It appeared that summer would be spent with a glow completely unrelated to sunshine. Amidst a fractious marital relationship, looming major repairs on our old house, and the challenge of being the sole caregiver to my two young girls while running a full time business, the Guy in Charge had decided that a serious medical issue would really round things out.
I had taken all of it in stride, truly. First the mammogram, which I had been canceling and rescheduling for a year, looked odd. Not to worry, said the doctor, happens all the time. The recheck on the right side, followed by an ultrasound was just a formality, I was told. Results in, but still unclear, we moved along to a needle aspiration biopsy, just to be on the safe side. Stoic as I think I am, smelling salts were rushed in several times during the procedure. A bit more waiting and then came the ‘Uh Oh’ call. It was what they were certain it wasn’t.
Sure, OK, I rationalized, it’s a pretty useless body part – just cut it off and be done with it. I read all the books, talked to the specialists, and moved forward. My now ex-husband worried and huffed, but my oncologist told him with my attitude I would be dancing topless on tables before he knew it. Interestingly enough, Kostas did not find this comforting. Surgeries were scheduled, and I laughed at my daughters’ biggest worry, which was having their father in charge of ponytails for nine days while I was in the hospital!
My parents and siblings in NY were very supportive, as is their way. I had many visitors and one of my sisters took a week off to be with me when I came home from the hospital. With the mastectomy and reconstruction out of the way, I began consults at Dana Farber. This process seemed interminable, and the waiting and wondering began to take its toll on my nerves. Finally, it was decided that chemo was a yes and radiation a no; high fives all around.
My family stepped forward to present me with a substantial sum of money that they had collected amongst themselves, offering that it could be used for a mortgage payment, or whatever I felt was necessary. I was taken completely unawares, and very touched, particularly knowing that for many it was a hardship to contribute. We were coming into summer, and my back deck had deteriorated into unsoundness, so I decided to turn my back on the bills and rebuild the deck. The project was perfectly timed and took my mind off of the medical arrangements and endless waiting in between oncology meetings.
The new deck was completed just in time to herald in the beginning of my chemotherapy treatments. One beautiful day in early June, I spent my first morning in the infusion room at Dana Farber, and the remainder of the day in a comfortable chaise enjoying the dappled sunlight filtering through the maple tree that towered just beyond the deck. My stomach being one of the weaker links in my body of steel, the floorboards were christened in short order.
That deck, 14 years later, still sits strong and inviting. I never step a toe to its boards without thinking of my family, and the sacrifices they made to offer me the chance to rebuild a small piece of my life. I know the exact spot where my first treatment emptied the contents of my stomach. There is a gnarled board, left untouched in memory of my beloved Lab, who would gnaw and dig at it with dedicated fervor. The disease caused me to reevaluate my life, and this simple wooden structure is a built in compass that continues to remind me of my new direction.
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