All within one month, her doctor found a lump, sent her for a mammogram which immediately upgraded to an ultrasound, and then a visit with a doctor that had oncology in her title. We waited with bated breath, but we knew what they would say. There were a million questions and almost no answers. Just tests. Talks of biopsies and lymph nodes moved to discussions of mastectomies and chemotherapy. Radiation.
On May 7th, she had her first chemotherapy session. And she was smiling. Literally, I have a picture of her on my phone - smiling, with two-thumbs up. Because that's who she is.
I wonder why this is happening to her. But I know that she is a fighter and that she wins. And she can beat it. This is not the first time my little sister has had to fight for her life. It's not even the second or third time, actually. She's never battled cancer before, but every struggle she's had to endure, since, literally, birth, she has overcome. Every. Single. One.
Me? I couldn't be as brave as she has been in this last month and a half. I would crumble. I would be completely immobilized. Hell, I'm immobilized now, and it's not even happening to me. I donate to every charity that calls me in the hope that me or my loved ones will never suffer with those same ailments. I believe in karma - if you put good out into the world, good will come back to you. So I donate money and buy pink pens. I buy pink pens, People. So that this very thing that is happening to my sister never happens to any of us. But it happens anyway. And it sucks.
She is thirty. She has a little man that turned one in the weeks after the lump was found. And here we are, near the beginning of 20 weeks of chemotherapy. Followed by a double mastectomy. And then radiation, maybe not in that order. We've learned in the last month that things can change very quickly.
And she is smiling. And calling me to see if I'm feeling okay because my allergies are bothering me.
She's amazing. And I'm so lucky she's mine.
Please keep her in your thoughts.
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