When Your Mom Friend is Living Your Worst Nightmare

Heading in for my surgery earlier this summer.

I was a worrier before I had kids, so imagine what happened to my worry when I popped out two in one shot. Then double it. Then double it again. I worry about EVERYTHING. One of them has a bruise, I’m convinced it’s leukemia. I get a cough for a few days, it’s lung cancer. Someone complains of a headache, it’s a brain tumor. Basically I’m terrified that everything in my life is an indicator of cancer. I lost sleep for weeks over my hernia surgery in June, not because I was worried about the hernia surgery per se, but because I was worried that when they cut me open to fix the hernias the would find something HORRIBLE inside that had lain undetected since I delivered the boys and would no doubt kill me at the drop of a hat.

Yes, this sounds completely crazy. I get that. It doesn’t interfere with my daily life and I do recognize that it’s irrational. But I also lost my brother unexpectedly when he was 16 in a freak accident. My triathlete uncle who was the healthiest person I have ever known developed back pain one December and was dead the following April after being diagnosed with Stage 4 multiple myeloma out of nowhere. My high school and college boyfriend, a vegetarian who doesn’t drink or smoke or do anything else that supposedly increases your cancer risk, was diagnosed at 30 with testicular cancer that metastasized before they found it; he was unable to breathe and had brain involvement, leading to long-term hospitalization and rehab, but as far as I know is okay now. It seems like healthy people all around me are getting cancer or dying unexpectedly left and right. It’s not unreasonable for me to feel a little worried, right?

And now Anna has breast cancer. Anna, a fellow twin mom with boys just a little younger than my own, a fellow runner with a big heart and a biting sense of humor that makes me laugh so hard I cry. She’s beautiful and she’s healthy and she’s full of life and even though we haven’t known each other even 2 years we just had that instant friend connection and now she has cancer. She’s basically me with blonde hair, and she has cancer. How is this possible? This thing that terrifies me, this thing that I survive by telling myself will never happen — it’s happening to her. And it sucks. And it scares the shit out of me. Because if it can happen to her, someone just like me, it can happen to anyone.

I can’t stop thinking about all the months I didn’t do my breast self-exam. I can’t stop thinking about those 20some cigarettes I smoked in high school and college. I can’t stop thinking about every drink I’ve had, every day I didn’t work out or eat enough spinach, every BPA exposure I’ve ever had, all those sunburns, too much car exhaust, not enough antioxidants, the fact that basically everything everywhere is carcinogenic or otherwise deadly. I can’t stop thinking about the moment that the ticking time bomb in all of us will go off and OHMYGODMYFRIENDHASCANCER. She was tired but what twin mom isn’t tired and maybe it’s her thyroid and oh never mind it’s actually cancer — aggressive, mean cancer. No cancer is good exactly but some are worse than others. This is one of the worse ones.

And how do you react to that? False cheer isn’t exactly reassuring. “I’m sure you’ll be just fine”? Bullshit. I’m terrified for her. I can’t fake not being terrified. And if I’m this scared how scared must she be? This completely sucks. Let’s be real about it. But let’s not start shopping for black dresses yet. There’s no time for panic or paralysis or wallowing right now because there’s a fight to be fought, and I’m in Anna’s corner.

This week brought some good news about the cancer’s progress, and treatment starts soon. Something about knowing what she’s dealing with and knowing there’s a plan in place makes it less scary and more scary all at once. I have no clue how to “be there” for someone going through this. All I know is if it were me I would want someone to be real with, someone to laugh with, someone to cry with, so I’m trying to be that friend I know I would need. And I’m hugging my boys a little tighter each night and each morning. I’m running a little harder, eating a little better, drinking more water. I set a reminder on my phone for monthly breast exams. I had an oral cancer screening and confirmed my next dermatologist appointment, scheduled my annual exam for later this year. Because if Anna is in this for the long haul, so am I. And we’ve all gotta do the best we can. Even if we’re terrified.

If you want to join Anna’s Army, check out her GoFundMe page. And please, please, please create your own early detection plan for breast cancer.