Learning to Let Go

When I was a little girl, one of our neighbors watched me while my parents worked, and I loved being at their house. They became like surrogate grandparents to me, and one of my favorite photos from our wedding is the one the photographer snapped of me with them. I remember one time, and I have no idea how old I was, one of my parents came to pick me up at the end of the day, and for some reason I didn't want to leave. I don't know why I acted like that, but I remember gripping the door to our car as either my mom or dad tried to put me in, and screaming and refusing to go. I was thinking about that event today, and thinking that the reason that I have such a clear and distinct memory of that time is that I have always harbored embarrassment for behaving so badly. I know now, as a mother myself, that sometimes kids just act out for no good reason, without understanding how their actions could be interpreted, and that rationally there is no reason to still feel badly for that one little moment in my childhood (Lord knows I did far worse things that I don't even feel the slightest tinge of guilt about!). But thinking about it today, I realized that is how I've felt for the majority of the past month. I have been going through the motions of daily life, trying to keep up with everything I have going on, and all the time in the back of my mind I have been screaming, "I don't want to go!".

But I have to go. I don't have a choice. I want to live, and so I have to go on Monday morning bright and early and allow the doctors to operate on me, to remove the cancer from my body. And I decided today that I can continue to feel like a cat refusing to go to the vet, with all four limbs braced against the door jam in refusal and risk the potential of looking back on this time with the same feeling of shame I regard that little moment from my childhood, or I can go willingly. I can accept that the only thing about this whole damn situation that I have any control over is how I handle it, and walk into the hospital in complete possession of my sense of self.

The t-shirts in the photo above were a request from Casey. When I went into the hospital to have Riley, I made them these shirts, and so when we sat down and talked to Casey about my cancer, his one question was if they could have shirts again like the last time I went to the hospital. So I thought "Why not?", and I made these for them. It makes me smile to think of the three of them wearing them on Monday, rooting me on in their own little way. My kids are my heroes. They are my inspiration. Casey was born 6 weeks early and was so tiny, and the morning after he was born the pediatrician came to examine him. He stuck his head in my hospital room and boomed, "Mrs. Alderman, that boy is tough as nails. He's going to be just fine." At less than a day old and less than 4 pounds, he was already giving the nurses in the NICU hell by pulling out his tubes and being generally stubborn. My other two babies entered this world just as obstinately, and all three have proven to have strong personalities. I figure if I can create such willful beings, then I must have that same strength and will inside me. I know I share the responsibility of their DNA with Rob, but looking at them, at their determination, I know that some of that came from me, and it is something we share. And so when I feel small and weak, I think of my little babies, and I feel strong. They are my heroes.

I re-read Lance Armstrong's book this week, and he talks in it about how those of us with cancer, how we are the lucky ones. I don't know that I fully understand that yet, but I think a sense of it has been revealed to me in the last month. An entire community of angels comprised of my family, friends, and acquaintances has surrounded me and showered me with love. I have received so many calls, cards, emails, and gifts that I am almost embarrassed by the attention. I carry all of the cards around with me in a folder so that I have a piece all of my angels with me all the time. And I think I have already been able to give something back - I have heard from so many people that as a result of my diagnosis they made doctor appointments and vows to take better care of themselves. I have to believe there is a reason for all that is happening to me, and little by little it is being revealed to me. I went to YouTube and pulled out this old Nike commercial, and it gives me so much hope. Just one year after his diagnosis he was back on the bike, winning races.



So Monday morning, bright and early, I will walk into Indiana University hospital (the same hospital where Lance was treated!) and I will kick some cancer ass. I will not be chanting "I don't want to go!". I will be thinking of all of my angels and I will put myself in God's hands, and in the hands of highly gifted doctors, and I will beat this thing. That same little girl who gripped the door of the car so tight and refused to leave still lives in me, and I will take her determination and add it to all the love I have gathered, and I will go. And then I'll keep going. After all, I have three heroes to raise.