Philis is a B-word

Today I was on the phone with one of my dear friends from work, who has recently moved on to a different charity.  10 years ago, she was diagnosed with type 2 breast cancer, with 4 lymph nodes involved.  She said the best advice she has for my sweet girl is to fight like hell, and just get through to the other side. And then live your very best life.

She then let me know that she and her family, when discussing really awful things like her breast cancer, would simply say – “It’s not that bad, mom, It’s just the syphilis of cancers.”  Meaning – yes, it is a scary diagnosis with really icky potential ramifications if not treated, and a challenging path to healing, but it is completely curable, and, though a pain in the ass, is unlikely to kill.  Of course, we’d all wish for a 2-week course of penicillin rather than a year-long chemo schedule, but we’ll take what we get.

So, family, since Dea approves, we can call that damned cancer Philis!    I feel better having this cancer have a name.  I want to have a name to direct my anger toward, whilst avoiding its sweet hostess.  I want to send all of my eradicating super-powers toward Philis, not toward Dea.  All of my happy and healing and strength and courage thoughts go to Dea, Philis is off the Christmas card list. Forever. 

It’s difficult, fighting this overwhelming mom feeling, of wanting to fly to Utah immediately, swaddle Dea in cozy jammies, warm blankies and ply her with healing beverages, and holding her hand through the whole unpleasant thing.  But it’s not my place.  She is a strong, brave woman, and this is her fight to fight. It is her strength to gain.  And I’m only 24 hours away the very second she needs back-up to help strengthen that backbone.  Probably faster than that. And raring to go! Damn…parenting is not for wimps!  But I couldn’t be prouder either.  We’ll get through this, Philis be damned!