Cancer?! Really?!? Oh, for Pete’s sake!
That’s what Mom probably said to the doctor who gave her the news about the mass they found in her abdomen a week ago. Mom left the Catholic Church decades ago, but she still swears like a good little Catholic girl.
“Fuck you, cancer,” was my response. “Why do you have to come for the nice moms? The ones who are loving to their daughters and staunchly supportive of their transgender granddaughters? The ones everyone’s going to miss?! Cancer, there aren’t enough expletives to convey how much I hate you.”
My mom is still here with us, still doting (when she the energy) on her three grandchildren. But the diagnosis is pretty grim: People who beat this type of cancer become the long-shot, against-the-odds stories you hear from well-meaning friends trying to give you a little hope. Doctors don’t smile or joke during Mom’s appointments, even when she does. When I went to picked up her medications the other day, even the pharmacist told me how sorry she was about my mom.
But we’re not giving up. Mom is going to fight you, cancer. And I’m going to help her.
Friends, if you don’t hear much from me for a while, it’s because my mom needs me right now.
Please hug your dear ones tight, take good care, and remember every day to take very seriously the excellent advice Mom always gave us kids: Be yourself.
(I wrote this post about my mom – gendergrandma – a while back. Isn’t she awesome?!?!)