Bad Mammogram, Born Again

This is a photo of us at The Price is Right: my sister, Marcy, me, Norris and Mom and baby sis Kate.

I'm a born again. Not really. I feel like one today. Or at least I think I know what it feels like to be born again, kinda.

A few Sundays ago, we had Sunday night dinner, which is a regular occurrence for us. The "us" includes my little family, Jerry, Cole and Patty, my sister, brother in law and their two boys and my parents. Usual Sunday night dinner crew. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, until an enormous bomb dropped right there in mom's kitchen, when Mom announced, very casually and somewhat bravely, that she had a "bad mammogram". The world stood very still and the words seemed hazy and unfathomable at that long moment.

They found not one, but two spots that looked suspicious. This is when the stillness was abruptly interrupted by the cancer bomb which fell through the vaulted ceiling, crashing through the granite countertops, hitting the travertine tile with a deafening thud in my heart. Fear coupled with uncertainty and wondering engulfed my seething brain.

Mom was certain that this was going to be "nothing". There is no trace of cancer whatsoever on that side of the family, so it just couldn't be. Cancer. To even think that icky word makes me reel with images of my paternal grandmother curled in the fetal position, calling out for her own mother and not recognizing who I was. My grandmother died at age 65 of breast, lung and brain cancer. This could not happen to my own young, hip mother. I would not allow it.

As you may recall, Mom had just been run over by a Range Rover less than one year ago. How could God zap her with the cancer wand? Not possible. She had two needle biopsies on Tuesday. We waited like lunatics for the life-changing results for three endless days. Three days of knowing deep down that this was "nothing" but not actually knowing. So what if?

The not knowing plays with your mind and forces you to plan. Mom already decided that if it was breast cancer, she would get them "whacked off" and a new perky pair plunked on. I started thinking of all of the physicians that I could ask for good oncology referrals. I would have no choice than to start training for the Breast Cancer Three Day Walk that I had completed a few years ago to show support, but this time it would be to fight. I would start bargaining with God hardcore. There were the plans.

By some sort of miracle, the results were benign. What a wonderful, terrific word, benign. We all breathed a heaving, heavy sigh of relief, screamed and cried and had a beer. We are truly "born again" for this second chance to enjoy life with Mom once again. And I told her to go buy a lottery ticket.

Working Girl

Hi~ I've come to a startling revelation. Now, I'm certainly not the brightest bulb in the box, but it just occurred to me that I started this blog in hopes that I could help other working moms, like myself, make sense of this crazy "work-life" bullshit. (Notice the cuss word. When I was a virginal blogger, I was wary of offending potential followers who may be sensitive to such brash language, so I never cussed. Now that I realize that only family members and a few loyal, sympathetic friends are the only ones reading this, I'm over it.) Well, it is actually impossible to discuss anything work related on this lonely blog due to the extreme conservativeness of my industry. Coupled with the fact that I live in a Right To Work state, and of course the spiraling economy, ya just never know. So I guess I will just have to be cautious when citing work issues.

I will share one working mom moment that happened to me this week. I was dutifully getting my doddling, leisurely kids off to school, as I frantically do each and every scrambly morning, when my car made a choking, horrific noise and then died in the middle of the intersection about a block or so away from school. I had to get these kids to school on time and get myself to a morning meeting, followed by a lunch with customers and a full day of sales calls. Luckily, a very kind friend pulled behind my defunct car and offered to take my kiddos to school. She was a godsend. Half a dozen moms from school stopped and asked if I needed anything? Coffee? Could they take me somewhere? Do anything to help? Sweet and genuine offers. I stood on the side of the road in my heels and dress, probably looking more like a "working girl" than a working girl. The greasy tow truck came to my rescue, followed by a rancid smelling rental car. Now, two hours late, I could start my corporate day, where I was expected to perform a full day of sales calls, irregardless of the morning mishap. Instead of going 55 MPH today, I had to crank it up to 75 MPH in order to pick up my kids before sunset.

So there's a boo hoo, whiny working mom story for ya. Several jealous thoughts crept in my head like "if i was a SAHM, I could easily just carry on with my day, frustrated with the inconvenience, but knowing that thank goodness I didn't have to be anywhere pressing today." I pushed those thoughts out of my head, and forged ahead, going about my working girl day...