Life Before My Eyes

Tuesday morning I went in to see what was going on with my breast, the same breast that has been giving me grief since 2005. It's become a problem, like a huge, 2-liter bottle hanging on my left side problem. A I'm embarrassed to go out in public problem and nothing fits me problem. Anyway, after a quick mammogram and ultrasound, I was rushed to Radiology for a core biopsy, and then quickly rushed across town to a surgeon. Things didn't look good. Everyone was looking at me with these eyes that said, "Poor thing, she's totally screwed." Within minutes of being with the surgeon, he told me the tumor had completely taken over my breast and we were talking about which type of breast cancer it probably was, chemo, radiation, mastectomies, etc. I tried to act tough, like he was talking about my toenails and not my lymph nodes, but by the time I left his office I was shaking, and when Mark met me on our driveway I totally broke. Once again, we were waiting for that daunting phone call of fate.
It came Thursday morning when I was in line at Target with apple juice and formula in my cart. I figured Target was as good a place as any. The nurse said something about the findings being consistent with a fibroadenom, which is what it's always been, a benign knot. No cancer. I gave Mark a thumb's up from across the cash register where he was walking a fussy Malcolm. Both of our knees and shoulders folded in relief. While I had been Googling carcinomas on the internet the last two days, and deciding I was probably a scarf and not a hat person, and would prefer a flap procedure rather than get a waterbed put in my chest, Mark had been worrying about the prospect of being a single father of five. They were heavy, sleepless days.
Anyway, we celebrated with chili rellenos and all the Halloween candy we wanted. I'm a lucky girl. I might still lose my breast, but it could've been worse. A lot worse.
I fear I've become cliche, but it's really true that when faced with something like this everything gets put in its proper place. I've been thinking of all the moments and opportunities I miss out on not because I'm dying of cancer but because I'm lazy, impatient or preoccupied. My two surprise baby boys don't seem like the mistakes to be resented or speed bumps they often do, rather the blessings they were always meant to be. My self-interested ambitions seem silly in comparison to getting down on the floor and playing monster truck with Declan, coloring with Charlotte, or letting Mark fall asleep on my arm like he likes to. My life may be unglamorous and unspectacular, but it's a life without cancer, a life of meaning, a life of simple pleasures like sipping Cokes on the swing in the last warmth of Fall. I'm grateful for the corrected perspective. I'm going to try my damnest to hold on to it, but even now, three days later, I can feel how easy it is to let it slip and slide away.