Early Stages

I was 14 when my mother called me from work and choking back tears, told me that she had been laid off from her research nurse job at the prestigious hospital downtown. I was only months away from starting at the fancy private high school she had wanted so badly for me to attend. She told me not to worry; she’d find a new job and take care of me.

I was 14 and frustrated at my new school. I had to leave all my middle school friends and was not adjusting well to the new community. I was mad at my mom, who had to drop me off an hour early and pick me up late almost evey day. She hadn’t found a new research job at the big hospital downtown, and had to pick up shift work at the local hospital. Dropping me off and picking me up were the most time we were really able to spend together. I told her how much I hated the long days.

I was 15 when my mother started going in for medical tests. When she switched to the local hospital, she had been required to get a full medical exam and the doctor had decided that day to also order a chest scan; this was not standard practice. They saw a small dot in her right lung and started investigating what it was. She told me not to worry; she’d get it figured out and be alright in no time.

I was 15 and scared out of my mind in the hospital waiting room. I sat in my school uniform, because mom had insisted I not miss classes so close to exams. It was just supposed to be exploratory surgery to figure out what that spot was on her lung. It turned out to be early stage cancer, and they had to remove a third of the lung to be sure that they got it all. Afterwads, She held my hand in her recovery room and told me not to worry; she’d be out of there soon and everything would be okay. She squeezed my hand and said, “Isn’t it a good thing I lost my job? We’d have never caught it in time otherwise.”