(HOST) October is Breast Cancer awareness month, and commentator Leora Dowling has been thinking about how it feels to be a Breast Cancer survivor.
(DOWLING) I wish my mother had talked to me about what it was like to have breast cancer. But she never did – so I had to find out for myself.
Mom was diagnosed 13 years ago when she was 72. I got the news last summer, a week after my 49th birthday.
My mother never once described her treatment. I never saw her in bed or even wearing a bathrobe. I never accompanied her to the doctor. Or sat with her while she got chemo.
Maybe she was-to use a cliché-in denial. Maybe I was. Maybe the yankee in her preferred to keep her fears to herself, or she simply didn’t want to scare or worry me.
I’d hate to think she thought I wasn’t interested. The truth is I just didn’t understand. I had no idea what cancer was doing to her mind or her body. One day she showed up wearing a wig. I told her it looked great. She said thanks.
I bought a wig too – before I lost my hair. But it wasn’t really me, so it sat – still sits – in a drawer. Instead, I wore hats and scarves. Some lent by a friend who’d lost her hair to chemo. I’m saving my hats to give to someone else someday. Statistically, it’s just a matter of time before someone I know needs them.
The good news is that more and more people, like my mom (who died of something else) and me, are surviving breast cancer. But that doesn’t mean we’re spared the chemotherapy, or hair loss.
I wonder what my mom thought when she saw her reflection in the mirror. Did my father tell her she looked beautiful like my husband told me?
I really didn’t mind the bald thing too much. Probably because when I was wearing my retro glasses, I looked kinda like my dad did in 1967. And I always laughed at that because I looked so goofy. Other times I would put my hands together as in prayer and bow-a Buddhist nun without the robes. That made me smile too.
And filled me with gratitude. Gratitude for life, and for the moment – even the awful moments. For a loving husband and a marriage that got stronger. For the good people at Fletcher Allen. And for my amazing friends.
My mom chose to go it alone. I chose the exact opposite approach: I let people in. I let them help. Uncharacteristically, I even asked for help. And I stayed pretty positive. I always put on makeup before I left the house. I didn’t want to scare or worry anyone.
Maybe that’s part of my mom’s legacy to me: not wanting to scare or worry anyone.
Odd that I feel closer to her now than I did when she was alive. I guess that’s one of breast cancer’s legacies: the disease taught me a lot about my mother. It also taught me about myself, resiliency, and love.
Leora Dowling is a motivational speaker and writer living in Ferrisburgh.