I was sitting on my couch in the dark watching a lifetime movie marathon on the Sunday afternoon that she called to give me the report. The doctor’s had called. (Who knew they made calls on Sundays?) The pathology report was back. The cancer is ovarian and not your typical epithelial or stromal cell ovarian cancer. Nope! It is the worst kind. Carcinosarcoma or Malignant Mixed Mullerian Tumor. I listened to my mother tell me the news and the plan. 40+ radiation treatments followed by 6 rounds of chemotherapy. I felt like I had been hit in the chest with a baseball bat. I couldn’t breath. We hung up and I ran outside and began pacing the sidewalks trying to catch my breath until the tears finally came.
I sat on my front porch in the heat with my head in my hands until Adam finally convinced me to come inside. Olivia awoke from her nap and I somehow gathered the strength to pull myself together. From that moment forward, I decided that I was going to be strong. This, after all, is not about me.
It is about her.
The months of radiation and chemo seemed to fly by. Of course, I was not the one being poked and prodded. I was not the one sick and weak from the chemicals. I did not lose my hair.
This is as far as I got before she got sick. Maybe one day I will continue. Until then...
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