Beating cancer, a gracefully brave journey

My mum has breast cancer. My. Mum. Has. Breast. Cancer. Five words no daughter ever wants to say. Five words no son ever wants to think about.

I've been procrastinating about starting a blog since the beginning of the year, children and life though getting in the way, and then a cancer diagnosis put my whole world on hold. This is not what I wanted to write about, not at all what I thought my first blog would be about, but for months now this has been my family's reality. Breast cancer. Surgery, doctors appointments, daily treatment, ultrasounds, oncologists, drugs and side effects.

I named my youngest child after my mum and at 12-months she is proving to be just as clever and determined, if not as patient and gentle. Her name is Grace, which is the meaning of the name Nanette, and mum is the epitome of grace and elegance. In the last few months she's also proven how positive and tough she is, as if we ever had any doubt.

Her diagnosis came from a scheduled mammogram, an appointment that was actually moved from its original date in November (as it clashed with my birthday) to early February. In a way it's kind of lucky that it was moved, because her cancer was found early - which means her cancer was small, perhaps too small to detect had she kept her appointment last year and then gone on with life oblivious to the time bomb growing inside her. We don't want to think about that scenario. 

This year was supposed to be a year of joy, celebration and relaxation for our family after a tumultuous 2015. We had my brother's wedding to look forward to and a big family Easter with all 16 of us - my parents, my three siblings, our partners and children - together under one roof. Plus more time spent at the beach house as dad slowly wound down from a 43-year career in the Australian Football League.

We all needed this year to be better than the last one, because apart from the birth of my youngest child and my nephew, it was one hell of a year. 

But almost 12 months to the day that mum was, ironically, undergoing major surgery to answer the question of whether or not she had intestinal cancer, and less than a year since dad was so publicly sacked as coach of the Carlton Football Club, on the day that he started a new, less stressful job, we were dealt the harshest of blows.

When I think back to last year, mum and dad were like two Sycamore trees instantaneously stripped bare of their leaves. However, as they struggled through the months, together, with our support and that of other family and friends, they had both finally started to bloom again. They were a new, different happy.

Then breast cancer.

I don't know how many tears were shed with the diagnosis, I think we were so wound up with fear that sorrow remained concealed. Mostly. Dad worked through his anxiety with action, as men do, becoming more attentive than ever, hovering almost, around his wife and best friend of 41 years.  

In the hands of a wonderful breast cancer team we heard the words: good prognosis, and high survival rate, and we braced ourselves. Mum, in the true sense of the word 'Mother' worried how we were all coping, playing the positive card to convince us, as she had already convinced herself, that she would be OK. She drew a circle around the date of my brother's wedding and told her team that she had to be OK by then. They listened.

It was hard though, seeing her wake up from surgery, awake enough to smile at Gracie but too groggy to really hear the surgeon tell her she was confident she'd removed all the cancer. It was hard seeing the worry on her face; hard not to notice the concern in dad's eyes; hard to comprehend all the preparation that goes into radiotherapy before it even starts; and harder still not to go with her every day while she underwent her treatment. It was hard to see her getting tired despite her protestation that she wasn't. And I hated watching her try on dresses for the wedding, trying to cover up the itchy and sore burn marks that covered her chest from the radiation.

Mum with my daughters Lillia and Grace, today

The hard part is over now. Thankfully. It was only when dad spoke of mum in his wedding speech, his voice breaking slightly, that the tears that had been threatening to spill for months finally escaped and we all exhaled. 

Her doctors won't tell her that she is cancer free for a long while, not until she's finished her five year course of breast cancer medication. They can't yet tell her what side effects that will have. They also can't give her a 100 percent guarantee that it won't ever return. But for now they've given her her life back. And her beautiful smile.

It's Mother's Day soon and though she won't ask for gifts, we will be spoiling her. And we will say thank you for giving us all a lesson in how to be independent, brave and courageous, strong and defiant, positive and graceful. Mum has shown us how to stare down adversity when it looks you in the eye and slaps you in the face. 

She is winning. But it feels like our family has already won.  

Happy Mother's Day for next weekend mamas! 

Remember to have regular breast screens and mammograms. 

Christi xo