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“You said as much already.” He runs his hand through his hair in nervousness, “Oliver, just tell me.”
“I just don’t want you to be mad.”
“Well now you’re worrying me. Why would I be mad?”
“It’s a Women’s Health Convention,” he blurts out really fast and it all sounds like one word.
“A what?”
He sighs, “It’s a Women’s Health Convention,” he says and I almost laugh because he’s literally looking at me out of one eye while squeezing the other closed like he’s expecting me to go crazy.
“Okay,” I say drawing out the word not understanding the big deal.
“They have all kinds of things here. Information about diabetes, heart disease, mental health, gynecological information and they’re also featuring information about breast cancer.”
“Oh.”
“Look, I’d like to go in and check it out. I thought it may be good - not because you needed any additional information, but because I read good things about it. It’s like the fifth year in a row they’ve had it and they have speakers and available support and outreach options a person can access here and I just thought it may be helpful?”
His explanation ends in a question because he’s nervous I’ll be angry, but I’m not. I’m far from it. I stop walking and face him. He watches me warily but relaxes when I run my hands up his chest and wrap them around his neck. “I’m not mad at you.”
“You’re not? Really?”
“No.”
“Are you sure that this isn’t you telling me you aren’t mad to fake me out and then when I’m least expecting it you’re going to beat my ass?”
I laugh, “Not at all. I think it’s sweet and kind and thoughtful. It shows you care, that you want to get involved, that you want to help, that you support me. I’m lucky to have you.”
“You are? I mean… yes. Yes you are.”
I laugh again at his joke and let go of him and take his hand. He walks me to the entrance where he presents his phone to be scanned so we can go inside. We’re immediately given a pink tote bag with a breast cancer logo on it. I smile at Oliver holding one in his had as well. When we go through the next set of doors I stop in my tracks because checking out the space requires me to stand still. There is row after row of booths, each offering their specific women-focused health information. It appears to be very diverse. People touting vitamins and supplements and various drug companies with information, to support groups, and nutrition, weight management and exercise information to what appears to be a huge area on preventative and treatment. Each entices attendees with a myriad of samples and giveaways ranging from vitamins to pens to chances at free services. It’s crowded -exceptionally so- and Oliver takes my hand and pulls me to the side. “They gave me a map and some information, just a second.”
While he reads it I take a look around and marvel at all the women here. There aren’t as many men, but there are clearly those that are here in support of their loved one and it makes my own heart warm that Oliver is the one that brought me here. “We have a little bit of time before we need to make our way to that stage,” he points. “How about we start making our way there and stop along the way at any booth that interests you?”
“Sounds good.” He clearly had an agenda; no wonder he was nervous. We begin and by the time we reach our destination my bag is already full of information and freebies.
As we approach the designated mammography and breast cancer informational area, my heart starts pounding in my chest. There are workers walking around in pink shirts with the signature ribbon logo, there’s a hung pink balloon arch leading to chairs available for listening to speakers. There are free charts showing women how to do self-breast exams, there are booths where you can sign up to get a free mammogram in the onsite mobile unit. There are touchable displays that show what a normal breast versus a breast with a lump would feel or look like and information about the various types of breast cancer. What really gets me though, is the wall with a tarp on it that says “IN MEMORY OF” and there are so many names I can barely differentiate one from the other. I feel like a balloon that’s instantly deflated. Oliver looks at me questioningly and clearly having no idea what’s troubling me, squeezes my hand because I’ve tightened my grip on his. He’s offering me comfort.
I feel emotional. I feel overwhelmed. I feel my stomach tighten and twist and emotion clog in my throat that I’m no longer just a woman attending yet another event or even one seeking or seeing organizations offering help, support and information – I’m a part of it. I’m a representation of why this entire display exists. It feels as if reality takes one big wind up and releases a smack directly onto my face.
I’m about to tell Oliver that I think I’d like to leave when something catches my attention. I’m suddenly looking at attractive posters identifying their event keynote speakers containing brief bios that describe their situations. I quickly catch a few phrases on one individual and I find myself intrigued. The words resonate within. Without realizing it at first, I’ve pulled Oliver to the seats in front of the stage where the individual on the poster is due to come on in – I look at my phone – five minutes. The seating is starting to fill up – which momentarily astounds me - and before I can think twice, I grab Oliver and take him to a couple of seats. “I wouldn’t mind listening if that’s okay? If it’s not something I’m interested in we can duck out, is that okay with you?”
“Yes, of course.”
We sit and make small talk until a woman comes out to introduce the first guest speaker and as she makes her way on stage, she’s greeted with applause.
Hi. My name is Melanie Harlow and in 2008 I felt a lump in my left breast. At the time I was in-between jobs, my husband had been laid off and we had an insurance lapse. I put off going to the doctor because I was concerned about the money we’d have to spend out of pocket for the tests I knew I would have to get in order to find out if what I was experiencing was of true concern. So, I did my best to ignore its presence. I eventually landed a job and within four weeks was offered a permanent position and insurance. I finally went to see a doctor and sure enough a mammogram and blood tests were ordered and conducted. The initial mammography was not conclusive, so I had to have a second. That was followed by a biopsy. At the end of all of that, as I had suspected and feared, my doctor ended up telling me the three words I was terrified to hear from the moment I discovered the lump, ‘You have cancer’.”
My eyes burn with emotion recalling the day I heard those same words myself. “Long story short, over the last several years the cancer has spread to my lungs, kidney, liver, and brain. I’ve had multiple surgeries – mastectomy, hysterectomy, even brain surgery to remove the tumors and more hospitalizations that I ever imagined possible. I’ve undergone rounds of chemotherapy and radiation. I’ve tried a few experimental treatments as well. And as a result, I’ve had every possible side effect you can possibly imagine. At one point, my doctors gave me mere months to live, and though it has been challenging, I’m still here years later. And these years. Wow! These years I’ve tried to live life fully and craft my story while confronting the likelihood that my days are numbered, that this year could possibly be my last. But good years too. Years I learned a new language, traveled a bit, and volunteered. Years I chose to have my two, if I may say so, adorable children, despite needing to interrupt doctor-desired treatment – and years I’ve enjoyed watching them grow and become such incredible people and have planned and plotted ways to ensure that they are tightly bonded to their father. Years I’ve been privileged to fall in love with my husband more and more every day. Why am I telling you all of this? Because recently my doctors told me I wouldn’t likely live more than another year without more treatment and even less without. So, while shocked that I’m still alive, the tentativeness of my life continues to confront me- but today, I’m still here.”
The crowd claps for her and I see several people in the crowd nodding. She waits for it to quiet down and then she continues. “We each get to write our own story. And I’m not here to tell you how to write yours. I’m here to share my unique story, or bits of it. Others will speak and share a very different experience. Me? I vacillated more weeks than others were comfortable with while formulating my thoughts, my decisions, and my approach. Ultimately, I made a decision to fight tenaciously for my life. I was worth it. I was here for a purpose that I was not sure I had yet fulfilled. I had reasons to be here, of that I was sure. Oh, I knew there were absolutely no guarantees that any of the available treatments would work and certainly any future developments were unclear. But I had a choice. And that was mine alone. Once made, I followed through with it passionately, as though my life depended on it.” I listen as the crowd responds with a uniform chuckle at her humor.
“I get asked all the time what my advice to others in similar situations would be – and what my survival mechanisms have been. So let me share. First, my advice is simple – make a personal choice. And then, craft your plan. I inked it all out. And for me, I will tell you this - one part was getting on my knees and praying every day. I pray that God will keep me alive and provide more time with my sons and husband. Prayer allows me to express those things that are hard to confess or share with others. It allows me to purge emotions and seek and obtain mercy; to rejoice, cry, forgive… but most of all, for me, it is life-giving and life altering. Prayer isn’t your thing? Okay, then find a creative outlet, exercise, maintain a healthy diet, get involved with a support group, rely on the excellent listening skills and love from your family and friends. I don’t believe that there’s one right approach to this hideous disease, not a good or bad, right or wrong choice. Rather, I advocate searching one’s heart and making a personal decision that reflects being true to oneself. By all means, seek knowledge and information so your decision is an informed one, but set boundaries too, as it is so easy to get overwhelmed. And then make decisions that are right for you regardless or in spite of what your doctor or doctors or friends or family tell you. If I believe anything, I believe that we each have a right, no an obligation, to use this as an opportunity to be true to ourselves. This diagnosis – should you find yourself confronting a diagnosis of cancer, only God knows how it will inevitably impact you. I share my story not in hope that you will imitate me. But in the hopes that you will also find your own way and find peace and rest in the knowing that you did what was right for you.”
When she finishes everyone claps for her and I’m no exception. Turning to Oliver, I hold his hand tight in mine, “I know what I want to do.”
