little bitty girl

This will be a long entry, so be forewarned.

About two months ago, I got a phone call at work that I never wanted to ever hear. Even though deep down inside I already knew before she had uttered the words. My mother had been diagnosed with cancer.

It wasn't completely unexpected, she had been having some issues for awhile, all of us are medical junkies so we read up all the possibilities of what it could be. And you pray that it's not what you think it is.

The indomitable Mama Kang has cancer.

The word itself is terrifying, isn't it?

When I was four, one of my neighbourhood playmates lost their mother to cancer. All I knew was one day she was there, the next day she was "sick", the "C" word lingered in the background and whispered but never said aloud, and all too soon, she was gone. She was so young. I remember the kids, two boys and a girl hanging closely to their father, and their spinster aunt (a harsh unloving woman who seemed to have no patience for children. I know this because she was also one of my teachers in grade school) and I often wonder what became of them.

I can't really describe to you how it feels to be hit with the reality that someone you love, especially your mother, could possibly not be around in the future. The closest I can come to it, is that it feels as if someone has stabbed you in the chest and sucked all your insides out with a powerful vacuum. I have been taught since I was young, that we all have a certain amount of time here on earth. But some lessons you can never really learn. You never ever want to believe that your parents are no longer in their 40's or that they might one day leave you. I don't think that I will ever be ready for that day.

I have kept this news pretty quiet, only telling those nearest and dearest to me. Despite my propensity to be open about most things in my life, I needed to surround myself with those who really understood me. I didn't need apathetic sympathy. I had heard of horror stories from other friends who had experienced the same thing and then had to endure people who didn't really know them tell them how they should act or feel. The best thing anyone can do in situations like this (if they haven't been through the same thing) is to say "you're sorry" and to listen.

Anyone who truly knows me knows that there really is no one I love more than my mother. She is who I inspire to be when I grow up. And these past few months, I have been strengthened by the fact that she is not only loved by us, her immediate family but by many - aunts, uncles, cousins from both sides and friends have rallied together. I know one thing -- if Stefan and I ever have a family, I would want to have more than one child. I could not have gone through each day without the understanding that my brothers and I have each other to lean on. There is nothing as comforting or more strengthening than being able to relate.

Another amazing discovery for me was realizing that Stefan really loves Mama Kang, not for my sake, because he genuinely loves her for her. They truly have their own relationship beyond me. Seeing his face, so taut with worry as he questioned what the doctors had told her and his grim determination that she will conquer this has made me love him so much more.

Mama Kang is handling this all with her usual aplomb -- some tears (more for us and my fears, throughout this all, her foremost thought has been that she doesn't want any of her babies to be afraid or sad), lots of talk and as always, lots and lots of laughter.

So what now?

The prognosis is good. She goes for surgery in April and we hope that all will be well after. We move forward. She's insisting that Stefan and I go ahead with our Paris/London trip even though she's having her surgery when we leave. We are planning a family vacation in Jamaica for Christmas 2009.