And, So It Begins
About a month ago, my sister had surgery to remove an aggressive breast cancer from her body. Today, she begins a year of chemotherapy. Recently, she invited friends and family to join her at Mass in preparation for this journey. By coincidence or divinity, the day’s readings had to do with physical healing of some sort — the blind being able to see, the deaf hear, and so on. When the priest began his homily, he essentially said that he had trouble with such passages and that likely most of us don’t really believe in such miracles.
Our group collectively thought, in the wise words of Scooby Doo, “Ruh-Roh,” with wide-eyed looks shooting from pew to pew. The priest, however, concluded with a message about true miracles in daily life, and we heaved sighs of relief. Later, all of us shared a few giggles about it.
I won’t go into the details of how doctors ultimately diagnosed this cancer (notice I do not say “her cancer”), but suffice it to say it was indeed a blessing because it very easily could have been missed. Just six months would have meant the difference between what she faces today and something else.
So, here is my thing: I refuse to believe that the blessing of finding the cancer early will be wasted with a poor outcome later.
Whatever your faith (even if, like me, you’re not traditionally inclined), please take just 10 seconds to send one good and powerful thought to my sister. Her given name is Teresa, but most people call her Terri.
And, if (like so many) you have felt the sting of cancer in your life or those of your loved ones and would rather send a more menacing message, then take inspiration from the Cancer Warrior scrapbook a friend of hers made. All of us contributed photos of our meanest selves. My sister will take this scrapbook with her to chemo as a reminder our support and love.
I about peed my pants at church when her friend KK handed over some photos. KK lost her sister to breast cancer, and let’s just say her photos show gestures not suitable for polite company … OR church. We whipped right past those when my 8-year-old niece glanced over, bouncing quietly in our seats with repressed whoops of laughter. It’s the same silent chuckle we perfected in church as kids. (I’m talking about you, Dina Lou!)
Here are the warrior photos the Champion of My Heart Family contributed:
Kicking Cancer
Choking Out Cancer (Yes … I’m an MMA fan.)
Tom, with a threatening Jedi look to him (Seriously, would you mess with this man?)
And, finally, Lilly and Ginko giving cancer the Stink Eye
Teresa and I were born exactly 2 years and 2 days apart, which meant we almost never got separate birthday parties. Even now, we have a three-person celebration since my niece’s b-day is four days after mine. Taking a page from Betty’s now retired Joy in Our Lives blog, below you’ll find a little photo montage … showing the early years and some of the bigger celebrations … graduations, etc.
Many, many thanks to my Auntie Mary Ann (a breast cancer survivor, herself) for letting me have so many of the childhood photos and to my Uncle Mike (whose recent PET scan shows cancer’s possible return) who took some of the later ones.