Iām going to tell you a story.
The day after Christmas, I found a large lump in my breast. I lay atop my bed waiting for my seven year to finish showering and five year old to done playing with his sharks in the bathtubā thereās no door between my bedroom and the master bath. Still I felt like a failure as a mother because I should have found this sooner. I should have scheduled that mammogram last year.
My sonās adoption was two weeks ago. It was long progress to get here. He has been moved around so much, and now this. I promised he would never have to leave. Not ever again.
My daughterās autism makes it difficult for her to understand. She spent the first two weeks of her life in the NICU alone because her bio mother abandoned her at birth. Clingy would describe the situation mildly. She struggles with my wife and I not being there for bedtime. Routines matter to her, and I silent cry at the reality her routine would have to be adjusted so I wasnāt included anymore.
My nine year old pokes her head in my room so I wipe away the tears. She finished the novel I got her yesterday, and she wants to talk about it. No one else in our house is a reader, and Iām scared she wonāt have anyone talk to about her books. Thereās so many books I wanted to share with her when sheās ready.
My fifteen year old is in the kitchen slamming every cabinet. Her friend told her sheās heavy handed. I realized itās because she doesnāt have to be afraid like I was at her age. She is not scared of being loud or having an opinion. I wonder if that means I am failing her a little less than everyone else.
My wife comes home. She spent today at the funeral home because her mother died the day our son was adopted. She hasnāt had a chance to grieve, and I have to tell her I need to make a doctors appointment.
She knows something wrong because I donāt go to the doctors. I donāt take pain meds unless I have had the headache for two days.
I tell her a found something. She knows where because she sees my hand covering the spot.
The kids are in bed when she asks to feel it. Her head falls to my stomach. Sheās crying, so I hold back the tears.
Iām calm in a crisis. I am cold and hard like I was taught to be when I walked down the hospital hallway at the age of ten. My mother was sick and I wasnāt allowed to cry about it. She was scared enough without me crying, so I learned to only cry about stupid shit a few days before my period.
I schedule my doctors appointment, then text my two best friends. I canāt call them because I might not be able to hold myself together. I donāt need to be strong for them. They donāt depend on me like the other five people in my house.
I give them a list of instructions. Theyāre pretty simple. I promise to plan everything out for the funeral and tell them they have to do the stuff because I canāt have my wife have to worry about it. I remind them not to allow my mother anywhere near my ashesā they know about what happened when my mom accidentally ate Dead Grandma. I tell them I need them to make sure the last three books of my series are published. I have mostly everything ready.
My WIPs are set aside. I cancel all my subscriptions on Ko-Fi. I go through piles of papers and organize the closet under the stairs. I start a list of the books Iām reading and leave my daughter notes about them. I write notes to her in the margins so when she reads them she knows what I thought was important. I make her a shelf on my bookcase.
New Years Eve I see the doctor. The examine is quick. She feels the lump and orders a lot of tests. Her energy says sheās worried, but her voice is calm. She doesnāt know I have spent the last fifteen years studying how people physically react to emotions. She doesnāt offer any assurances beyond that I need more tests.
Blood work. Mammogram. Ultrasound. Biopsy.
They take my blood the next morning.
The mammogram and ultrasound a week later. My best friend went with me to the mammogram because my wife had to workā she didnāt trust me actually go. She warns me that this isnāt just a squish, the nurse is going to manhandle me. Im glad she warned me, not that I wouldnāt have behaved.
She takes images from the top and and bottom, then from both sides. She takes me back to the waiting room. They make me wait to see if I need more images.
The radiologist needs more scans, but of the other breast.
I smile. Laugh at the stories that the nurse tells me about her kids. Sheās good at being pleasant. Compliments me for my ability to follow instructions.
I tell her Iām good in a crisis.
She smiles, but she doesnāt tell me not to worry.
I have to wait again. The scans decide if I need an ultrasound.
They take whatās feels like 25 pictures of my other breast. There are only four of the lump.
The ultrasound lady isnāt the mammogram lady. She works quietly, doesnāt chat. Sheās searching for something. Uses a ruler to measure what she finds and types it in before she takes the pictures.
Nothing in my life prepared me for this. I donāt know if I read the wrong books, but no one said this is how itās done when you find a lump in your tit the day after Christmas.
I am waiting again. She will tell me they think I have cancer before I leave.
My friend tells me how to say the names of the characters in Priory of the Orange Tree while we wait. Sheās listening to the audiobook. I am reading the book. Apparently, I didnāt read a single characterās name correctly. Itās a distraction.
I have been trying to distract myself a lot over the last two weeks.
The ultrasound lady comes in. She says I donāt have cancer, but on my right side I have two cysts. They want to watch them. I have to come back in six months.
Iām grateful. I call my wife. I tell her the news. She doesnāt believe me. I have to have my best friend tell her. She doesnāt believe her either. My wife knows what kinda friends we are. She knows that if I told my best friend to lie, she would. She waits for the doctor to call the next day. She trusts doctors more than I do.
Itās an anticlimactic story. Not the kind I like to tell. But I wish someone would have told me. I wish someone would have said this is what itās like.
Thatās why I started writing so long ago. I wanted to tell stories about after trauma. I wanted to show that life will still be messy, and remind people that happy moments donāt usually come in grand gestures. They are random conversations between friends. Theyāre talking about books with your kid or being there to give goodnight kisses. They are knowing your kids donāt have to be afraid of being loud because they are not scared of you. And mostly that our stories are written with ending that donāt say happily ever after because the storyās not done yet. That particular journey is just finished.
