The Worst Part of This For Me | by Debbie

I’ve written a lot about Adrienne’s experience as a young woman with breast cancer, how that has impacted her and ways that I did my best to support her as she went through treatment and now lives the never-ending story of survivorship. I’ve talked about my frustrations and joys, things that surprised and horrified me, how my world view has changed since she was diagnosed in 2019. I’ve touched on the main topic of my blog this month, brushed by it a few times as part of a larger narrative, but I think it’s time that I take a deeper dive into the worst part of this experience for me in the hope that it will help young women reading this better understand how their parents might be feeling.

Before I had children, I would have sworn that I could never take another human life. Once I looked into my child’s eyes, however, I realized that I would throw even her father under a bus to save her. (I’ve shared that with him, by the way, so he is prepared that if I’m ever having to choose between them he knows he’s toast). I would sell my possessions, my organs, my soul if it would protect my children from harm.

There was absolutely nothing I could do to protect my child from breast cancer, and the helplessness of that continues to be one of the most crippling aspects of my reality as Adrienne’s mother.

I helplessly sat there while an oncology nurse donned full PPE to infuse a chemotherapy drug so toxic that it can burn the skin if it leaks out. In other circumstances I would have TAKEN HER OUT.

I helplessly watched her while she focused everything she had on not vomiting knowing I couldn’t stop the smells the world creates from pushing her over the edge.

I helplessly rubbed her hands and feet to try to increase circulation so the neuropathy didn’t get any worse understanding that it could…and did.

I helplessly dried her tears when she looked at me and said she didn’t know if the second chemotherapy was as bad as the first one if she could do it, feeling such despair because that told me just how bad it must have been.
I helplessly sat in a hospital waiting room while surgeons cut into her body three times.

I helplessly bear witness to how the ongoing physical and mental struggles of being diagnosed and treated for breast cancer at 27 continue to impact Adrienne’s life. I pick up the phone, I listen, I comfort, I go with her to appointments and the whole time I am doing that I am still trying to push back the SCREAMS inside my head that this can’t be happening to my baby.

Because of that helplessness one of the hardest things was and continues to be not “mothering” her: giving her unsolicited advice, pushing her to eat this or rest more, suggesting ways to balance her mental health. I am in a constant dialog with myself to make sure I don’t overstep the very clear boundary we both agreed to when she became an adult. My protective maternal instinct is consistently in hyperdrive at a time when, having raised my children into wonderful humans, I should be able to let my guard down. And constantly having to check myself before I cross the line is exhausting.

For some people in Adrienne’s life, the helplessness was so crippling that they couldn’t do it. My brother, who loves her like she was one of his own, is still unable to read anything I have written about the experience. In a way I am grateful that no one else, especially her father, was as intimately involved in this as I was. She has always been a bit of a Daddy’s girl and I’m not sure that he would have survived the inability to protect her from the enemy within. Someone told me recently that her father can’t talk about her having cancer and will quickly change the subject, usually to offering her an act of service (need a tire change honey?). I still see the pain in my husband’s eyes when I share something new and awful that cancer has brought to Adrienne’s existence so I imagine that would have been his way, too.

Earlier this year, Adrienne told me that one of the things she hates the most about her cancer experience is what it did to me. When I used to look in the mirror I saw an almost limitless version of myself who could repel any invader in defense of my family. But cancer, it turns out, is my Achilles heel and I’m still crippled by the helplessness I feel when I look at what Adrienne’s diagnosis and treatment have brought to her life. While a lot of the unstoppable force I was before still exists, while I am still always there to step up and step in, there’s a bit of hitch in my step that wasn’t there prior to March 15th, 2019 at 8:03 am when I picked up the phone and heard her say…

“Mom…mom…it’s cancer”.

And to my girl…I love you most, the end, I win.

Mother…Grandmother…Librarian…Military Spouse…Caregiver…Family Life Educator…take your pick! Debbie Legault was born in British Columbia, Canada to a former RCAF airman father and a Scottish War Bride mother and has lived in other Canadian provinces, Germany and California. She has been married for 36 years to a Canadian Air Force Veteran and credits him with filling her life with adventure. When Debbie Legault’s children look at family photos they often comment on how many different hairstyles she has had and that pretty much is her story, that her life has taken as many turns and led her down as many paths as her hair has changed! Her latest role is as the author of Mom…It’s Cancer, the story of supporting her 27-year-old daughter as they experienced breast cancer diagnosis and treatment. Read more of Debbie’s blogs here.