It’s been a rough month.

Five years ago I had a double mastectomy. The girls turned against me so I had them taken off. My only concern was being here to raise my children, 6 and 7 at the time. There was no contest. I had the reconstructive surgery and moved on with my life and parenting my children. Till last month…..

Last month I went for routine blood tests and my cancer markers were high. Based on my history, my doctors are cautious and a roller coaster of medical tests began. X-rays, blood tests, sonograms, MRI’s, biopsies, Cat scans, PET scans….been there….done them…not happy to be doing them again.

The x-ray turned up a clear chest. I had an internal sonogram during which the doctor couldn’t find one of my ovaries. I joked that it was hiding – it knew what happened to my breasts when the girls turned against me so it was cowering in a corner. But ultimately, the sonogram proved to be normal.

What wasn’t normal was a breast MRI that showed a ‘suspicious mass’ in my mastectomy bed. I hate the term suspicious mass. I begin suspecting there’s bad news on the way. My mind goes directly to dark places.

In an effort to calm my nerves my oncologist assured me that if the biopsy ‘were something’ we’d just go in and get it. Although that was a bit reassuring, the thought of surgery and worse, the thought that cancer had reoccurred was far from settling.

It’s funny, not ha ha funny mind you, how you look at life differently when you think there may be less of it to experience. And it’s sad that the perspective gained when in that position is one that is difficult to maintain in the daily hustle and bustle of a ‘healthy’ existence.

For the second time in my life I began imagining my children without a mother. Wondering who would be there to care for them.  Who would rush in to cover Lara at 3am when she’d wake up calling out because she was cold.  Who would sit with JJ at night and talk about his day, what made him happy…what made him sad.

I began imagining missing their proms, graduations, weddings and the birth of their children.  It killed me to think there was a possibility I couldn’t be here for them.  To love them.  To mother them. I made myself have a little longer fuse when they acted out, let them stay up a little later at bedtime and looked at them….really looked at them – not just their faces, but their smiles, their eyes, the way their hair framed their faces.

I always hug my children and tell them how much I love them. But I hugged them a little tighter, conscious of their beating hearts. And when I told them I loved them I looked them straight in the eyes and followed it up with, “Don’t you ever forget that. Understand?” My heart was breaking.

With Christmas coming I began giving serious thought to buying the kids iPhones. I had planned to get them regular phones – no bells or whistles – just talk and limited text. But I was feeling extremely generous considering the uncertainty of my future.

“Don’t do it,” cautioned my friend Linda. “Don’t buy a guilt gift because you think you won’t be around next Christmas. Wait till you KNOW you’re going to die before you buy them iPhones. It’s a two year contract.” We both laughed at the absurdity.

My doctors scheduled me for a biopsy of the ‘mass’ and a PET scan. The biopsy was first. Not knowing what was lurking in my mastectomy bed just plain pissed me off. But needle biopsies are no fun and even though I was desperate to know what was there – I wasn’t looking forward to the procedure. I’m a big baby when it comes to physical pain so my doctor prescribed Xanax. I’d never taken it before. He suggested taking two before the procedure. I took four. They could have biopsied my brain.

Today was my PET scan. Although it’s not a difficult or painful procedure – fear of the results can be consuming. It’s quite the push and pull.  You want to know but you’re afraid of what you could find out. So all day I tossed myself into work and reassured myself that if something else were discovered “we’d just go in and get it.”

Tonight my children had their annual Christmas Concert at school. It was a jovial evening. I couldn’t help but smile while watching them sing Christmas carols with their classmates.  Then I felt my phone’s vibrating ring in my bag.  I checked quickly to see who was calling.  It was my doctor – it was 9pm. I hesitated, not wanting to ‘know’ anything that would ruin the night but my morbid curiosity had me rushing into the hall so I could hear his voice at the other end of the phone.

“The PET scan came back normal except for the area where you had your biopsy Monday,” he said. “But the actual biopsy isn’t showing any signs of cancer. They’re going to run more tests but you’re clear so far.”  Tears of relief rolled down my cheeks.

I have once again been humbled by fear, but I feel like I’ve been given another chance and I am grateful to God.  I have another opportunity to get this right.  I’m hoping I can be a better mother to my children, have more patience with them and myself.  Allow myself the time to experience their days with them – even when mine are hectic and I’m stressed.  I’m hoping I can stay in the moment and truly appreciate everything around me. I’m hoping that I can maintain perspective on what is and what is not important in life and for my children.  And I’m hoping that my children learn those lessons from me.

Oh, and I texted Linda immediately to let her know the outcome of the tests: “Lyn. Got my results. No iPhones for the kids this Christmas. : ) ”

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