All the world's a stage

MONDAY, JUNE 6, 2011 8:14 PM, EDT

All the world's a stage

The first time I was on an official stage, I was dressed in pink tights and slippers, a bright yellow leotard, and a yellow tutu lined with gold sequins. I was a baby ballerina chickadee. I fell in love with the stage at a very young age, and I danced for many years.

Unofficially, I was always on stage...one of my fondest memories is sitting on the steps inside my house going up to the playroom with Jayme and our cousins Mary Katherine and Ann (Wilson). We called ourselves "Wilson Tatum," and we sang to "Wilson Phillips." We were so original. Our favorite songs were of course "Hold On" and "Release Me," and we were about as dramatic as we could be for a bunch of kids on the stairs! We were ready to charge admission...it sounded like a better idea than a lemonade stand! Mama wouldn't let us charge admission...she just didn't realize how talented we were!

I remember telling Mama that I wanted to quit ballet when I was 15. I think she was scared that I was quitting because I wasn't getting the parts I wanted, but that wasn't it...I had never been to a high school football game, and I was growing up...as much as I loved being on stage, I liked the idea of having a boyfriend more! And there it was. I quit...and I never looked back.

Little did I know that a year later, I would fall in love with Drama. I found a true love and outlet in acting on stage...I could be someone else...and then another someone else, and then another someone else. I truly loved acting, and I learned so much in that art.

Stage left, stage right...Stage IIa (2a). This isn't exactly the stage I had in mind. Stage IIa (clinically) means that my cancer measures greater than 2cm (mine is actually ~3cm). <2cm would be considered small, and >5am is considered large. I guess you could say that I have a medium tumor.  Stage II also means that there is no "clinical" reason to believe that my cancer has spread into my lymph nodes. Spreading to lymph nodes automatically upgrades it to a III (3). Stage IIa is still considered "early," and to me, insurance that I can beat this.

And that brings me another set of stages...the 5 stages of grief. Grief for the time that I cannot spend with my beautiful children. Grief for my darkest fears. Grief for my hair. Grief for a job that I love. Grief for my Summer (and Fall for that matter). Grief for my body, my mind, and my once boundless energy. Grief for the enthusiasm that may be curbed...that I have vowed not to curb for anything. Denial; Anger; Bargaining; Depression; and Acceptance.

When I met my surgeon (you know, "blah, blah, blah, blah cancer" lady?), she asked me, "Are you angry yet?" As if it was inevitable...I told her that I like to think that I am in "Acceptance." I accept that I have cancer. I accept that I will be in menopause at 32. I accept that I will have no hair (and rock that look!). I accept that I will feel miserable through chemo. I accept that I have a 40% chance of developing another breast cancer. I accept that I could develop metastases. I accept that life as I knew it three weeks ago is over. I accept it, but I don't have to like it! I accept it, but it sucks. I accept it, but I am still scared.

I talked to someone the other day who said that a friend of hers found a blessing in her diagnosis years ago...I have no doubt what my blessings are in this: Most of all, I am blessed that my children will have no memory of my misery through this fight. I am blessed to have already known the joy of motherhood. I am blessed to have this amazing support system throughout the country. I am blessed to have a husband who loves and supports me in sickness and in health - who will love me hair or no hair, boobs or no boobs. I am blessed to have grown up in the importance of faith and family. I am blessed to know that I have been through and will likely go through something worse than this. I am blessed that I am the only one in my family of many women to carry this burden to this extent, and I hope that I am the only one for generations yet to come. I am blessed to have people close who have endured similar fights, though I wish this was not a common bond.

I hope and pray that in my strength, I can stay on this stage of acceptance throughout this fight. This will be my Comedy of Errors (the play that Nathan and I saw on the night of our engagement) as opposed to any tragedy or drama. And it's going to be one heck of a cast party.