Anybody who knows me knows that my mom and I are incredibly close. She has always been my biggest supporter and absolute best friend. Anyone who knows me also knows that about a year and a half ago my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. The news of my mom's diagnosis would change my family dynamic forever.
Throughout High School and Middle School, my friends and I had always participated in Relay for Life, an annual event in which you raise money for cancer research and walk laps sponsored by friends and family. Relay For Life was always a fun way to get together and raise money for the American Cancer Society. While every year my friends and I would walk our laps, raise money, and listen to the stories of cancer survivors, in the back of our heads we all thought, “No way, this could never be me, not my family.” Even I myself had this false idea of “it could never happen to me.” In reality, cancer gives no breaks, takes no prisoners, and for some horrible and undeniable reason, it always seeks out and plagues the “good” ones.
Months later I went to the pizzeria that my family owns in Westfield, New Jersey; it was July. I wish I could say that I remember this day incredibly clearly, but I can’t. I had arrived at the pizzeria to meet the rest of my family. We sat down and exchanged a few stories, but I remember feeling as if something was not right. My mom, dad and sister all seemed quiet to me. This is when things started to get fuzzy. My mom looked at me and told me to come outside to talk to her for a minute and I complied anxiously. I knew today was the day that she was supposed to get her ultrasound test results back and she did not appear to have good news. Soon enough, my childish and naïve idea that my family is invincible came to an abrupt end when my mother uttered the words, “I have breast cancer.” As we stood there on the sidewalk I remember I was still and silent. Never did I imagine hearing these words, especially from my mom—my best friend. My first question of many was a blunt one, I asked, “Will this kill you?” Her response was, “No, they caught it in the first stage and Dr. Fain says that my cancer is ‘the good kind’ if that can even be possible.” What her doctor meant was exactly this: my mother’s breast cancer would not kill her if she started treatment immediately. After my mom was done explaining everything to me we returned back to dinner. None of us seemed to have an appetite. I remember breaking down right after dinner was over when I could finally be alone with my thoughts.
Once the shock wore in, we were all ready to do whatever was necessary to get my once very healthy mother back to that state. She was scheduled for surgery just a few months after her diagnosis. I recall going to see my mom right after the surgery was over; she was groggy, in pain and could barely speak. I went into the room and she was still in her hospital gown, so I had to help her change. The feeling of having to help your mother get dressed as if she was a child was indescribable. I felt as though the roles were reversed for the first time ever in my life, and that was terrifying. This moment was also the one in which I realized I was going to do everything in my power to make sure my mom was comfortable and taken care of, just in the way that she had done for me in the past 16 years of my life.
Our next step was to go through chemotherapy every three weeks for the next six months. Whenever “chemo day” came, I was always nervous. There was a certain negative energy in my house that everyone felt, but no one talked about. I hated to see my mom in so much pain knowing that there was really nothing I could do but be there to help walk her to the bathroom or get her ginger ale to settle her upset stomach. After chemo came radiation which was now every single day for the next six weeks. Although radiation is less aggressive in comparison to chemotherapy many patients, including my mother, experience feelings of depression during treatment. After having gone through surgeries, treatment and other unpleasant responsibilities, radiation now gave my mom the chance to think about all that she had endured. She was in a state of mind that I had never seen and I recall always wondering when this would all be over for her.
After her six weeks of radiation was over, my mom was officially deemed “cancer free”. To see my mother, someone I idolized and looked up to in so many ways, in such a vulnerable state is something that I truly cannot even put into words. Through this experience, I not only learned that my mom is the strongest person I know, but it also taught me to never take life for granted. She inspired me to live every second of my life to the fullest and follow every single one of my dreams no matter how impossible they may seem.
