Relay for Life

When my sister was diagnosed with breast cancer at age thirty three, I was twenty seven years old, single, and in a new relationship. I knew my life would be forever changed by mammograms, pink ribbons, and running events. The doors to the cancer club were forever opened to me, as the sister of a survivor. I’ve been to the big blue chemo chairs at Dana Farber Hospital, I’ve shaved the head of a thirty three year old on the same year she’d later be married. It is a passageway that often leads to inspiration to do more, yet, as with most things in my life, I never felt much like celebrating.

Seeing my sister’s life change overnight also changed me overnight. My husband and I mutually fast tracked our plans to be married. I was plagued by dreams of being diagnosed and facing the reality of not being able to have my own children. We were fortunate to have two children in the first two years of our marriage. When my son was seven months old, I flew to Guatemala with my sister to pick up her son. He was one week older than my own son, and I went out of gratitude. I went out of gratitude that she was alive, was adopting a beautiful son, but mostly out of gratitude that it had not happened to me. We left Guatemala City with my nephew and I returned home to embrace my own children. My son’s first tooth poked through that week, but returning from the grim situation in Guatemala City, on the cusp of adoptions being closed, I returned with renewed gratitude for every detail in my daily life.

I remember one day at preschool when I was picking up my daughter from room five, and my son from room seven.

“How close are they?” A woman asked as we waited for the classroom doors to open.

“Fifteen months.” I state as I pat my son on the top of his head, and smile quietly on the inside.

“Uggg, you must have totally freaked out when that happened.” I didn’t get any words to come out of my mouth before she hopped along down the hall chasing her daughter, but her words ripped me open. Another woman noticed I was upset and approached as I explained the comment and how it stung.

“We just needed them here, as soon as possible, we didn’t even think of waiting. What would we be waiting for? Cancer, Infertility? There are a lot of things that freak me out, but having my kids when I had them isn’t one of them.” It felt good to say it. I imagine it feels good to race, to fundraise, to wear ribbons, to be part of the group, but for me, it feels good to get clean mammograms, to play with cousins, and to enjoy all that I have every moment that I have it.