So many questions - how big, how bad, just how? How was this even possible?
All I wanted to do was get on a plane, fly to you, hold you tight and tell you that everything was going to be Ok. Because it had to be. But I was stuck at home recovering from surgery myself, unable to fly for another 10 days. So the best I could do was send you this:
I normally hate those inspirational posters. But it was apt. It seemed the longest 10 days. For me. Yet how long it was for you I can't begin to imagine.
'They' say that when you get a diagnosis of breast cancer it's a roller coaster, I think they mean the biggest, fastest, most terrifying roller coaster in the world - without any of the fun associated with going on one.
It felt awful for all of us in your life who were mere bystanders, as supportive and loving as we could be, strapped in for a ride no one wanted to be on; least of all you.
Your life turned into appointment after appointment, hating Tuesdays and Thursdays which were pathology and surgery days. So one surgery turned into two when the surgeon found the cancer had spread into the lymph nodes and more surgery was required. I remember calling you when you were in hospital recovering from the second surgery, crying so hard my heart was breaking. A well meaning person had texted you saying that 'I bet you can't wait to get back to normal'. And you were so upset that you didn't have a normal anymore - nothing was certain, everything had changed. A whole new paradigm.
And they found one more lymph node with cancer - not the best news but certainly not the worst either. See how easy it is to slip into the 'it could be worse' way of thinking. But chemotherapy was no longer just a possibility but a necessity.
I was with you following that surgery - it seemed natural to slip into a relationship where I was helping you shower, wash your hair, drying you, helping with your drain bag, being a personal trainer with your exercises, taking notes at doctors visits. But how we laughed as well as cried.
That first trip home was awful. I didn't want to leave you. I started crying when your husband dropped me off at the airport and couldn't stop. I cried all the way home. The cabin crew were so kind - but every time I got myself together someone would be nice to me and I would start all over again! The poor people sitting next to me!
Before I left I remember asking you if it would be annoying if I called you every day. And you smiled and said 'we pretty much talk to each other every day anyway'. True that! Imagine not having a sister.
And so the dreaded chemo began - and you got through it. You did it. And here I am writing this inspired by your courage, thinking you are the most amazing, strong person, even when admitting to being afraid. Sometimes voicing fear and anger, when everyone is used to you being strong and happy is an act of courage in itself.
I am so lucky and privileged to have been able to spend so much time with you, and be one of the people who stood by you while you have been through this. And while your treatment is ongoing, I will still be there for you.
XXX
