Line upon Line

Most of us contemplate, at one time or another, what we would do differently if we knew we had only a few more months or, perhaps, a year or two, at most, to live. When we think of such a scenario with our children in mind, we usually think, more than anything, of spending time with them.

I can tell you from my own experience, that when faced with the very real possibility of a much shorter-than-expected mortality, being with my children and my husband is almost the only place I want to be. They are my greatest blessings. I have long known this, but I know it now more than ever before.

As I write this, I am only a few weeks out from surgery for ovarian cancer. Doctors had been very confident that I didn’t have cancer despite my complaints of growing pelvic discomfort and frequent trips to the bathroom. Their confidence was based on my age (42 years young), my maternal history of five pregnancies and five breastfed babies, my family history and my overall health history. Even so, they said it was possible that I could have cancer, based on my complaints and an ultrasound and MRI that showed a suspicious looking mass growing in/around my right ovary – a mass that appeared to be the size of a large grapefruit.

As we navigated the diagnostic maze in the weeks leading up to surgery, I continued to fulfill many of my responsibilities at home and away, including my responsibilities as the Relief Society president in my ward and as a newly published LDS book author, but as hard as I worked to fulfill those responsibilities, my heart overwhelmingly yearned to spend almost every waking moment with my husband and children.

When I woke from the surgery, my mother and husband, leaning over my bed, love and concern written all over their faces, shared the news I hadn’t wanted to hear, the news that, yes, despite what doctors had believed, it turned out that I did have ovarian cancer. In fact, the malignant tumor was the size of a cantaloupe. No healthy tissue was left on my right ovary at all.

Doctors informed us that I didn’t have one of the more common forms of ovarian cancer and that it would likely take a week or so to determine exactly what kind of cancer I had and what my prognosis would be (i.e., whether it had spread into the lymph nodes and other organs, which was a very real possibility given the nature of ovarian cancer).

As I look back, the four days I spent in the hospital were mostly a fog. Dear friends came and went and, even now, I’m not sure what I said during their visits because I was so weak and overwhelmed with fatigue at the time. Even so, their visits made a powerful difference in my recovery and in helping me to keep my chin up when my prognosis was so uncertain.

What I remember most fondly about my hospital stay was the constant love and vigilant care of my mother and husband and the visits from my precious children. In particular, I remember the day after my surgery, when my husband drove our five children to the hospital to see me. I felt such a sense of joy and, yes, relief when all five of my kids poured into my room, from my four-year-old to my seventeen-year-old. They were each smiling but somehow timid given our completely unfamiliar circumstances.

I was so glad to see them and I know they were glad to see me but things felt very different from our usual time together. Uncharacteristically, we engaged in small talk – “Mom, how are you feeling?” “Oh, I’m feeling pretty good, I think,” and so on – until my littlest guy broke through the discomfort by crawling up into my bed and tucking himself into my side. As I turned to face him, I wrapped my left arm around him and snuggled him as close as I could without causing myself too much pain.

It felt so good to be in mother-mode, to be the one dispensing love and comfort as my son, in turn, shared his sweet love and comfort with me. He stayed by my side for just a few minutes, patting my arm and talking to me, but it was long enough for us to reconnect and reassure each other in our roles as mother and child.

After my son crawled out of the bed to get a snack from Grandma’s specially-prepared snack basket, my 8-year-old daughter crawled in, seeking and sharing comfort too. And, then, in turn, my 13-year-old daughter, my 11-year-old daughter and finally my 17-year-old daughter each crawled in, wanting to share the comfort that was such a familiar part of our relationship. What a blessing that evening was during a difficult time, just being together and connecting as mother and children despite our uncertain future.

A week after the surgery, my husband and I made the drive to the University Medical Center to learn what my prognosis would be. As we drove the roads and freeways toward the medical center, I kept my hands in my lap, one hand squeezing and worrying the other as I looked out the window and my husband drove. My husband and I talked of our faith that all would be well, but we also resolved to be strong if it were not.

When my oncologist walked into the exam room, I felt the impulse to leap off the table to exclaim, “Tell me. Tell me what my prognosis is going to be. I can’t take not knowing one moment longer.” Even so, I waited as he asked how I was feeling and examined my incision and abdomen. Then thankfully and miraculously, he delivered the news that the cancer had been contained, that it had not spread to any other organs and that there was not any sign of cancer in the lymph nodes.

Knowing the typical prognosis of a woman who has an ovarian cancer tumor as large as mine, I could not help but weep with joy at the doctor’s pronouncement that I was, in effect, cancer free.

What a blessing it was to learn that day that I stand a good chance of raising my children to adulthood – a blessing that I have, at times, taken for granted and may, if I’m not careful, take for granted again. So, this Thanksgiving, as a gift to my children and myself, I want to create a blessings journal that focuses specifically on the blessings that are mine because I am a mother.

I will make a good start on my journal this week, but I will make a point of adding to it each Sunday and at other times when I feel moved to do so. I will keep it on my bedside table so on those days when I lose perspective and take my children for granted or find myself feeling particularly blue or overwhelmed, I can pull it out and be reminded of just how much the Lord has blessed me by giving me the opportunity to be a mom.

A Few of the Blessings I Enjoy Because I’m a Mom