My Breasts, My Cure -- Chapter Five

Chapter Five

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You Have Cancer

         Peter is fast asleep, snoring loudly, which is unusual for him. I am the chronic snorer between the two of us and that used to embarrass me. He's so good about it and he appreciates the fact that unlike many people, I don't ever try to deny that I snore. How can I deny it when my own snoring sometimes wakes me up?

         I remember in the beginning when I used to be afraid to go to sleep for fear that I would wake him up with my snoring. There came a point when it became ridiculous because I was losing much sleep. When did my snoring start? My ex-husband, Steven, never told me I snored. He was always the loud snorer. I remember one night, he was snoring so loud that I must have nudged him a little more than usual and he fell off the bed. He reemerged from the floor looking stunned. I felt terrible, but soon we were both laughing hysterically about it. The following day, he bought a package of nasal strips that were supposed to stop or reduce the snoring. Of course, they didn't work.

         Brad was the first one to tell me I snored. Sometimes, my own snoring would startle me awake, and find him staring at me.

         "I was afraid you'd have sleep apnea and choke to death," he had said. "I wanted to be sure I was awake to avoid that."

         "Oh, you're so sweet," I said. "Have I always snored?" I asked totally embarrassed, not only from my snoring but also at the thought of the unwholesome way I must have looked with my mouth open while asleep.

         "No," he said. "It seems to have started when we moved to Seattle."

         "That's interesting," I said. "Must be from all the rain we get everyday."

At any rate, Peter now tells me that I was waking him up in the middle of the night when my snoring got too loud. "It's like an orchestra," he had said. "You make so many different sounds, it's hilarious. But don't be embarrassed about it; at least it's not boring. Sometimes, when it becomes unbearable, I just elbow you gently, then you turn to your side and you stop snoring . . . for a while. Anyway, I have learned to tune you out, so don't worry about it."

         But I still do worry about it to the point that I developed this habit of waking up and asking him if I were snoring. He'd say no, or that it wasn't too loud. He would confess much later that my snoring didn't annoy him as much as my waking him up to ask him if I were.


I cannot sleep. Poor Peter . . . he is so sound asleep, unaware of my conversation with Dr. Cole this afternoon. His words--"You have cancer," reverberates in my head like a sad and haunting refrain.

         Breast cancer. To many women, this nightmarish prognosis conjures up images of mortality, of leaving loved ones behind, as well as unachieved aspirations and dreams. Like those women I now think of death, my friends and family. Shall I tell them? They've always had this image of me as a solid rock-strong and indestructible. What would they think of me now when they find out that I am only human who got sick, too?

         I think of my mother. Suddenly, I realize that there is a chance that she might bury another one of her children. What a horrible thing to ponder, but it is possible!

         "Oh, God," I pray internally. "Please don't subject my Mom to this type of misery again. She has buried her husband, her first born, and her second born and several miscarriages. Please don't let her bury me, too."

         Quietly I rise up from the bed, slip into my robe and slippers, and go downstairs where my desktop computer is situated. I really don't know why, but I turn my PC on. While waiting for it to boot, I grab a sheet from the stationery box and start writing a letter to my Mom.

          "Dear Mom," I begin. "Just a short note to let you know that I miss you and that I hope you are doing fine." I stop writing. I don't know what else to say. I can't tell her about my cancer. It's the last thing she needs to know. I stare at the paper for a long time then I decide to create a greeting card with a short message inside.

         I double-click on My Pictures folder on the desktop and I wait for the thumbnails of photos to appear. I scroll down to the "Family Photos" folder and click on it once. It is a huge file containing at least a hundred of my favorite family photos. I peruse the collection, and decide on a picture of my Mom holding her one-year old granddaughter, Isabel, who is kissing her on the mouth. Mom looks so happy. She loves her Am'ma, and she shows this with a lot of hugs and kisses to her.

         I create the card on a 5x7 greeting card stock with the selected photo on the front with the caption: Precious Moment and the following message on the inside:

         Dear Ma, I cannot remember the time when you held me like you're holding Isabel in the picture. I cannot remember your expression when you hugged me and kissed me. But I am sure that they are included in your chest of precious moments. I miss you, Ma. Love, Pearl."

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Next item::"My Breasts, My Cure -- Chapter Six"