The Blue Dot Test
Last night I dreamed I found several bumps in my breasts. I went to the doctor and found out I had "Stage 11" breast cancer. Wtf is stage 11?? There was no hope and I would die in a matter of weeks. My mom was in the room and she said, "So basically this all boils down to her not being able to have the blue dot test?" What?? She was so pissed that I didn't have some sort of test that would have located the cancer early on. I bet the test wasn't covered by my insurance and that's why I didn't have it.
I was horrified that I would die and leave behind my 19 month old daughter Arden. I wouldn't be able to see who she would become. That is so terrifying to me. I have no idea why the number 11 was in my dream or the blue dot test. My mom survived breast cancer three years ago. She found it early--stage 1. My grandmother wasn't so lucky and died of lung cancer only three months after being diagnosed with it. She wasn't a smoker, although she did smoke when she was in her 20s and 30s. I did, too. In a lot of ways, I think I am like my grandmother. My parents tell me I look and act a lot like her. I always feel her presence around me. We were kindred spirits, I suppose. Sometimes I think I will share the same fate as her. She did live to be 78, so I guess that's not so bad. But her death was.
I cannot imagine leaving Arden behind. If I died right now, she wouldn't even remember me. That's the worst. I would want her to at least remember me. I am the only grandchild to remember my paternal grandfather. I was eight when he died. I do still remember him, but it's not so clear. I remember him being tall like a tree trunk with big hands that picked me up and threw me in the air. He had a deep voice, tan skin, and black hairy arms. He wore work jumpsuits that zipped up the front the colors of grey and brown. He wore tall rubber boots a lot and drove an old green Ford pickup. He watched Battlestar Gallactica. He teased me about the "sandman" getting me and for some reason I thought the sandman was a stuffed tiger tail. He liked to talk on the CB radio to truckers. He sat in his Lazy Boy recliner (the same one he died in) and watched TV. He sang in the Methodist Church choir. He loved to cook breakfast--pancakes especially. My younger brother and cousins were too young when he died to remember him at all. I am so sad for them because he loved children and enjoyed taking me places and playing with me. Even though I was only eight when he died, I knew how permanent death was and I was devastated when he died so suddenly of a heart attack. I didn't go to his funeral.
What's not so clear is exactly what he looked like or what his presence would make me feel like now. The things you remember as a child are so much different than the way you view things as an adult. I can't accurately describe his being anymore but I can remember moments with him and his peculiarities. I can't get a good grasp on him as a person anymore like the way he talked or his mannerisms or facial expressions that made him unique. I'm afraid I will lose this grasp on my grandmother who passed away two years ago. Right now, I picture her so real in my mind--she is still very alive to me unlike my grandfather who has faded. I don't want my grandmother to fade.
I was horrified that I would die and leave behind my 19 month old daughter Arden. I wouldn't be able to see who she would become. That is so terrifying to me. I have no idea why the number 11 was in my dream or the blue dot test. My mom survived breast cancer three years ago. She found it early--stage 1. My grandmother wasn't so lucky and died of lung cancer only three months after being diagnosed with it. She wasn't a smoker, although she did smoke when she was in her 20s and 30s. I did, too. In a lot of ways, I think I am like my grandmother. My parents tell me I look and act a lot like her. I always feel her presence around me. We were kindred spirits, I suppose. Sometimes I think I will share the same fate as her. She did live to be 78, so I guess that's not so bad. But her death was.
I cannot imagine leaving Arden behind. If I died right now, she wouldn't even remember me. That's the worst. I would want her to at least remember me. I am the only grandchild to remember my paternal grandfather. I was eight when he died. I do still remember him, but it's not so clear. I remember him being tall like a tree trunk with big hands that picked me up and threw me in the air. He had a deep voice, tan skin, and black hairy arms. He wore work jumpsuits that zipped up the front the colors of grey and brown. He wore tall rubber boots a lot and drove an old green Ford pickup. He watched Battlestar Gallactica. He teased me about the "sandman" getting me and for some reason I thought the sandman was a stuffed tiger tail. He liked to talk on the CB radio to truckers. He sat in his Lazy Boy recliner (the same one he died in) and watched TV. He sang in the Methodist Church choir. He loved to cook breakfast--pancakes especially. My younger brother and cousins were too young when he died to remember him at all. I am so sad for them because he loved children and enjoyed taking me places and playing with me. Even though I was only eight when he died, I knew how permanent death was and I was devastated when he died so suddenly of a heart attack. I didn't go to his funeral.
What's not so clear is exactly what he looked like or what his presence would make me feel like now. The things you remember as a child are so much different than the way you view things as an adult. I can't accurately describe his being anymore but I can remember moments with him and his peculiarities. I can't get a good grasp on him as a person anymore like the way he talked or his mannerisms or facial expressions that made him unique. I'm afraid I will lose this grasp on my grandmother who passed away two years ago. Right now, I picture her so real in my mind--she is still very alive to me unlike my grandfather who has faded. I don't want my grandmother to fade.
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