Under a Desert Sky: The Day Cancer Stole My Words

I will never forget the day cancer stole my words:

The clouds gather on a ninety-two-degree day while Mom and Dad help me with the yard work. Dad mentions the gray sky, atypical for this time of year. We are several months away from the shifting winds that bring the life-giving monsoon rains later in the summer. My parents are visiting from their country home near Albert Lea, Minnesota. Dad trims the oleander bushes, the soft pink flowers littering the grass at his feet, while Mom and I rake the rock around the citrus trees.

I answer my cell phone on the first ring.“Are you sure?” I ask. “Yes. I can come in tomorrow.”

“Is that the doctor?” Mom asks when I drop the phone to my side.I stare at her. Numb. The morning sun blisters hot, but I tremble.

“It’s cancer.” I want to say more, to soften the blow from the test results we’ve been waiting for, but it is all I can get through my tight throat. I bend double, every particle of air knocked from my body. Mom’s arms surround me. Dad’s hand squeezes my shoulder, as emotion overwhelms me.

One thought comes into focus: I need to call my husband, Kevin.

Mom sniffles as I stare at my phone. How am I going to tell him I have the same disease that killed both his parents? Must worst nightmares be repeated? I punch in his number with freeze-frame fingers.

Kevin answers immediately. “Hello?” In the background, I hear him shuffling papers on his desk.

I clear my throat. Nothing comes out. I am weightless, falling down a rabbit hole, but instead of the white rabbit, I see the doctor in scrubs as he inserted the biopsy needle into my right breast.

“You’re going to feel a slight pinch,” the doctor said.

Instead of a pinch, I feel a punch. A punch right in the center of my life.

“Hello?”

I can’t speak. All I can do is sob. Cancer has stolen my words. * 

The above portion is from my book, Under a Desert Sky: Redefining Hope, Beauty, and Faith in the Hardest Places,that releases today, May 2, with Revell/Baker Publishing.