All her life she’s been a care giver.
She is one of those special people we talk about using words like “angel” to describe her special qualities.
She’s the one who has the patience to hold you in her arms when the scan comes back and it reads “metastatic.” She’s the one who holds your hand when the liquid flowing through the tube and into your vein stings and burns like a hot poker and she whispers “Deep breath, it will go away soon.”
She checks on you at home, even though your next appointment is three weeks away and the sound of her voice on the phone has a calming, soothing voice that can’t be matched.
So how does this happen, that now she’s heard the words “You have cancer.”
She’s the one who will need the care now and that’s just not the way it should be is it?
Once again, this disease has no boundaries.