Jodi & Ali.

Reconstruction #2 is tomorrow, and I feel a bit like a Thanksgiving turkey at this point.  I would like to cancel.  But I always want to cancel the day before.  True statement – if tomorrow doesn’t result in the end all, be all of reconstructed boobs, I am still done.  Done. Done. Done.  That’s what parkas are for.

Perspective is harder to come by the day before you go under the knife.  So I’ll share a little story with you to get me back on track.

My oldest sister, Jodi. Married with 2 kids, cats, dogs and a bunch of other critters, depending on the whims of my niece and nephew. Diagnosed at age 37 with inflammatory breast cancer in both breasts.

Stage 4.

My sister.  Not a face on a website or a commercial. MY SISTER.  The one who brought us the “Summer of Practical Jokes” involving numerous trips to the magic store. The one who understood why I became a lawyer, and really understood why I quit.  The one who met my very withdrawn son when we first brought him home, and said, “Becca, he is so smart. He is so beautiful.”  And meant it.  And hello, the one who started the Thanksgiving Karaoke Extravaganza.

I have a niece, Ali, who is now in college and growing into an amazing woman.  But when Jodi got breast cancer, Ali was 8.  Ali – our sensitive little soul, our saver of all things living, our bleeding heart – watched her mom fight this beast.  Sweet Ali would lay with Jodi in bed and hug her tight.  Jodi would comfort Ali, and Ali would comfort Jodi.  This is what the Alis of the world do.

One day in that bed, little china doll Ali was patting Jodi’s IV-bruised hand, and asked, “Mom, how will I find you if you die?”  Jodi did what you do as a sick mom, you say No No No, lovey, I am not going to die.  But our Ali can see into your soul.  She knew, she KNEW that the possibility that her mom might die was very, very real.

Ali wouldn’t let it go, she needed an answer.  Teary and distraught, she needed to know how to find her mama if she died. So Jodi and Ali made a plan.  Jodi would go as far as she could, past the white light and past the tunnel, she would keep going until she had to stop.  At the edge of the Universe, Jodi would be waiting for Ali.

This is how Ali lived at age 8 – with hope and fear, and knowing where to meet her mom if she died.

Happy ending. Jodi wrestled breast cancer to the ground and kicked its ass out of the ring.  Don’t ask me how because I am not sure there is a medical explanation.  Chemo, however, left its mark.  Jodi’s teeth are weirdly sensitive, she has what she termed “chemo brain,” and the oh-so-fun staph infections that land her in the hospital fairly routinely.

Tomorrow will be about me.  But today is for Jodi and Ali.  Today is for those who didn’t get a happy ending.  Today is for a Cure.

Becca