Changing seasons

There's no doubt about it. Fall is already in the air in Pennsylvania. As much as I don't mind fall weather (I actually find it quite refreshing), what I do mind is how short fall is here. In Pennsylvania, which has been home to me since 2008, the seasons that I love are short, and the ones I hate are long. Spring is about two weeks. Now when I talk about spring I am thinking of sunny days in the 70s, birds chirping, flowers blooming. The beginning of spring is clearly marked by those first few days of flip-flop weather, or when just a light cardigan will do. Then it's summer all of a sudden. It's 80 degrees and your flowers are all dried up. Yes, the flowers you just bought two weeks ago. Summer, the real summer, which I classify as so hot you can't breathe, is really only two months or so. When I think of summer I think of lazy days at the pool followed by thunder storms and ice cream sundaes in styrofoam bowls. Summer comes up fast, and then it's over. Then it's fall. Fall is about two weeks. The real fall. Fall is that crisp breeze that actually feels good, apple cider, cinnamon candles and trips to the farmer's markets for pumpkins. When thick socks don't feel bulky anymore and sounds on the TV of football games travel through the house. And then there's winter. Long, long winter, which starts sometime in October and lasts through March or, in some cases, April. Endless nights of darkness, days of bitter wind. Long mornings digging my car out of the snow. Breaking two or three ice scrapers. Fingers numb. Boots and socks always wet. Can you tell I hate winter? Yes, snow is pretty. But only for like a day. Sure, winter means it's my birthday and Hanukkah, two of my favorite holidays, but it also means constant effort to stay warm, waking up when it's still dark outside, and always, always worrying about getting to work and back.
So while I don't mind fall starting, it does mean that winter is not too far behind, and that, I mind.
I enjoy each change in season because it's new and refreshing, and marks life moving on and new and exciting things. It also means some things - like holidays and birthdays - come around again. Familiar events I find comfort in because they are consistent year after year. And then there are events that only happen once. They each have their very own year. Like weddings, or babies being born, or moving to a new place. I don't usually classify years of my life by big things that happen, but I know as soon as 2011 is over I will remember it mostly as the year I got engaged, but also the year I got breast cancer. And 2012 ... well that will be the year I get married!
2008 was when I graduated college and moved to Lewistown.
1997 I got Leukemia.
Those are the years that stick out in my mind the most, because they were monumental.
Although since my breast cancer diagnosis in April I have felt like I'm a constant whirpool with no way out and no clear path ahead, knowing that fall is on the way is an actual reminder, and sign, that life IS moving forward.
Yes, I've felt at a standstill. I know progress has been made in my treatment. I've had two surgeries now, and we know more about my case than we did three months ago. But the truth is, we're still waiting. We may be waiting for something different than we were in May, but we're still waiting. Any day now I should know the pathology results of this recent surgery, which means any day now this "path" could take a completely different direction.
Waiting is the worst because you imagine different scenarios playing out in your head over and over again, as hard as you try not to. Something that's weird to admit is that even though on the day of my diagnosis I was distraught, confused, shocked, angry and terrified, there was 0.1 percent of me that felt a bit of relief. Why? Because I had been WAITING 17 days to find out if the lump I had found was cancerous. True, the news was bad. But it was news and it was something to work with. From the day I found the lump until the day the doctor called me at 8:30 a.m. on the Monday following my fine needle aspiration, I was constantly picturing in my mind different ways the situation could play out: The doctor calling me and telling me the lump was just a cyst and to follow up in 6 months and me saying "Thank G-d!" and jumping up and down in relief, to the doctor telling me it was cancer. When I tried to imagine the latter scenario I couldn't imagine what I would say or do. I always cut off my thoughts before I got to my reaction. Because I couldn't picture it. I couldn't fathom it. I told myself that latter scenario didn't make any sense, but I knew it was a possibility because of the mere reality that the lump could either be something or nothing. I just couldn't, for the life of me, imagine it being something.
17 days is a long, long time to wait to see if your life is going to dramatically change, or if it will continue on the path you believe it should.
I remember that day (April 18) very clearly, though when I try to remember my reaction things seem muddled.
I don't remember much of what the doctor said that day, but the words I do remember are: "Do you have a few moments?" when I first answered the phone, and then "there were some cancer cells there" referring to the needle aspiration. The conversation was probably 15 minutes, but that's all I remember. Those two sentences.
My heart was pounding when I first picked up the phone because it was 8:30 in the morning, and I knew doctors didn't call that early for good news. My mouth was dry, and as soon as those words "cancer cells" came out, I felt like my head had lifted above my body; that it wasn't attached anymore.
The doctor was kind and sweet and patient. And I had many follow-up calls that day from other doctors to make sure I had everything I needed in terms of support, and that I knew what was to come next.
Sean was there when I got the news. He sat with me and I just cried and kept saying, over and over again "I don't know what I'm supposed to do."
I literally felt paralyzed, like the world had stopped short and I was on the edge of a cliff and had to make a move.
The first people I called were my mom and my brother and telling them was surreal, because I knew as as surreal as it all seemed to me, it was more surreal to them.
There's no way to tell the people you love most, and who love you most, you have cancer ... again. You just have to come out and say it. My mom and my brother saw me fight Leukemia for three years, and now I was telling them I had to do it all again, in a different way.
Later that day we walked in the park by his parents' house, where we were for the first night of Passover. It was a beautiful day out: sunny and warm, yet I was freezing and wearing a coat. The sky was clear and the air was crisp. We saw people pass us, either jogging or walking, on the path, and I looked at them and wondered if they had ever dealt with something as scary as I was dealing with that very day.
It was like the day I found out I had Leukemia. I don't remember much of that day either, and I don't actually remember the doctor saying the word "cancer" or "Leukemia," but I do remember sitting in the doctor's office looking down at the highway outside the window, where rows and rows of cars were whizzing by. I wanted to be in all those cars down there instead of where I was. I wanted to be where the "healthy" people were. I imagined them driving home from school or work, like they do every day, not touched by this terrible disease, which I just found out I had.
I believe it was G-d's plan to have Sean in my life during this chapter in my life, and for all the other, and numerous, chapters to come. On that April day, I knew instantly he would take care of me and make sure I got the treatment I needed. I never had to worry about that. I knew he was my cushion to lean on for support and comfort. Since that day he has never left my side. I can't imagine my life now (or even before my breast cancer) without him. He literally is my soul mate. There is no one else on this planet I feel so connected to, so destined to be with. He literally is G-d's plan for me.
I may have veered off course a little since I started this post talking about the change in seasons and then I got into the day of my diagnosis. But, I guarantee this post will come full circle, since I know exactly where I'm taking it.
I'm unsure about a lot of things. I don't know what these results will be, if I'll need radiation or not. I don't know if I'll get breast cancer again, or another cancer. And I'm scared about a lot of things, too. I'm scared for the people I love, and want nothing other than for them to be protected.
Out of all this uncertainty, one thing is certain, though, and that's that seasons will always come and go, despite life events. The world keeps turning whether or not the people living in it are ready. Today, as I write this, changing seasons is a good thing. It means that despite everything that's going on, life does move on. Of course none of us know what each season, or year, will bring. But we do know that each season, and year, will come and go, and during this time we'll all grow. Sure, time brings new things, whether it be pain or joy, but it also brings healing. Things do heal with time. Hearts heal, scars fade. That doesn't mean that we don't get hurt, or cut again. It just means we can find comfort knowing that whatever pain, or sadness, or anxiety, we're feeling at this very moment is not eternal.