Twenty years ago this month, just three weeks after my final chemotherapy infusion, I was on my way to work when I got a call from my ex-husband in California.
For several minutes, I couldn’t catch what he was saying. Gibberish mixed with hysterical laughter?
And then the realization stopped me in my tracks. He wasn’t laughing; he was sobbing. Blubbering almost unintelligibly. Our 13-year-old son had just been driven away in a squad car — arrested at his middle school for drug possession.
You’ve heard of chemo brain? Mine disappeared that day. The fog and confusion were gone instantly. And the whole reason I’d endured a double mastectomy, an excruciating recovery, chest expanders, round after round of chemo, and horrific treatment by my employer (“see page 54“) became crystal clear.
Within two hours, I had called my boss for time off, booked a flight, rented a car, and called a cab to Sky Harbor. By noon, I was back in our old hometown of Alameda.
A pivotal chapter in my life had just ended, and a new, even more challenging one was about to begin. Our son was in deep, deep trouble.
It would take another six months to discover just how deep. Those are stories for another time. Suffice it to say there were days and nights spent wondering where he was, and many Saturday evenings sitting in the police station parking lot, waiting for his release.
A few months after I brought him (and his suitcase full of challenges) to Phoenix, my mother offered her advice:
“SEND HIM BACK!”
I was shocked she would say such a thing. Then I remembered that she was a mother, too. My mama. She had lived and breathed, sacrificed and survived for me. For a moment I was angry, but I understood. She was worried about her own kid (me) and my health and recovery.
She wasn’t wrong. Nobody needs the kind of stress that boy was giving me.
… But …
“Mother to mother,” I told her, “why else would I have bothered fighting cancer, if not for him?”
Twenty years later, I’m here, grateful that I survived not only breast cancer but also those scary-wild years with my teenage son. Who is, today, one of the best, most brilliant men I know.
He, too, is a survivor.
My Making Strides Against Breast Cancer fundraiser continues! Help me celebrate 20 years by reaching my $2,000 goal! Donate here: https://secure.acsevents.org/goto/lesliegospill
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