All I Need is a Miracle
Our family is pretty typical. We follow the rules—mostly—and we play fair. Usually. We smoked cigarettes—but we quit. We switched to organic fruits and veggies—when it wasn’t exorbitantly expensive—and we try and get enough exercise. We don’t run red lights, we don’t cheat on our taxes, we don’t litter. We give to the less fortunate and we dream big but can be counted on to stay in our lane. We are a typical, unremarkable family.
Until we weren’t.
If you’re a constant reader, you know that my family has had what we feel is our share of loss and adversity for now, thank you very much. And, as a typical, hardworking bunch, we’ve taken it in our individual strides, looking towards a future that could possibly go a little easier on our emotions. A time when those challenging events could be spaced out a bit further to give us time to recuperate and make a few steps forward before belting us back again. Just a little break. But, apparently, the universe isn’t done fucking with us.
Our latest blow is that there was more cancer found in Annie’s body. You’d never know it—she’s as healthy and energetic as she ever was. And she feels fine…not at all as if a disease was creeping silently through her body. Just when we thought we were coming up for air, we got the news…I’ll let Annie explain from a recent email to friends and family:
“. . . It’s been one year since I was first diagnosed with Stage 2 Breast Cancer. Since then I have gone through chemotherapy, a double mastectomy and radiation. In early June I was told I was in remission but a CT scan for a separate issue revealed suspicious spots on my liver. After further testing it was confirmed that the breast cancer has spread and I am now considered Stage 4 metastatic breast cancer. The good news is that I feel good and healthy. I start chemotherapy again next week. [We] are maintaining our positive attitudes as we start this next phase and in the meantime I am parking myself in a glistening lake in Maine and enjoying the sun.”
How come all the really terrible diagnoses sound like they should be a good thing…Triple negative.
Distant metastasis.
But they are the worst… Limiting time and hope for new procedures, new medications, medical breakthroughs. As Annie’s mom—well, I can barely write that without tears springing to my eyes—it’s a terrible turn of events and not at all what we expected or even hoped for.
But how positive is that email? The one constant through this whole year has been Annie’s attitude. She practically forbade me for expressing even the slightest hint of emotion that wasn’t science-based. We were going forward on facts and facts alone; not terrifying and imagined projections into a future we couldn’t possibly know. And, in a surprising turn, Annie was okay with my sharing this personal medical situation in my writing. I wanted to share far and wide because I know that the scope of what we know right now about treatment is limited; I want everyone to know so we can get help with recommendations, resources and support. Which, by the way, has already happened. (Also, we like chocolate and flowers.)
For now, we will all be there together as Annie restarts chemo, juggles doctor’s appointments and work, and we’ll help look after Luca. I have to deal with the forbidden imagining the future and hope I can be present enough as we begin this new and frankly darker, scarier path. The only way I know how to do it is with love and support. That’s really all I have since I’m not a doctor or a millionaire or a wizard. But, fortunately, I’m pretty good at love and support, so there’s that.
When we first got the results of the scan that set us on this completely different path, Annie and I watched a documentary about healing. There were some pretty amazing and miraculous case studies presented. She said, “I could be a miracle . . .” and even though I am skeptical about such things, the song that’s been running through my brain ever since is “All I Need is a Miracle”--that 80s song by Mike and the Mechanics. If Annie wants to be a miracle, who am I to doubt she can?
For me, she already is.
As a family we have learned how to live with presence. Wisdom; maybe unearned, that we are grateful to have received from those before us. There's no better guidance than following in Annie's footsteps as her presence is a constant reminder of how to live with heart and eyes wide open. She is the miracle!
Prayers for your entire family…
Remember, O most gracious Virgin Mary, that never was it known that anyone who fled to thy protection, implored thy help, or sought thine intercession was left unaided.
Inspired by this confidence, I fly unto thee, O Virgin of virgins, my mother; to thee do I come, before thee I stand, sinful and sorrowful. O Mother of the Word Incarnate, despise not my petitions, but in thy mercy hear and answer me.
Amen.