With a career in Information Systems, I am often geeking out over statistics (I know what you’re thinking… and you’re right, it’s pretty sexy) and I’m even the president of our fictional statistics club at Lucasfilm. I have definitely learned that my love of Fantasy Football stems more from the charts and graphs than the actual games. I find comfort and intrigue in the ability to predict trends with patterns of numbers. But just because statistically speaking, I am slated to win my fantasy game, it doesn’t always pan out that way. That’s why they play the games.
Yesterday I had my annual mammogram – just once a year like every other woman does (or should do). But I have mine in the cancer unit where mammogram rooms sit next to ultrasound rooms and biopsy rooms. We stay in our gowns until a doctor reviews the results – because often they want more pictures. Sometimes they might even take you into one of the other rooms. Then I head over to the other side of the hallway to see my oncologist. This time while in the waiting room, I sat across from a young woman with almost an inch of hair. She was filling out paperwork and I recognized the way her husband had his arm around her shoulder. He held her a little bit more firmly, a little bit closer than was comfortable for the waiting room chairs. And with an inch of hair already grown in, I was particularly hopeful that the grip he had on her was simply proud support and not more bad news. Almost 10 years ago I sat where she sat. I looked around at women like I am now with miles and miles of hair and wondered what the heck they were doing in the CANCER waiting room. I longed to be sitting where they were sitting. Together, Rob and I made decisions on treatments that felt like they were killing me, based on tiny percentages of increase in “survival rates”. Looking at the “5 year survival rates” seemed like a long term goal at the time – 10 years was hard to even fathom, the numbers kept decreasing. Statistically speaking I shouldn’t have gotten cancer – I was too young, I had no family history. What did the statistics say about survival rates for those cases? We studied statistics because they were all we had – but I’m so grateful that some of the decisions we made were based on a decision to live, rather than just survive.
Then almost exactly 5 years ago to this day, I sat in a doctors office across the street. The fertility doctor who specialized in cancer patients sat me down next to my husband and told me that there was a less than three percent chance that I would ever have a baby. As we made our holiday rounds, I plastered on the best smile I could muster, while inside it felt like cancer had won. The statistics were in and one way or another, I wouldn’t live to see my dreams come true.
If you’re reading this, you know how the story played out. And from where I sit now, it’s tempting to look at each event of my past packed into one lovely path leading to where I am today. If I could have known that one day I would be Brendan’s Mom, I would have skipped my way through those years – but it’s almost impossible to be optimistic when you can’t see your way out of the trench. There is no way to imagine happiness, it’s enough just to get through one more moment, one more day… I lost track of who I was for a full year following the news that I wouldn’t be a mother. The truth was that I had plenty of blessings, but I couldn’t see them because the light in my heart was gone. If I could go back and talk to that Lori, I know I wouldn’t be able to convince her of anything – but I would whisper in her ear as often as I could: Just Keep Going. In other words, Don’t Believe the Statistics. Or in other words, Have Faith.
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Life comes in seasons. Everyone receives good news and bad news – and no matter who you are or where you are in your life, there is always a best thing and a worst thing. Those sentences sound like platitudes spoken by a girl who is home making Christmas cookies… and today, it’s true, I am able to feel all the gratitude of exactly where I am at this moment. Which is why yesterday we celebrated the passing of my annual oncology appointment with all you can eat pizza, because statistically speaking, it’s always a good time.
And it was.
Beautifully said. Having known you since you were born, I feel like one of your Moms and I am very proud and thankful that your journey has brought you to this point in your life. Love you. Sandy