love me any less with only one breast, but I can’t help the niggling of doubt in the back of my mind.
There are a couple more entries before her surgery. I’m utterly absorbed as I read them. After I finish the last entry, which is the day of her surgery, I pause. I don’t know why, but I’m scared to read on. The two women I read about before I started Clara’s journals ended in tragedy. There’s a sharp pain in my chest when I think about Clara’s life ending just as badly. Her and Charles’ love story was just as beautiful as the other two. I know there’s at least one more entry because I can see writing on the next page. I just don’t know what is says.
My eyes drift to Gemma when her giggles fill the room. She’s on her stomach on the floor with her iPad in front of her. Her little legs kick back and forth while she watches Frozen Two. She’s been obsessed with the movie since it came out.
I can’t believe she’ll be nine soon. It feels like she was just learning to walk only weeks ago. Mom always told me time flew by for her when it came to watching Lindsay and me grow up. As a kid, I always disputed her claim because it seemed time went by slow for me. She told me I’d feel differently when I had my own kids. She couldn’t be more right. I hate that they are growing up so fast, but I’m also grateful that I’ve gotten to see them grow to where they are now.
According to some medical reports Lincoln and I found online for a few patients with GSS, they developed symptoms in their late twenties. One woman died when she was thirty-one. That could have been me. I could have missed out on the last few years of Gray and Gemma’s lives. I’ve been blessed in that regard.
I’ve gone through just about every emotion imaginable—anger, denial, depression, anxiety, hopelessness, sorrow. I’m currently in the acceptance phase. I’ve come to realize that those ugly emotions are useless and only make me feel worse. I don’t need to waste my time on them. Not when my time is very limited, and I want to spend the rest of it as happy as I can be with my family. I still have my moments, but for the most part, I’ve learned to push the negative thoughts away.
Knowing it’s going to bug me until I know what happened, I take in a deep breath for courage and flip to the next page. My heart pitter-patters when I notice it’s still Clara’s handwriting. That’s got to be a good sign, right?
It’s taken me a little while to write this entry. I’ve been so tired since the surgery and I haven’t felt up to doing much. The doctors say the surgery went well and they believe they got all of the cancerous cells out. I pray they are right. It feels weird not having both of my breasts. It’s like a vital part of me is missing, and I guess it is. I’ve become very self-conscious to wear anything that may show I’m not whole anymore. Any tops I wear are loose-fitting. At first Charles didn’t say anything, but he asked me the other night why. Reluctantly, I told him about my insecurities. He understood but explained that there’s no reason for me to be insecure about my body now. That he’d love me no matter how I looked. Even if I had no breasts at all. I believe him, because that’s the kind of love we have, but I still hate it.
The kids have stopped by to check on me nonstop. I love being with them. They distract me from all the negative thoughts. The doctors may have gotten all of the cancerous cells. Or they may not have. With the type of breast cancer I have, the doctors want me to do chemotherapy as well. I start that next week. So, I not only lost a breast, but I’m also going to lose my hair. I know I shouldn’t be vain. Things are much worse for some women, but sometimes it’s hard to stay positive. I try my best, though, for Charles.
For the next hour, while Gemma finishes her movie, I read entry after entry, getting engrossed in Clara’s words. Over the course of the next year, Clara did chemotherapy and radiation, lost her hair,