I must've been around the age of eleven. It was my fourth summer at Girl Scout camp. I was the typical trouble-maker; I made jokes at the expense of my counselers, walked slowly at the end of the line on hiking trips, and professed my hatred for every creepy-crawler that crossed my path. This week was different, though, so different in many ways. It was the week I grew up.1
She had told me that she was going to be tested a couple of days into my camp experience, and she would let me know when she found out anything. I trusted that statement, locked it in my heart, and kissed her good-bye, with worry and tears stinging my eyes. I felt sick, I didn't know what to say to make her feel more comfortable, to help her prepare for what she was about to face.2
She was being tested on Thursday. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday all crept by, like the time before an exam, the calm before the storm. I wasn't really sure how to approach anything. I kept to myself, didn't talk to the other campers, sat quietly at meal time, barely eating at all, and didn't sing in any of the traditional camp songs. My heart was swelling with fear and anticipation. I wanted so badly for that test to come back clear, no cancer, no surgery. 3
Thursday morning rolled in softly, a gentle wave crashing onto the beach of uncertainty. She was all alone. My Dad was out of town on a business trip, as he often was, and my brother tucked away safely at the babysitter's. In effect, she was completely desolate when she heard the surgeon speak words like "Cancer." "Stage 1." "Removal." "Ten Years." She told me later that those words were the ugliest she'd ever heard. All she could think was she'd only have ten years to spend with my brother and I. Ten years to tell my father she loved him, she appreciated his sense of humor and that he provided for the four of us selflessly. 4
I was on the lake, paddling around in a little canoe at Camp Ginger Cascades. I had forgotten all about the test. I had willed it from my mind. I wanted everything to be okay in my perfect, little bubble. I fell asleep that night happy, forgotten was the test, the possibility of cancer, the hurt I'd seen in my mother's eyes when she'd first heard she had to be tested. 5
Friday at lunch I was given a postcard from my mother. It read:6
Sarah,7
Now is not the time to worry, my love. I want you to know that I will be around a long time to pester you and Daniel, and keep Dad in line. I can't wait to see you tomorrow.8
Love you,
Mom9
A burden was lifted from my shoulders. I was almost certain that she was not the recipient of an awful, life-sucking disease that would certainly cause strain on our family. I was carefree.10
After a long drive home with my dad on Saturday, I was ready to see her. Enthusiasm radiated from my face, my heart full of joy. I walked into the den to find a worry-stricken face looking into my eyes. 11
"Mom," I said, "What's wrong?"12
"Sit down, Sarah. We need to talk." I did as I was told.13
"I'm sorry, but I thought it was fair that you didn't find out while you were at camp. You're only a child, Sarah, you don't need to be dealing with this." Tears were flowing gently from her eyes, collapsing silently into her lap.14
"It's called a lumpectomy. They're only taking part of my breast. They'll also take out eleven of my lymph nodes just to make sure it hasn't spread anywhere else. I'll only lose feeling in my left arm."15
Lies. It had been a lie. She had told me that everything would be fine. Did this seem fine to her? I was so angry, full of absolute rage. 16
"Why didn't you tell me?!" I screamed, tears bursting from my eyes. I ran to my room, leaving her there, once again, alone. 17
Eventually, I came out again, laid my head in her lap, and cried as we held each other and she ran her fingers through my hair. It's funny, when she needed comfort the most, she provided comfort for me. 18
I watched her go through the surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation, all of them equally damaging and exhausting. I held her hair as she threw up, I watched her cry when she had none. I helped her put on her makeup when she was too weak to do it herself, and watched her cry as she discovered everything at her 'cancer free' dinner tasted like metal, due to the chemotherapy treatments. 19
She made it through, she survived it all. She is the strongest woman I know. Seven years have passed, and she's still cancer free. I'm happy to share her story because she inspires me, and I'm certain she's an inspiration to others who will have to go through the same hell. 20
Author notes
*Personal Dedication Story*
I want everyone to know how important it is to support someone who has Breast Cancer. My mother represents one of the lucky women who had such support. She caught her cancer early, in stage one. She still participates in the "Look Good, Feel Better" program, which is a program that gives confidence to cancer patients in their time of hardship. I feel like this is a vital aspect of the process also. Women already struggle with enough pressure from society to look a certain way, and I know as a woman, my hair is very important to me, and cancer patients aren't always fortunate enough to keep theirs. I hope this helps to encourage someone. Thank you for your consideration.
A contest entry
- Breast Cancer Awareness Month - Think Pink! by Kari.
375 points, ended November 4, 2008, 7 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next story in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 10 of 10
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This was very well written.
Your grammar and syntax are excellent and the telling is straight to the point, wasting none of the reader's time. You also hold a good bit of mystery as I was thinking throughout that this telling would end in tragedy and was very relieved to see it didn't. Seriously, I had a big grin when I read everything would be ok and that your mom is fine. I especially enjoyed the tenderness present in serving your mother and helping her through the trials imposed upon her and felt this the most powerful message here, the one that family is our strongest support when called upon to endure the travails of life. I really enjoyed this telling and especially the care that showed through for your mother. Very good.
al
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WOW...very touching and ever so well-written. I am very glad that your mum tis okay. How hard it would be if that had not been so. Good job...
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Good...
Great story... You have a point of view no one else has, and you do a great job of relating.
It could have been longer- There' a lot more detail you could have gone into, but I could understand why you'd want it this length.
Have to pick a wee bit- just so this can be as good as possible. It's an important peice to you, and others.
"I must've been around the age of eleven. It had perfect timing, really, around the time"- you use around twice in the VERY first two sentences.
That second sentence is a little awkward anyway, you might want to re-phrase the whole thing.
she heard the surgeon speak words like "Cancer. Stage 1. Removal. Ten Years."
Break up the words, like this: "Cancer." "Stage 1." "Removal." "Ten Years." (or you can use commas, but I like the blunt effect of the periods.)
After "Thursday morning rolled in softly, a gentle wave crashing onto the beach of uncertainty." (which is a greeeeeaaaat line by the way) the paragraph confuses me. You know all of your mother's reaction now, but at the time you didn't, so maybe you should put this somewhere else, after you find out.
Also, every time there is dialogue, you need to start a new paragraph. Or so I am told. I'm still a little sketchy on that rule, honestly.
So, very good. Very very very very emotional!!!!
XOXO
beginning: 5, language: 5, plot: 5, ending: 5, dialog: 5, characters: 5.
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Thanks a lot for your input. I'll try to correct those mistakes. I'm sorry you didn't like "Dreams". Actually, I wrote it for my grandmother, who lived in a very different world. You're from the south, I'm sure you've noticed that the prejudice mindset is still a problem. The Hispanic, Chinese, and Japanese people are only tolerated for their food. Women are still under men, so yes, in my world it is a problem. Luckily, my parents are very open-minded and have taught me that those things don't really make a difference, that people are just that...people. I was not purposely exaggerating. I'm sorry if it appeared that way. Again, thank you for your words of encouragement. Have a fantastic week.
--Sarah
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This story made me sad. Good that your mum is still alive. Your mother must have suffured alot but now she's okay. Thank you for telling me about how hard it is and sad to have a mother with breast cancer. Women usually have a stronger chance of living than men but the woman have to belive they can not die. It is good that now your mother is cured, I like people to get better than die. You must have alot of courage to tell us this experience. All the best to your mother.
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Go you!
Well-written, relatable, real and heartfelt. I feel like writing now. Go you. (And the beginning caught me well enough.)
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A most beautiful dedication!
Yes, our hair may be seen in society as a way for us to be seen as women, but the strength of women (like your mother) is all the more remarkable...especially at such a hard time. Your mother is a fighter, and I know that she fought because she wanted to spend more time with you, with your brother, and with her husband.
This piece has left me in tears. IT'S BEAUTIFUL! I thank you so much for this entry and wish you and your mother all the best!
loose feeling - lose feeling
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Sarah-
This was really good. Not only did you get across all the really, erally heart-breaking emotions of a scared 11 year old girl, you made me feel really happy that your mom pulled through and showed me some of her strength. I hope that this story provides encouragement to others; it reminded me of why it's important to do self-checks- not to be paranoid, but to be able to stay with your family for many, many years.
A few years ago, I donated my hair to locks of love. I hope that it gets long enough to do that again, if my hair can give ease of mind to a cancer sufferer or survivor.
I love you, Mama Flash is hard-core strong.
-Leah
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i had tears in my eyes the whole time! i am so happy your mom made it through! this is an amazing story and very well writen. congratualtions!
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when she needed comfort the most, she provided comfort for me. - This made me cry. I so remember being eleven and not getting along with my mom all the time, yet she always comforted me after we fought.
Thank you for sharing your inspirational story. I'm so glad you've had the last seven years to spend with your mom. I wish her many more years with your family.
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