Sunrise
I’ve said before that my favorite time of day is sunrise, but a very specific sunrise event—on my couch or deck with Buck and Annie snuggled up or sitting beside me, a hot cup of coffee, and my journal. Today was on the couch because the three of us do NOT do cold and it was arctic cold level this morning. (I mean, pee freezing before it even hits the ground level of cold!) I sip coffee, scratch doggos’s heads, and write. It’s so serene and a fabulous way to start my day.
Today, however, there wasn’t much writing going on. I did start with something—an outline of the next plotlines in the piece I am currently writing—but the writing didn’t last long as soon as I remembered today’s date. It’s Martin Luther King Day, and as a teacher, I have the day off. My one and only favorite Monday of the entire year, except six years ago. My sunrise that year was very different. I actually didn’t get it because I was too keyed into my appointment that morning—a needle biopsy to check the two masses that had been suspected with my mammogram and then confirmed with a breast ultrasound. January 2020 was not a good month for me, and the need for a biopsy had my usually low blood pressure pushing heart attack territory. I knew about this disease—my mom had it, my aunt had it, and twelve family friends over the years had fought it. Some successfully, but more not so successfully. I had a twelve year old daughter at home and a husband I adored and, let’s be honest, life. I had no desire to die yet. So, my sunrise that morning was not serene, not calming, not sunrise.
After my procedure, I was told that the results would be back by Wednesday and a followup appointment was made for 2:45 that day. And, of course, the customary, don’t worry platitude was given before I left the office. Late morning Tuesday, I received a phone call from the radiologist’s office. It was the peppy nurse calling to tell me that my results had come back in and the radiologist would like to see my at 3:45. Could I make it? Of course I could. Being a normal human, I did ask the nurse if everything was okay; and she gave me the customary answer that only the doctor could go over the results with me and again, not to worry. A person knows, though. When you get that kind of call rescheduling you for an earlier appointment and the nurse is extra peppy on the phone..I don’t know. You just realize the news is not going to be what you want to hear. And it wasn’t.
This morning, instead of writing, I remembered that day six years ago—my anxiety, fear—well, terror, to be honest—and the next day sitting in the radiologist’s office while my husband held tightly to my hand and my sentence was passed. I remembered the first person I called as I left the parking lot and the looks on my parents’ faces when my husband and I shared the results with them later that evening. I remembered my young daughter’s face when we sat her down and explained it to her and how she promised me she’d shave her head to match me when I lost my hair.
2020 sucked for many reasons—the worldwide pandemic comes to mind, obviously—but for me, that was a side note. I remember just trying to find my breath and my way through the surgeries and drugs and protocols on top of trying—and failing—to avoid another disease that was ravaging the world. 2020 was a horror show. But looking back this morning, I thought of all the things I learned about myself: my husband is amazing and never stopped holding my hand through everything. My daughter is a rock star who loves me. Many of my coworkers reminded me that I wasn’t fighting cancer alone. My students sent me care packages, painted me beautiful artwork that still hangs in my home, or sent me cards and emails to tell me they cared. One of my dearest friends called and texted me every morning to let me know I was loved and needed. I could write a novella about all the support. What started as a memory of pain turned into remembrance of all the love and joy that is in my life. So, it was a good morning; and even though, my body is drastically different than before the disease and some days I just don’t want to look at myself in the mirror, I was reminded that my life is full and beautiful and most importantly, I’m still living it.
Thank you, Sunrise, for the affirmation. It was needed.