to their homes with their families. A few months later, our son was born and my grandpa came to visit me in the hospital. A year later, my 79 year old grandpa remarried.....to a kind, sweet woman he'd known most of his life.
And now....four years later I occassionally still find myself heading towards the phone to call my grandmother just to talk. I wish she would have been alive to meet our son. I wish she would have been alive to share in this pregnancy and to meet our daughter.....to have seen my husband graduate college, and see the life we have created together.
I know for some it may seem like lung cancer is the reason that my grandmother isn't alive to share these milestones in my life. But for me....this journey began with breast cancer. So this October, I remember her, and her life, and the lives that she touched.
My grandmother was diagnosed with breast cancer a few months before my wedding. I was young, and selfish, and wrapped up in my own world at the time, and I don't remember a lot about her initial diagnosis, except that I think it came shortly after Christmas. The only comment I remember from her about it was that she was worried about going through chemotherapy because it meant that she would be bald at my wedding.
My grandmother was one of those women who would take an hour putting on make up and curling her hair to perfection just to walk out and bring in the mail. So, it was a miraculous relief that after her lumpectomy, it was discovered the cancer was "encased" in a material that had prevented it from spreading any farther. Upon further evaluation, it was determined that no chemo or radiation would be needed. I still sometimes wonder if the doctors had reccomended she have chemo as a preventitive messure, if my grandmother would still be alive today.
But she didn't have the chemo and she attended my wedding seemingly healthy, and without a hair out of place. But a few months later it was discovered that she had lung cancer. I'll never be fully convinced that the lung cancer was not in some way related to her bout with breast cancer. This time, chemo was not an option. She started it soon after her diagnosis, and seemingly over night she went from the healthy, active grandmother I had always known, to a sickly, home-bound woman I barely recognized. She lost a drastic amount of weight. All of her hair fell out. She needed an oxygen tank almost all the time. I remember sitting in her living room with her as she cried because she hated what had become of her life. Of all my grandparents she was the last of them that any of us expected to get sick. She was healthy and active, and to see her change so dramatically in such a short period of time was frightening.
A few weeks after beginning the chemo, a scan revealed that there had been no change, and instead the cancer seemed to be spreading. My grandmother made the decision to stop chemo therapy treatments. Initially, I was angry. I felt like she was giving up hope. But I think she knew the treatments weren't going to make a difference, and she wanted to spend her remaining months healthy enough that she could be around her family.
During this time, Shawn and I found out we were pregnant with Connor. My grandparents were the first people (after my parents) to find out we were expecting. I had told my grandma just a few weeks earlier that we were going to start trying for a baby. We got pregnant on the first try, so when we told them the news, the first thing out of her mouth was "What? Already?" Although neither of us spoke of it, I know we were both hoping for the same thing.....That she would live long enough to see our child born.
But it wasn't to be. The last few weeks of her life, she was bed-ridden. My mother and my aunts had practically moved back into my grandparent's house to care for her. She was delusional from the drugs, and lucid moments were few and far betwen. Several of my cousins had gone to visit her and say their goodbyes. I was at the house on three seperate occasions before I could even go into her room. But I refused to say a formal goodbye. This woman that the cancer turned her into was not the woman I wanted to remember. I had my memories to hold on to......of sleepovers at her house, of cookies and milk for midnight snacks, and of the never-ending lectures that she was famous for.
One night, after going over to their house to visit my mom, I walked into my grandma's bedroom. My aunts were helping her sit up in bed, and she looked at me, and for that fleeting moment, I felt like she was the woman I had known all my life. We both began to cry, and I hugged her and we both said I love you. That was as much of a goodbye as I needed.
On Thanksgiving day, November the 28th of 2002, my grandmother became my unborn child's guardian angel. I had done a fair share of grieving before she passed away. I grieved for myself, for the loss of my grandma. I grieved for my child who would never know this woman who had been so instrumental in my life. I grieved for my grandpa, who after nearly sixty years of marriage, seemed to be losing his reason to live. I grieved for my mother; for the heartbreak and loss she was going through.
A few days after her death, I was standing next to Shawn, nearly 5 months pregnant, in a three-piece black maternity suit while we watched them lower my grandma's coffin. It's the only time I've ever been to her grave site.
Despite our loss, our lives went on. My mother and my aunts moved back to their homes with their families. A few months later, our son was born and my grandpa came to visit me in the hospital. A year later, my 79 year old grandpa remarried.....to a kind, sweet woman he'd known most of his life.
And now....four years later I occassionally still find myself heading towards the phone to call my grandmother just to talk. I wish she would have been alive to meet our son. I wish she would have been alive to share in this pregnancy and to meet our daughter.....to have seen my husband graduate college, and see the life we have created together.
I know for some it may seem like lung cancer is the reason that my grandmother isn't alive to share these milestones in my life. But for me....this journey began with breast cancer. So this October, I remember her, and her life, and the lives that she touched.