In her shoes

Last night I learned that a dear friend has been diagnosed with breast cancer.

She is in my Bunko group. She's my age. She has three children. She works downtown. She lives in my neighborhood. Her sons go to school with Nathaniel and Nicholas. I run into her at the ballpark all the time, where she loudly cheers her boys on from the bleachers.

She could be me.

I spent all night putting myself in C's shoes, trying to imagine the inner turmoil she's experiencing. I kept thinking about how scared she must be and how tightly she's holding onto her children and husband. About how she might be cutting the crusts off of a peanut butter sandwich when all of a sudden she's interrupted by a loud voice in her head yelling, "YOU HAVE CANCER!" About how she might not have been able to sleep last night for all the worried thoughts that were running rampant through her head.

But C is a woman of great faith, and she's already said that she's going to Beat This. She will be a survivor. She has a lot of support here, and I know that will make all the difference. I believe she can do it.

I had my first mammogram last year, which thankfully was clear. But discovering the existence of cancer in my body is a real fear. It may be irrational, but is it really? C is my first good friend my age to be stricken with it, but three women of faith who played roles in my life at one time or another succumbed to it over the last eight years. Until there's a cure, I fear more announcements like C's.

Please pray.