“You saved my life when you found that lump. With my busy life, who knows how long it would’ve taken for me to find it on my own?”
“Your life is very important to me. I’m so glad we found it early.” When I realize she’s shaking, I hug her. “It’s going to be okay.”
I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure of that.
IRIS
As expected,the oncologist recommended a lumpectomy with a five-week daily course of radiation afterward as a precaution. Two weeks after the appointment, I’ve reported to the hospital at the crack of dawn for the procedure. Gage is with me, and my parents stayed at my house last night so they can be there when the kids wake up. Telling my parents and close friends about what’s going on has been the hardest part, because I don’t want them to worry.
My mom was a wreck over it for two days before I told her she had to pull herself together because I didn’t have the bandwidth to prop us both up. To her credit, she did as I asked and has calmed the hell down. I keep telling her that every doctor I’ve spoken with believes the surgery will solve the problem, and it’s highly unlikely I’ll need further treatment after the radiation. I’ve clung to those assurances as I counted down to this day.
Gage and I decided not to tell the kids about the surgery, because it would only scare them unnecessarily. Afterward, we’ll tell them I have a boo-boo, and they need to be gentle with me. That was his idea, and it’s a good one. I can’t bear to have them worry about losing the only parent they have left. Tyler and Sophia have had friends whose parents had cancer, so they know that’s something to be feared.
Hopefully, the entire ordeal will be over in seven weeks, so there’s no point in putting those fears in their minds when they’re still dealing with the loss of their father.
When Mimi and Stan heard what was going on, they offered to come up and stay with the kids if I wanted to recover for a few days at Gage’s place before going home. As much as the kind offer tempted me, I thanked her, but said I would prefer to be home with them afterward.
I don’t want to give the kids any reason to worry, and having me home, even with a boo-boo, is what’s best for them.
Gage has been amazing through all this. He’s left my side only for the time it takes to run home and grab more clothes and to hit the grocery store. He’s taken on the laundry and far more of his share of the homework-helping, toy-picking-up and bath-supervising. He’s fit right into our family like he’s always been there, and his ability to spot a need before it happens has given me respite from my worries, along with his solid presence and the regular reminders that I’m going to be okay.
He’s standing by my bed when the anesthesiologist comes in to go over his plan. “You’ve already got the IV, so you won’t feel a thing in the OR. The next time I see you after that, you’ll be in recovery. Have you had general anesthesia before?”
“Once, when I had my appendix out.”
“Did you feel sick afterward?”
“I was throwing up.”
He produces a small patch that he places behind my ear. “That’ll prevent nausea after the fact. I’ll see you in the OR.”
I get a text from Roni.Derek and I are thinking of you and praying for the quickest, easiest procedure ever and that you’ll be past this in no time at all. Love you so much! Xoxo
That’s followed by good wishes and prayers from all the Wild Widows, which means someone sent a reminder to the group that my surgery is today.
Wynter’s note makes us laugh.You better not turn this into a big deal, because if you do, I’ll never forgive you. Love you.
“Leave it to our Wynter,” Gage says, smiling.
“She’s the best.” She’s in her second week of nannying for Xavier, and Adrian has done nothing but sing her praises. We’re so happy it’s working out well for them.
“They’re ready for you in the OR,” my nurse says when she returns to the room.
Gage leans over to kiss me. “You’ve got this, you hear me?”
“I do. I’ve got this.”
“Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
“I’ll be right here waiting for you.”
I nod because I’m too choked up to speak. As I’m wheeled to the operating room, I say every prayer I remember from childhood that this is truly a quick and simple thing and not the start of a terrible ordeal.
GAGE
Iris’s nursedirects me to the surgical waiting room, where the doctor will find me after the procedure is complete. She signed paperwork to make me her contact person. I have the numbers of everyone who needs to be updated after the fact. Her mom wanted to be here, but Iris pleaded with her to stay with the kids, to keep things as normal as possible for them.