This One's For You, Mom!

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This past Saturday, my family attended Chicago's Susan G. Komen 'Race for The Cure'. I walked in memory of my mother, Debbie, and in celebration of my SIL's two sisters. Laura was diagnosed one year ago at the age of 37. Her sister Tracy was diagnosed four years ago at the young age of 31. Her baby was 6 months old. Her lump was originally attributed to breastfeeding. Luckily her mother convinced her to talk to her doctor again. Unfortunately, it was cancer. My SIL, brother's wife, is the only sister to not be diagnosed at this time, and how I pray she never develops breast cancer.

My mother Debbie was 46 when she was diagnosed, and 51 when she died. I walked so that we find a cure for this disease, and in the short-term, better treatments. My mother once told me that chemotherapy is barbaric; we are still using this treatment that was used 50 years ago. If you have ever seen, really seen, a person go through chemo., then you know what she means. We are basically shooting toxins into people's veins to destroy bad cells, and we almost certainly kill too many good ones in the process. I walked also so that I am here to watch my children's children grow up. I walked so I can watch my own children grow up. I walked so that maybe I won't die of breast cancer like my mother did. The doctor's have told me my risks, and they aren't so hot. But I am being proactive. I had my first mammogram at age 30, 5 weeks after my mother died, in tribute to her. She wanted me to do this earlier, and sadly I waited until she died. The radiologist sat with me afterwards, one on one, and told me the scan looked clear, but he felt with my family history I would be better served by having an MRI. I just couldn't do it. It was still too soon. It took everything I had to make it to that mammogram appt. that day. However, now I am stronger. There is a hospital, Loyola Medical Center, about 45 minutes from here that is renowned for their treatment of breast cancer. And not only that, they are one of the few hospitals in the country to screen high-risk groups. AKA--daughters of breast cancer patients, sisters, etc..... They know what they are looking for better than your general radiologist. I am hoping to be able to have a mammo. there. It'll probably take me 6 months to get an appointment, but that's okay. All of my other doctors told me that I can wait until I'm 35, but what is the harm in having another one sooner? My insurance will pay for it due to my risk. I'm sure they'd rather pay for the low-level treatment than what comes when you are diagnosed at a higher stage. Mammograms are no big deal really. And if it saves my life, then it was well worth it.

I really enjoyed the race this year. It felt so good to be among people who understand you. Who know what you and your family have been through first-hand. Who, when they see your sign that reads 'I Race In Memory of My Mother', don't give you the pity look. They give you the look of someone who understands. Of someone who truly understands how the years of slowly watching the person you loved most of all, die right before your eyes. They know the pain you experienced when the cancer was pronounced terminal. They know how you tried to squeeze 40 years into 6 months. They know how you felt when the strongest person you've ever known, the one who took care of YOU all your life, needed you to help her walk to the bathroom. They know how you as the daughter were the only one who saw how important it was to your mom for you to go through the list of her valuables and write down who she wanted to have what, even though it about broke your heart to do so. They know how sometimes you'd hide from the world so you could pretend that your mom was fine, that she wasn't dying, that everything was going to be fine. They know your regret over doing this; you should've been with your mother more. Way more. You should have grown the hell up, sucked up the PPD, there was time for a cure for that later. You should have BEEN there, but you weren't, not as much as you believe you should have been. No matter how many times your father said you couldn't have done any more than you did. They know you'll never believe that. They know how you still cry, and at times when you don't expect it. They know how lonely you feel in this world without your mom. They understand the anger, the questions, the 'why us?'. They understand not only how the holidays won't ever be the same, but how much they royally suck sometimes. They understand the emptiness. They look at your two young boys and instantly know the joy they give, but also the sorrow. The sorrow because all they know is Grandma Debbie lives in heaven way up high with God. They understand how much it hurts when you ask your son where Grandma Debbie is, and he says 'I don't know' as if he's really trying to figure it out. Maybe he is, and isn't that sad? So on Saturday I felt a comeraderie with these strangers who knew things about me that my best friends will never be able to understand. I felt good. I felt the cool breeze hit my face as I walked three miles along Michigan Avenue with all of these women who are just like me. No matter that some are white, some are black, some Hispanic, some Asian, because on that day we were all sisters. We have all been witnesses, we have seen what this disease can do to women, can do to FAMILIES, and if we can help it, this disease will all but be a memory. Let's hope so.

**The first picture is of my dad myself, my husband and my son Steve (Ryan was behind him in the carrier). The second is of myself, my niece and my SIL. The third myself, Steve with the tag I wrote for him to wear--'We walk in memory of our Grandma. God bless Grandma', the last two are kind-of self-explanatory. Thank you reading, and if you mother is still alive, please call or give her a big hug in memory of my mom, will you?

***Also, check out VirgoJen 's last entry. She walked the next day in her state's 'Race for the Cure'. She also lost her mom to this dreadful disease, but found an even more creative way to raise money. Go Jen!!!