Survivor
This kid we can call a survivor. A four-year survivor.
Today’s scans, which included blood work, a chest x-ray, EKG, ECHO, and abdominal ultrasound, all came back clear. Unchanged, no evidence of disease, and (my fave) unremarkable. Which always strikes me as ever so remarkable.
As we walked out of the Clinic hand in hand after five hours of appointments, he swung my arm and casually said, “That was fun.” And he meant it. Which also strikes me as ever so remarkable.
And most remarkable of all is that in 365 days, two measly scans away, we’ll be able to use a whole different C word in reference to Austin:
Cured.
YEA!!!
That’s wonderful news, so happy for Austin!!
Geoffrey Golden is my first cousin, Bev’s, son. Our other cousin, Nedra, shared your beautiful reflection–where you echo “our work is not in vain”– with the family. Yeah, we are like that: family page, group emails, etc. I was pulled in by your description of the event and your reminder to educators and parents engaged in the public Ed system to simply stay. I teach for the California State University system so I feel you girl on multiple levels. And I love my work.
THEN I read your tag line: “…and of course, Cancer.” Of COURSE cancer? Of course? I’m intrigued. Why of course? I wondered what that meant. A few clicks made it clear. Your son. Austin.
Wow.
I’ve been huddled over my iPhone for an unnaturally long time ( not really because I often get stuck like this while reading) reading about your family’s struggle & journey.
I am a 42 year old Woman who was diagnosed with breast cancer right before thanksgiving last year. I’ll spare you the details, but after reading your posts (going crazy with the suspense, feeling tears form–that I only managed to produce one or four for myself–for You, for Austin, I finally felt the need to write about my own diagnosis. To you. This is the first time, really. To a stranger. But your narratives feel familiar to me already. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Especially that one. Thank you for allowing us in. Thank you for writing about what has to be every mothers worst nightmare. Well, it’s one of mine. I have three children. Jelani, Kyrie, and I’ke. Thank you. Even though I was embarrassed to find that You were blogging about Austin 5 years ago–to you this may be old news so forgive me for going back there–but it was exactly what I needed to read today. I was laying here thinking about what the treatments are going to be like. How will I cope? Will I be sick? Weak? Helpless? Will I die? I only allow myself a few of these moments. Brief. Internal. Because I will do what I have to do to be healthy. I will fight with eveything available to me to keep it from coming back (I had a lumpectomy and very little lymph node involvement–minuscule-but my Dr recommended the whole gamut. “A woman your age, normally we just throw the book at you, but…I don’t know…nothing is really definitive in your case…but at your age we want to treat this aggressively…it depends…” And more along those lines. So I feel as if I have been given a choice. And I choose to be aggressive with my 40 something’s wonderful team at City of Hope in California.
Your words, your thoughts, your memories, your ongoing journey, your sons, your husband, your community–village–make me feel really good about it. Your work is not in vain.
Oh Staci, what an incredible message. I have so much to say back to you, but it’ll have to wait a few hours….
OK, so wow, what a message. So many coincidences, from Geoffrey to the fact that I turned 42 last week to the other little fact that I used to teach in the city of Compton (late 90s) and many of my students went on to Cal State schools over the years.
But, for the important stuff (“of course, cancer”). First of all, no apologies for bringing up “old news.” This is who we are, no matter how far out we get from the day-to-day treatment and no matter how confident we feel in Austin’s health, cancer is still an integral part of our identity and I’m pretty sure it always will be. Not that that’s necessarily a bad thing; we certainly take advantage of all opportunities that come our way and try to find joy in even the smallest moments. Plus I am always happy to help anyone going through this, in any form — or going through anything really — find some measure of comfort or strength or even just recognition in my writing.
So i wish you much strength in the coming months. You’ll be forced to make horrible decisions and live with the consequences. Just trust that you are doing what is right in that moment given the best information you have at that moment. Relish any time you have with your children, give them so much love, but also allow yourself to be furious and sad and scared (and sick and weak and helpless). But take the help that comes your way, in any form, and accept all the love that people show you. That is where I found my strength and hope.
GOOD LUCK, Staci!
Than is for taking the time to respond Krissy. I take your words to heart. I can only make decisions based on what info I have the time and that is the absolute best I can do. Information can also overwhelm so I have to monitor how and who I let into that space. I am considering a journal/blog. Just found a support group in my community with all kinds of workshops…you have inspired me: it’s not just about me. There’s no telling how my story might impact someone else. Crazy. I KNOW this but it’s been clarified. Big ups Krissy!
Thank you*