Baubles

My name is Emma and I have stage 2 breast cancer. It isn't my first battle with this disease. I was diagnosed with it five years ago and beat it. I'm determined to beat it again. But at the moment I'm miserably sick from the chemo and, really, just want to be left alone.

It's two days before Christmas. My husband, Chris, and I decorated the apartment weeks ago during one of my darker days and in as far as apartments at Christmas go I must say it is resplendent with the joy of the season. Even in my current condition I can appreciate that. It is a welcome reminder that I have good days as well as not so good ones.

I met Chris five years ago during my first bout with breast cancer. He had been one of the nurses who took care of me during my treatments and I had fallen head over heels. I think it took him a little longer though he swears I had him at first sight. From the first we were the best of friends even if in many ways we are polar opposites. That is the glue that holds us together, our uniqueness. We complement one another. He is gregarious and outgoing while I am more introverted and sometimes not very nice. But he loves me anyway.

I am a writer by trade. I write anything and everything. It's like a fire that constantly burns, sometimes as an ember and others like a conflagration. I think I've always written. Ironically, the first complements I received were for a report on birds I had written in third grade. Well, copied and handwritten directly from an article in a child's encyclopedia. The shame never left me but it did stir me to actually compose and write my own stuff and from there a career was born. I've seldom looked back.

I don't know what I would have done without my husband. When we first met I was a basket case filled with fear and fury and I'm afraid my demeanor was far from complimentary. It was no wonder that I had driven my friends and most of my family to the periphery of my existence. I had made myself alone and that only added to my angst. But Chris had somehow understood. Perhaps as an oncology nurse he had seen it all and knew exactly how best to approach me. Or maybe that's just the way he is. At times sympathetic and at others a drill sergeant he was ruthless in his cheerfulness. I'd hated him and adored him in turns.

We were married a few months after my “cancer free” diagnosis. I had always dreamed of a simple, family and a few friends kind of ceremony but he had been insistent on a big lavish affair. He wanted to celebrate our nuptials and my new lease on life and I had grudgingly given in. As always, he had been exactly right. The joy that had gone into the planning and execution had been a godsend to my battered soul. I couldn't have loved him more than the day I walked down the aisle in a mermaid-style, off the shoulder gown, a petite fascinator covering my short hair, and a bouquet of orchids in my hands. On the surface it had been no where near the reality of my girlhood dreams but on the inside it had all been the epitome of them.

Over the years we had discussed and debated having a family of our own. He wanted kids, and I did as well, but the fear lingered that the increase in hormones would bring the cancer back. I was terrified! Then I learned that I wasn't able to conceive anyway so adoption became our focus, but even that had proven impossible. No agency wanted to risk placing a child of any age with a woman who had already had one bout of cancer. It was devastating but we plugged on.

Then this new diagnosis came. Two months after receiving an all clear from my mammogram I'd found a lump and knew. I just knew. At my insistence they had removed the offending breast and most of the accompanying lymph nodes, and shortly thereafter my other breast as well. It hadn't been an easy decision. As a woman those breasts had been a key part of my identity. But as a human being I wanted only to live and my loyal and loving husband remained with me every step of the way.

Shortly after decorating the apartment he had surprised me with a large, festive box with a huge bow on top, telling me I had to open it now. When he placed it in my arms I'd felt it move, then it had whimpered. When I lifted the lid out had popped a tiny little, flat faced head with huge glistening eyes, luxuriant pendulous ears, and a wiggling body. Stunned, I had lifted the puppy out of the box, and been baptized with puppy breath and sloppy kisses, and I had began to cry.

I named her Baubles and she has became the family Chris and I had hoped to have. I later learned that she is an English Toy Spaniel and that her lustrous tri color coat is categorized as being of the “Prince Charles” variety. Typically, Chris had chosen her from a litter of puppies rescued from a rancid puppy mill and though she does have a few health issues she is nonetheless free of any temperament disorders. She is, quite simply, a sheer joy and next to Chris, my boon companion.

In the weeks since I have had some difficult days. My incisions have healed well but the effects of the chemo, and now the radiation, have taken their toll. It's been hard to remain optimistic. This fight is proving to be much harder than the first. Once again I'm filled with fear and fury, but now they are tempered by the unconditional and unflagging love of my husband and my Baubles. They give me hope and fuel my determination to overcome this latest assault. I've done it before and I've no doubt, with them at my side, or as in the present case, snoring softly in my lap, I'll do it again.