My friend Lisa Adams, who coached me through so much of my treatment for breast cancer, recently learned that her breast cancer returned as metastatic disease. She has been writing about cancer eloquently and beautifully since she was diagnosed, and so much of what she's published since her disease advanced has been powerful, brutal, essential reading. Her most recent post, which appears on HuffPo, is about an hour-long talk with her daughter that started with her first question, "Are you scared?"
She asked questions about genetics and risks of getting cancer to what kind of treatments I might need. She asked me again, as if to confirm for herself, "It's not curable, right?" We talked about my writing, about being public with my health status, about being open and honest with her and her brothers.
I told her that yes, I was scared. I explained that my fear usually comes from the unknown, in this case just how I will respond to treatments. I told her it was okay to be scared. That it's normal. That sometimes that fear makes you brave enough to do things you don't think you can otherwise do.
I told her that I understood that sickness could be scary, that I didn't want her to be afraid of me as I got sicker someday. "I would never be afraid of you, Mom. I'm only afraid of cancer," she said. My heart squeezed and thrashed and the tears flowed.