Earlier in the day on March 20, 2015 I received a call from Cheyenne's endocrinologist, Dr. Athanassaki, and she had confirmed that this beautiful young woman had papillary thyroid cancer at the tender age of seventeen. We were lucky that we found it, period. Cheyenne had been injured in a softball game a couple weeks prior while sliding back into second base. She hyper extended her neck, which led to an ER visit and inadvertently showed a nodule on her thyroid. This Discovery would change our lives forever. I had been hoping for a diversion for the evening, something that would take time and thought so I could put off the inevitable - telling my child she positively had cancer.
Usually, on a Friday night, we would be going to a high school softball game to watch Chey tear it up but it was Spring Break - my dumb luck! I went home and had nothing else to do but spill it all. I told Chey and her father everything Dr. A had said. I really thought that Cheyenne would crack. To be honest, I was scared to death that this would finally be the thing that would push her, completely and forever, over the edge.
Instead she sat there for a minute and simply said, "I told you."
And with that, she stood up and excused herself to take a shower but first she turned and asked, "What's for supper?"
I was flabbergasted, flat out. She was far stronger than anyone I had ever known. Again, thanks Dublin ISD, you gave her that metal jacket! The rest of the weekend was pretty uneventful, we tried to have the house and our belongings ready in case we would be traveling soon. Monday came and went, and Tuesday we were finally back on a softball field. The season had been plagued with an enormous amount of rain, so the home game against Breckenridge was swapped and we traveled. The girls had been on a horrible streak and had been outscored 63-4 since the beginning of the month. We felt terrible for them and Chey felt guilty for not being on the field contributing.
That night Chey played with complete abandon and the team was as one. They ended up losing 11-10 but they played one heck of a game! Chey was very emotional, so much so that after the game she told us how after reaching second on a double the tears just started to flow.
"The umpire and the players were asking if I was okay. I told them yes, just get away," She let on as it had finally hit her.
The realization that this could very well be her last time on a field and how much she would miss this game had just hit her like a ton of bricks. (Thank goodness I didn't know that at the time or I would have totally lost it.) As it played out, she would get one more game in the following Friday.
It blew my mind though, that not many of the parents even asked about Chey's diagnosis. I can't imagine not asking what I could do for another family in the same situation, so I try and believe that maybe, just maybe they didn't know what to say. It bothered me then, and it bothers me now - Lord knows I'm still working on that one too! People that we had known since kindergarten didn't seem concerned about a child, yet her employer of less than a year was organizing a fundraiser to support her. How messed up is that? But even with all of that, what bothered me more than anything was wondering about how Chey dealt with it. If it bothered me, how did she, a seventeen year old girl, go through every day acting like it was normal for people to behave in that manner? As a nurse, I know it had to affect her both physically and emotionally, and as a mother that just crushed me. The only answer was, as I said before, she's a strong kid. Oh well, maybe it would be different on Friday night, and tonight I pray.
Next time, Last Game.
XXOO Make Everyday Count,
Bonnie.
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