Here are the other two:
HOPE
HEALING
When I was diagnosed with cancer the first time, one of the possible
side effects of the chemo was infertility. Even at 15 years old, I knew I
wanted to be a mother someday, and I refused to let cancer take that dream away
from me. I thought then, “I will know I have beaten cancer when I hold my baby
in my arms - by whatever means!” After my husband and I got married, and I had finished all five of
the surgeries I ended up having for the second and third times I had cancer, we
tried for eight months to get pregnant without success.
On the day I finally did have a positive pregnancy test, my
husband and I collapsed into each other’s arms in a fit of joyful giggles. The
baby, we learned, was due on the anniversary of my first breast cancer
diagnosis. When our beautiful daughter arrived 9 months later, she was named
for all the hope and healing and celebration of my experience with cancer: she
is called Grace Victoria. She is absolute grace, and a daily reminder of hope
ever breaking through the darkness of a cancer journey. And she is a victory,
the very representation of my kicking cancer’s butt – three times! Fifteen
months later, when my son came along, we called him Isaac, a name which means
laughter. And oh, my, he is! I know every mother would say this, but seriously,
he really does have the most beautiful laugh in all of the world! It is music!
My children are for me a daily celebration of joy, grace,
victory and laughter – even as I know I am one of the lucky ones, to be able to
go on and have children post-cancer. But I also see celebration in so many
other ways.
Celebration looks like seeing another beautiful season turn,
like the smiles of nurses and doctors I trust, like looking at myself in the
mirror and thinking, “Oh… I look beautiful,” and realizing I feared I’d never
think that again. It looks like the love of my life down on one knee to ask me
to marry him shortly after I was diagnosed, vowing to go through this with me
as my committed partner. Later, it looked like a white dress perfectly fitted
around my newly reconstructed breast.
Celebration sounds like the words, “Scan was all clear. See
you in a year!” It sounds like exchanging boob jokes while my vitals are being
taken (because really, there are too many boob jokes not to make them
liberally!). It sounds like a high five, and like gratitude, and like laughter.
It sounds like being able to sing.
Celebration smells like fresh air, like my first walk on a
beautiful day in May, a few days after mastectomy. I remember one day, shortly
after one surgery, when I took my dog outside to do his business, and as I
reached down and picked up after him I realized that celebration literally
smells like crap, because celebration is doing something normal and mundane for
once, like picking up my dog’s poop!
Celebration tastes like being able to eat your favorite food
again. It tastes like the breast milk donated by so many of my friends for my
daughter to drink. It tastes like a juicy peach, the kind that runs all down
your arm.
Celebration feels like my beloved’s arms wrapped tightly
around me. It feels like a little more strength than I had yesterday. It feels
like enjoying the immense softness of my dog’s ears, as he lay on the couch
beside me while I recovered.
Most of all, celebration to me looks like gratitude. It looks like noticing so
many gifts in this life, like each little thing that throws a lifeline to keep
us from slipping into despair, sadness, or doubt. It looks like lighting a
candle in the darkness, and not letting the darkness win.
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