Viva Las Vengeance

Stronger Than My Storm

It's supposed to be a happy time, a celebration to kick off the holidays. The tree, a majestic spruce, dominates our cosy living room, its branches reaching eagerly towards the sky. Brendon has christmas music playing, a mug of eggnog in one hand, and a plate of cookies in the other. The girls, also caught up in the festive cheer, are carefully unwrapping decorations, each one holding treasured memories of past Christmases. Stepping back to admire the scene, my heart warm with love and joy, my phone rings, an unwelcome  interruption. However, recognising my doctor's number, a cold shiver runs down my spine as I answer, a sense of foreboding washing over me.

"Hello, Dr. Lee," I say my voice steady, though my heart is sinking. I know this call could be life-altering. "I presume you're calling about my biopsy results." Seeking ptivacy I step outside the room needing to focus on the conversation. "Hello Carlyn, yes, I wanted to share the results with you as soon as possible," she begins. "I'm sorry to say that we did, in fact, find traces of secodary cancer on your uterus. I know it's a lot to take in, especially at this time of year."
I close my eyes, my worst fears realized. Dr. Lee's voice trailes on, but I have momentarily transported to a different place, a dark and foreboding one, my mind clouded with worry.

I think of Brendon, his infectious smile and lively spirit, and how this news will impact him. We have been through challenging times before-he has been my rock during my battle with breast cancer, and now, here we were again, facing another health crisis. Dr. Lee's voice pulls me back to the present. "However, Carlyn, I want you to know that we got it all out. The margins are clear, and the emergency cesarean, though unexpected, may have just saved your life. We wouldn't have known about the cancer spreading to your uterus until it was probably too late." Relief washes over me. In the midst of the scary news, there is some good news.

Taking a moment to process the information, my hand clutching my phone tightly.
"I understand. I'm so grateful that you caught it and that the margins are clear. What happens now?"
"We'll keep a close eye on you, Carlyn," she continues. "You still need time to recover from the cesarean and hysterectomy. I know you are scheduled for a mastectomy and reconstruction in February. Once that has been completed, we will start you on a preventative course of chemo, and we'll schedule regular check-ups and scans to ensure the cancer is kept at bay. It's a good sign that we caught it early and that we were able to remove it all. This is good news." I nod even though she can't see me.
"That's it, nothing until February?" I ask in astonishment.
"Yes. For now, Carlyn, enjoy the festive season with your family and enjoy your. newborn son."
"Thank you, Dr. Lee, I appreciate your honesty and all that you've done for us."
"Merry Christmas, Carlyn. I'll speak to you soon."
"Merry Christmas, Dr. Lee."

Ending the call, I stand quietly for a moment, the weight of the news settling on my shoulders. Then, taking a steadying breath, I make my way back to my family, a little smile on my face. Brendon, ever perceptive, notices the change in me instantly. His playful demeanour transforms into one of concern. "Carly, talk to me. I know that look. What's going on?" I bite my lip, unsure how to break the news. The happy atmosphere we have created, the laughter and joy of our children filling the air is suddenly too much, and I break down in tears.

He pulls me into an embrace, his strong arms a source of comfort. "You can tell me anything, you know that," he whispers. Taking a shaky breath, I explained the situation, the cancer, the results, and the reassuring fact that the margins were all clear. As I speak, his arms tighten around me, a silent show of support.
"That's fantastic news, babe," he replies, wiping a stray tear from his cheek. "For a minute there, I thought you had gotten bad news. I swear my heart literally stopped ..."
"Sorry, I was having difficulty processing. I honestly thought it had spread right through me. I thought this was going to be my last Christmas with you all." I choke.
"I never, ever thought that, babe. You are so strong and have come through so much. There's now light at the end of this fuckn cancer tunnel."
His words bring tears to my eyes, a mix of relief and gratitude. Brendon holds me at arm's length, his chocolate brown eyes searching mine. "We'll have an amazing holiday," he asserts. "We'll make memories and savour every moment of Taylors first Christmas." His determination was infectious, and I find myself smiling through my tears.
"Now," he continues, his voice taking on a lighter tone, "let's get back to this tree. We've got a job to do, making this place look festive. And we're going to have some fun doing it!" Rejoining our children, I feel as though a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. Brendon's unwavering support and positivity are like a beacon of hope. Together, we hang baubles, tinsel, and strung popcorn, the girls' laughter filling the air. Once the tree is decorated and our stockings hung by the fireplace, Brendon, who has Taylor in his arms, turns to the girls.