The weekend of the Fourth of July, I noticed something seemed off with my parents. We still had a great time together, but I could tell something wasn’t quite right.
On Monday, July 6, my mom texted and asked if she could bring me Starbucks. This was a delightful surprise, but again, something felt off. We sat together on a bench outside my office, and I immediately asked, “Did someone die?”
She started getting emotional and told me she couldn’t watch Frankie the next day. In a wave of emotions, I said, “Well, that’s okay—but what’s wrong?”
That was when she told me she had found a lump in her breast and had emergency appointments scheduled for imaging and testing. My coworkers were amazing, and I took the next day off so I could go with her.
Fast-forward through several appointments to July 22. We started the day with a pre-appointment glass of wine, with my grandma and auntie there for support. We arrived at the doctor’s office and were placed in what felt like the hottest exam room ever—or maybe that was the wine. Using Frankie’s little baby fan, we sat there sweating it out until the doctor came in and gave us the worst news.
We ended the appointment with a prayer. On the car ride home, I completely fell apart while talking to my husband. I kept saying, “She’s my best friend. She’s Frankie’s Grammy.”
That night was all about family. My brother Michael came over, and we coped with some wine and a glass of really gross whiskey—or maybe bourbon. I poured the wrong alcohol, so whatever it was, it was disgusting. But it gave us the little bit of courage we needed to begin calling close friends and family to share the news.
Since then, we have met with multiple doctors, including the surgeon and oncologist at UCSF—Team UCSF! We made a few jokes, discussed where to find a good happy hour, and connected with the surgical team.
When we met with the oncologist, the room was packed with loved ones: my mom, my dad, me, Frankie, and our special guest, my cousin Tiffany—the amazing note-taker.
The doctor reviewed the initial information and explained that the plan would be chemotherapy before surgery.
Chemo. Such a scary word.
Through all the appointments, testing, and information, I had somehow managed to keep my shit together—until my mom tearfully asked the doctor whether she would still be able to be around her grandbabies. The entire room broke down, including the doctor.
Thankfully, the answer was yes, but with some very strict precautions.
My mom is the glue that holds our family together, and her grandbabies love their Grammy so much—especially Kyler! Knowing she can still be part of their lives means everything to all of us.
The next appointments will focus on her overall health and nutrition, post-surgery reconstruction options, and the procedure to place her chemotherapy port. Right now, we are waiting to see whether we can find an oncologist closer to home so she won’t have to travel to San Francisco throughout her year-long treatment. Either way, we will make it work.
My mom is not only my best friend and Frankie’s Grammy—she is also the person who helps me every day, including watching Frankie. Other family members are now stepping up to help us during this time, which we appreciate more than words can express.
I know how hard it is for my mom not to be as involved in her grandbabies’ daily lives. But right now, our focus is keeping her healthy and helping her get through chemotherapy.
My parents are celebrating 40 years of marriage and will soon leave for a well-deserved anniversary vacation. When they return, we will hopefully have all the doctors and details figured out, and we will officially be in full chemo mode.
My mom is my hero and my best friend. I have no doubt that she is going to kick cancer’s ass.
Cancer, you messed with the wrong family. We have an incredible team of people surrounding us, and we are ready to fight.
F*%$ cancer. Sorry for cussing, Grandma.
I love you more than words can express, Mom. You’ve got this!!
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