So last week my Grammy, who I absolutely adore (read here), was diagnosed with colon cancer. Although we all stayed outwardly positive and strong, the thought of battling more cancer seemed utterly unbearable. I've stayed quiet about this, not telling many people (although in a moment of weakness I confessed to my Twitter lovelies. PS - thank you for your constant love and support, friends. *MUAH*). I kept mum because I wasn't sure how to process this information. I mean, with Sara Cate's diagnosis in September we had such a great outpouring of love, prayers and kindness. Not that I thought my Grammy didn't deserve it too, but I almost felt greedy asking for more emotional support from those around me. In addition, I was angry. Angry and sad. Bad combination. I could feel that veil of depression ready to pull me into a numb cocoon.
The emotional side of me was ready to explode while the rational side recited in my head, "We don't know enough information yet. Let the tests come back. Stay strong for those around you." Which is exactly what kept me going for the past week and a half.
Yesterday, Grammy had scans and tests done and met with a surgeon. Hubs and I met my Mom, Aunt and Gram for Chinese food once all the poking and prodding was complete. There was no mention of the dreaded C word, nothing out of the norm, although it was constantly on our minds. We wouldn't know the results of everything until this morning.
Driving home last night, I broke down a little. I pleaded to God. Please don't take her yet. I need her still. She needs to hold my babies.
I must have checked my phone 8 million times this morning before my mom text me with the news. Which, is GOOD news. Thanks be to God! The cancer has not spread. A tough surgery is ahead to remove the existing tumor, but after that? She has her life ahead of her. A long, healthy life. Did I mention my Great-Grandma lived to be 95?
And that is when the flood gates opened. All the anger, sadness, rage, tears came out in a snotty, wet, can't-catch-your-breath kind of mess. In the middle of my workplace. But after everything, I just didn't care. This was the rainbow after the storm. God has a plan.
God has a plan and Gram still has her spark. When the doctor tried to schedule her surgery for early next week, she responsed, "Nope, no way. I'm having Christmas Eve dinner for the family and will not miss it." (She'll need to be in the hospital for 4 or 5 days recovering after the surgery, which would cut into Christmas Eve and Christmas.) "This tumor has been here for so long (they think about 8 years) it can wait a few more days."