UPDATE: On May 29, 2018, Maria found out she was in remission! She is cancer free!!!
Over the last few months, I’ve begun to learn what a cancer diagnosis really means. But…the thing is, I’m not the one who’s sick. It’s my little sister, Maria. In the beginning, I tried to say all of the “right things”, when the reality was that I didn’t know what to say at all. I still don’t most of the time…and so, I write. Maybe what I have to say will strike a chord with someone else – or at the very least, my hope is that it will allow me to purge the whirlwind of fears and emotions that have come with this new territory. I guess I can only wait and see…
The Force Behind the Clouds (Published January 20, 2018)
The Ugly One (Published February 15, 2018)
However, because she is truly braver than anyone I’ve ever known (myself included), Maria has been tackling her situation head-on and is sharing her personal story from start to finish. Please visit her page The 8% on this site, as she blogs about her experiences – both difficult and triumphant. It is her hope that the words will help someone else who may have to go down this unexpected road someday.
In the meantime, please keep her in your thoughts and prayers…and thank you so much for reading….thank you from the bottom of this big sister’s heart.
The Ugly One
We had probably only been circling the parking structure for five minutes, but to me, it had felt like an eternity. Apparently, several other people in town had found themselves at the hospital that day too, because an empty spot couldn’t be found anywhere. After driving around each of the concrete floors, we eventually made our way up to the roof of the building. As I came around a corner, two figures were slowly walking up to a parked car.
“Success!” I triumphantly thought to myself. I looked over at my sister’s boyfriend, Kevin, and released a heavy sigh. I had no doubt that he was just as eager as I was to park and get inside.
Not trying to be too pushy about the fact that their spot was my salvation, I put on my blinker but stopped the car far away enough so that the couple would have no problem pulling out. The woman looked directly at me, which in my opinion was acknowledgment of the fact that we would be waiting for them to leave. She did not smile. Although annoyed, in that brief moment, I couldn’t blame her. I had no idea of what kind of day she’d had inside the attached hospital building.
It appeared to me that the older gentleman with her was obviously the reason they had been there, as he seemed pained while working his way towards the passenger side of the car. At one point though, while he waited for the woman to open his door, he looked over and gave us a kind nod. I felt myself relax a bit.
Unfortunately, the feeling didn’t last long.
After finally getting him inside, the woman walked towards the back of the car with the man’s walker…and then spent the next couple of minutes awkwardly trying to get it into the trunk.
I could feel my blood pressure rising, as I started to talk out loud to this lady (who thankfully couldn’t hear me).
“Seriously lady!” I spat out rudely. “How hard is to get in your car and leave?!?!”
I heard Kevin softly chuckle to himself, probably not surprised that his girlfriend’s older “has to be in control of everything” sister was about to lose it. I knew I was failing him miserably, and not helping at all to soothe our already worried minds, but I couldn’t help myself. The anger was rising and all I could think about was getting out of my car, grabbing the walker out of the lady’s hands, and promptly throwing it off the roof.
It’s very possible that could have happened too, if I hadn’t simultaneously been on the phone with my dad – who, unfortunately, was also listening to his daughter’s evil tirade.
“I promise to let you know as soon as we’re with her daddy,” I said to him in an irritated voice. “Hopefully, it will be soon, if this stupid lady will ever move her car!!!”
Yeah…definitely not one of my best moments. If I’m going to be entirely honest though, this has been the story of my life lately.
Now, of course, the rational human being I once was knew that this poor lady was not trying to unleash the rage that had been brimming inside me since my sister, Maria, had been diagnosed with cancer a few weeks before. That rational side was not my go-to anymore though…and even though I was truly disappointed in myself for not being the person I once thought I was, I couldn’t stop the all-consuming frustration from boiling to the surface on a daily basis.
Almost three months later, I am still hoping to find “her” again.
When I first started writing in my twenties, it was because my heart had been broken. Back then, I naively thought that would be the most intense pain I would ever experience. When I would sit down, I learned to simply let the tears come and suddenly words would flow out that I didn’t even know I could piece together. I channeled my grief into typed pages made up of my insecurities, regrets, and losses. I failed myself for a while, but eventually, it was this process that helped me heal. And, interestingly enough, anger was never really a part of it. Even now, I can’t say why it was so hard for me to fall back on that, other than the fact that there had been good times too. Moments that had shaped the way I would devote myself to someone in the future…and so, I let sadness take over instead.
Sadness doesn’t cut it now though, because I’m dealing with a different emotion.
HATE.
I absolutely, with everything in my being, hate the cancer that has tried to steal a place for itself inside of my sister. Supposedly, love and hate are thought to be intertwined. Perhaps it’s my absolute love for Maria that has opened the floodgates. I guess that would make sense – although, nothing makes sense to me right now…except being furious for her. So, when sadness tries to come to the surface, I find myself resentfully pushing it back. For me, there is no time right now for tears. I was born the older sister for a reason.
Yes. Writing from a place of anger is a new thing for me. It terrified me when I first began to do it a few weeks ago, but I know now that I have to keep going…or else I might lose myself in this whole thing – and my sister deserves better.
When I was growing up, and me or my siblings would act out, my mom would say, “Don’t be ugly.” With those three little words, we would be reminded that more was expected of us. We needed to be respectful and kind to each other. Patience, generosity, honesty… she taught us these things in order to keep ugliness at bay.
Unfortunately, I am “the ugly one” now.
I know that Maria’s cancer isn’t about me. Please, I am begging anyone who reads this, try not to take that message away with you. What’s so hard for me to do right now though, is attempt to explain how entirely helpless I feel and not make it sound self-absorbed…because as I mentioned before, I’m notorious for wanting to be in control. I would like to say that this is a side effect of my life choices, but in reality, it simply is the way I am. If I can come in and take over a situation, then I don’t have to risk things not going my way. The problem with this approach though, is that there is actually no way to influence everything. These past few years, I’ve been pretty lucky about avoiding that absolute truth. But, cancer has very cruelly reminded me that I am no better than anyone else. And, when your world blows up, so does your heart.
My world blew up three months ago…and I’ve been trying to rebuild it ever since, but with all the wrong things. I’ve relied on frustration and accusations to be my tools, as I’ve built a wall of ugliness around the broken pieces inside my spirit. I know that I need to be better than this, and I think I’ve been somewhat successful at channeling the finer parts of myself to the wonderful people who have supported Maria during this time – but I need to be honest.
It has been so very, very hard. For you see, I never knew that I would be this person.
In another time, if you had asked me how I would handle a crisis, I truly think that I would have described a different version of myself. Someone who can stay calm from day to day…who doesn’t have nightmares every other night…who always knows the right thing to say when her brave little sister finally shows a glimpse of fear. But, I haven’t been able to do any of those things and it makes me feel like such an incredible failure. So, instead, I draw up schedules and ask her five times a day if she’s eaten. I look down at the ground in embarrassment when my parents thank me for helping and say that they’re proud of me. I avoid conversations with my very best friends because I don’t know how to talk about “it”. And I start fights with people in parking garages (oh yes, there was a second incident).
Maria told me that she thinks, strangely enough, this whole thing is actually easier for her than the rest of us – because we can only stand by and watch. She also said that while she’s been writing to try and help others dealing with their cancer diagnosis, maybe I should write something for those of us who are “on the outside”. The family, friends, and coworkers who are doing everything they can to be supportive…but may be feeling a little inadequate too.
And so, here I am, putting my fears out into the universe for the first time. Not because I don’t think my sister will win this battle (believe me – SHE WILL), but because it’s time for me to be real. It’s time for me to finally give up control and release the bitterness that has been clawing at my insides. It’s time for me to try and be the person I once thought I would be.
Believe me, I know it won’t be easy. I know that there will still be moments when I’ll fail and wearily let the ugliness back in.
I know that I will never be as strong as my sister.
But, I also know with my whole heart that there are thousands of us out there right now cooking meals, driving to appointments, researching symptoms, and lying awake in the dark praying for our loved ones…collectively releasing beams of healing energy out into the night sky.
I understand how special they are to you. For, they are the ones who make us better people. They are the light in all this madness. They are the ones who want us to be happy – not full of hate and resentment.
They are the ones we are most afraid to lose.
And in the midst of all the chaos, I know you will agree when I say that doing for them is never a sacrifice.
So, this is for you – the protectors, the helpers, the integral parts of their army. Stay strong. Don’t ever be afraid to ask for help…and please don’t be afraid to cry.
We will all get through this together. We just have to take it one day at a time.
(And, maybe…on the harder days, also try and stay away from parking garages.)
You’ve got this.
*************
The Force Behind the Clouds
I honestly can’t say that I was a good older sister when I was young. While we were growing up, I spent my days focused on everything and everyone else but my little sister. When you’re seven years apart, it really is too easy to become distracted and think you have nothing in common. Instead, I worried about who liked me and who didn’t. I thought more about how I looked getting ready for school each day, than what she was experiencing or worried about. I didn’t try and make time for her. I didn’t attempt to learn about who she was, and I didn’t do anything but put myself first. Sadly, I know with my whole heart that this is true, because my memories of the time spent with her during those first few years together as sisters are few and far between. It is a part of my life that I wholeheartedly regret now, because I know that due to my vanity, we almost lost something precious.
You might be able to get away with that when you’re sixteen, but I’m so very hopeful that I’ve learned a little bit more since then.
It was when my sister graduated from high school, and asked to come live with me, that I finally realized she should have been my best friend all along. I’m so grateful to say that we have now spent the last fifteen years confiding in each other, laughing together, and truly missing the other when we are apart. She was there for me when I was at my lowest…helping me find a light within myself again. And she has been by my side during my greatest joys…smiling her huge dazzling smile, while squeezing my hand and emanating an ever constant flow of love and happiness.
Whether she knows it or not, I must say that she has often been the force behind so very much of what I do. For you see, she is and always will be “my person”.
And that is why I understand so clearly how important it is to remember that life isn’t a given. Instead, it can change so very quickly…like clouds that shamelessly roll in to hide a brilliant sun on a rainy day.
Almost two weeks ago, I found myself sitting in a hospital waiting room and every minute that passed by felt like a knife in my heart. With my thoughts swirling around unchecked and knocking brashly into each other one by one, I tried to remain calm, but the unchanging status on the surgery update board was slowly breaking me down. It was a new form of torture I’d honestly never known.
Why was it taking so long? What was going on in there? Was she awake now and afraid? Would they tell her what had happened with none of us in the room? How would she handle it?
How did we get here?
In November of 2017, my beautiful and vivacious little sister was diagnosed with cervical cancer. We will probably never know what caused it, because it’s not thought to be hereditary. Perhaps it was because the recommended yearly appointment to check for abnormal cells was changed to every three years. Maybe it was that something had been missed the last time she had been seen. Or, as one doctor said, it most likely was just all around bad luck…as infuriating as that sounds.
Regardless though, we do know now that she is sick.
When they first diagnosed her, I remember thinking that I couldn’t breathe. It had to be a joke. That kind of thing wouldn’t and couldn’t happen to her. In fact, when her first abnormal test came back, I had stupidly been the one who told her not to worry.
“Sister, it happens to a lot of women.” I confidently said, as I felt the growing concern radiating from her over the phone. “Don’t you remember? It happened to me a few years ago. They did another test and checked me every few months after that, but I was fine. You will be too. Seriously. Don’t even think about it.”
Then they did the second test, which also came back with unfavorable results. And still, I wasn’t worried. I never allowed myself to see the other side of that coin and I’m so angry about that now. I should have been there to help prepare her…but instead, I kept us both inside a protective bubble where those kinds of things didn’t happen to the people that I loved.
When the next procedure came and went, it would be the one to seal the deal and change everything. By that point, it would be a few weeks until her body would be ready for the surgery that was supposed to fix it all. If I’m going to be honest with myself, that did seem far away. But, there was almost a hundred percent chance that it would work, so why even think that things could turn out differently?
On the day of her surgery though, we found out that my sister lives in a world of 8%’s.
I wasn’t in the room when they told her that she would now have to navigate an even longer path of chemotherapy and radiation treatments. None of us were. So, when it was finally time to see her, the relief was still overshadowed by uneasiness. For the first time in years, I didn’t know how she would handle something and it terrified me…because it was then that I realized how much I unfairly relied on her to be my guide. Even as a grown forty-year-old woman, I needed my little sister to show me the way. But, what if all of this was just too much? What if hearing this evolving truth changed her?
I should have known better.
The poet Rumi once wrote, “The wound is the place where the light enters you.” If he hadn’t lived over 700 years ago, I would have to think that he knew Maria, who is absolutely handling this unforeseen challenge with enormous determination and grace. Her fortitude has become our solid foundation, even at times when I know we’ve felt like the floor has dropped out from underneath us. Yes, she’s cried. Yes, we’ve cried…but, her newfound reality has dared those of us who love her to try and be the best versions of who we are, because she deserves nothing less.
So, although it has been daunting, we have somehow found strength in deep, once hidden places within ourselves. The places so many of us ignored before…when the days were always sunny and warm. They are still beautiful places though, where prayers grow outward sustained by the support and love that has come from everyone who adores the magnificent person that my sister has always been. And it is our honor to be here for her…to watch her fight this…to help her heal.
For she is OUR person now, and we are not going to let anything happen to her.
Not ever again. Not anymore. Not on our watch.
