the mass // the knowing
“You can destroy your now by worrying about tomorrow.”
Late May 2019. I remember when she called me. She texted first, “Is Andy home?” I knew.
The month before I had a reoccurring dream that I called an ex-boyfriend to tell him that my mother had lung cancer. That was before the mass. And B.C. (Before Cancer).
I called her, jumping excitedly into a new fundraising idea for our trip to Uganda, less than 2 months away. She stopped me – “Mandy. I have to tell you something.” Her tone. I knew. I remember where I was standing – in our bathroom, near the window. I glanced at myself in the mirror – I could see the terror on my face. My hands started shaking.
“Mandy, I am going to tell you something and I need you to stay calm. Do you understand? I need you to stay calm.”
I was never calm. With hard things. Or when I’m excited. That’s me - never. calm.
I knew. “Ok, mom. What is it?” (my body was shaking now. I tried to steady my voice) Tears were already welling in my eyes.
“Mandy, they found a mass in my chest.”
I tried to speak but nothing came out. I tried to suck the tears back into my eyes and I tried to stop my teeth from chattering.
“Ok, mom. What does that mean? How big is it? Where is it?” A barrage of questions. My mind needed answers. As if answers would help. As if information would change the fact that there was a mass in my mom’s chest.
“Mandy, I don’t know. I just know there is a mass. And I need you to stay calm. Don’t tell Micah.”
My mind was spinning and it was becoming more difficult to hold in the tears – to keep my voice from shaking. I had moved out of the bathroom – leaning against the wall in the bedroom, the only thing holding me up.
“What do we do, mom? What can I do? Are you Ok?” All useless questions.
“There will be a biopsy. They will test it to see if it’s…. to see what it is.”
I knew.
“I know this sounds strange”, she said. “But I feel like I am going to be Ok. That this is going to be Ok. I feel like the Universe has my back.”
“The Universe does have your back, mom. It’s going to be fine.” I didn’t believe the words that just came out of my mouth. I knew. But I wanted to believe her. So maybe there was a teeny ounce of hope that I could grab onto?
And with that, our mantra “The Universe Has Her Back”, was born. Much like this day - somedays I believed it, somedays I didn’t - but I always said it and prayed for it.
“Ok honey, don’t worry Ok. Just don’t worry about me. And don’t say anything to Micah. I’ll talk to you soon. I love you.”
She said that for the next 11 months - “Don’t worry about me.” As if that was humanly possible. It was in this moment that I would become consumed with worry for the next 11 months.
“I love you, mom.”
It gets blurry here – I know I had a brief moment where I realized my life would never, ever be the same.
I don’t remember falling on the floor. I don’t remember screaming. I don’t know how long I laid there heaving for before Andy came upstairs. I remember him sliding down the wall near where I was laying and picking my head up and putting it in his lap. He rubbed my head and I cried harder.
Finally, in between sobs, I said the words for the first time – “my mom has a mass in her chest. They found a mass.” He tried to say something comforting. I felt a shot of adrenaline, sat up. I reached for my phone and called my aunt, mom’s sister.
“Aunt Mary? This can’t be”, I said through heaving sobs. “This can’t be. Tell me it can’t be.”
Next call – best friend. Calm, best friend that is always… calm. “Katie?” Waves of sobs took my breath away.
“Mand? What’s wrong?”
“Katie, they found a mass in my mom’s chest. My mom has a mass in her chest. Katie. Katie…. I can’t.”
Silence and then “Oh Mand.” And then quiet sobs. My calm friend was crying.
I knew.
When I finally stood up I felt… different. I knew. I knew nothing would ever be the same.