"I have cancer." Mom said and held me in a tight hug. I could feel her chest shaking as she tried not to cry but failed.
For all of my twenty-four years, my mom had been supportive. Strength and protection had always flowed from her to me. Now I knew it would have to flow the other way.
Mom didn't stay down for long. After the shock of breast-cancer, she armed herself with a notebook and a pen and a thousand questions for the doctors. She took notes on white blood cell counts and medications with long names as though she were studying for entrance exams into medical school. "The not-knowing is the worst." she said.
The operation was successful. The chemo (化疗) was the harder part. I went with Mom to every chemo treatment. She rarely complained, though her hair was gone and her toenails and fingernails fell out one by one. She joked that she could save money on nail polish (指甲油) and put it toward the doctor bills, even though she never wore nail polish. "Cancer can take my hair, my nails, my health, my very life. But it can't take my smile." Mom said.
Mom learned to share her fears with me, and it formed an even deeper bond between us. Yet I am certain there were fears she didn't share because she was still protecting me—worries she only shared with Dad. Even in the darkest hours, she would just joke about the cancer. Mom always said, "When you look your greatest fear in the eye and laugh at it, you take away some of its power."
Mom was one of the lucky ones. She did beat her cancer, though not without scars. From her, I've learned I may not get to choose what I face, but I do get to choose how I face it.
