Operation done and dusted

All went well yesterday. The operation lasted little over an hour, after which mom was wheeled to the recovery ward. She did very well, and apparently insisted to call my dad herself after the operation. This was barely two hours after the surgeons brought her back to a conscious state. My dad was rather impressed with her, and so am I.

Mom was discharged at the end of the day, and is now recovering at home. She is not in a great deal of pain, thank God – Just a little tired.

Now we have to wait for the lab results, which will show what type of cancer she had, whether it has spread, etc. According to dad, the docs will know more by Jan 17th. A treatment course will be designed based on what comes back from the lab.

Thanks everyone for the support. It really means a lot.

The Day Mom Told Me …

I will never forget December 22, 2011 – the day breast cancer turned my world up side down and spat me out in the process.

“Can we meet on Skype?,” my dad BBMed me this morning at 7.15. I was not really in the mood for a chat to tell you the truth. I am not a morning person. “Sure, but give me twenty minutes okay? I just woke up and need to freshen up,” I replied while starting up my laptop. They are currently in Europe and I am on holiday in Australia (I live in South Africa), hence the Skype request.

From the moment my computer connected to my parents’ living room, I knew there was something seriously wrong. Normally, I chat to my folks one by one but this time mom and dad were both behind their computer – my dad standing behind my mom. Then I saw her face. Indeed, something was seriously seriously wrong.

“I have got some very difficult news,” mom said, not trying to cry. “Grandma?” I asked. My mom’s mother is after all in her late eighties, and had a nasty fall earlier this year. She also survived cancer and a stroke. “No, no grandma,” she replied while shaking her head.

Mom started to tell me how a routine check on December 16 had shown a small mass in one of her breasts – a small one, not even one centimeter in diameter. She told me how she then had a biopsy, which indicated the big C-word. ‘It has not spread,” she added. “I am in stage 1, which is very very positive.”

I can’t explain you how it felt. There is not enough ink, or pixels, to explain you what went through me when the news sank in. My mother has breast cancer. It still sounds surreal. When thinking of it, the tears come just like that. My eyes are so sore of all the crying I want to scratch them out.

“We are so sorry we have to do this just before Christmas,” she added. “But we knew you’d be very upset if we would tell you later.”

While my mom explained me about the size of the lump, and about the operation she will have in January, I could not help but to look at dad’s face. Standing behind my mom, it was obvious how much the past few days had tormented him. My heart broke all over again.

I have lost count of the moments I have broken down in tears today and frankly, I don’t care.

My episodes pure and utter sadness and despair are alternated with moments of quietness and then episodes of anger and frustration: What the fuck? My mom is only 55 years young, and is healthy and happy. She has not hurt a fly ever, and has always been there for other people. Why her? WHY?

That is why I decided to start this blog. To find others who are in the same boat, to vent my frustrations, to share my experiences and to get and share tips on how to deal with this crap. It will be anonymous for now, as my mom has not told everyone yet.