Just One Puzzle

Imagine this—you are visiting your parents for a weekend trip that your kids have been counting down to for weeks. You are sitting with your family, puzzle on the table and snacks abounding. Your family’s love for puzzles has passed down generations and across marriages, and there are two rules: nothing under 1,000 pieces and you always start with the border. The room is radiating with love and comfort and laughter. Your littlest meticulously searched for two pieces that looked similar and she was ecstatic when they fit right in place. She is exuding pride about finding a piece for the big person puzzle.

You want so badly to live in her joy and in the comfort of your partner, your babies, your mom and dad. In the comfort of the puzzle.

But there’s a presence in the room, weighing down your shoulders as you sit staring at the puzzle pieces in front of you. Earlier, your headache felt more intense than usual and your arm felt sore. Likely just the result of a long day and an odd position while you slept with your two kids and partner in your parent’s full-sized bed. Or maybe it’s due to the twentieth self-exam you have done over two days because you thought you felt something on your chest where you had your final surgery one month ago. A mass that you can no longer feel, but must still be there, right? A mass that your partner could not feel in the middle of the night, or early in the morning, or right after breakfast, or right before the puzzle pieces were sorted on the table. A mass that was not present during the surgery or in the scan you had three days earlier that showed no signs of cancer in that exact spot.

That presence sitting on your shoulders whispers into your ear: Is it cancer? What if it metastasized? What if the headache is cancer? Should you call your oncologist? What if that MRI three days ago was wrong? Are you sure you read the results correctly? What are the statistics for recurrence? What if the surgeon missed something? Maybe you should do another self-exam? Should you ask your partner to feel for it again? Are you going to die? Will your babies be okay? What if it’s cancer? Are you going to die? Will your babies be okay!

Your daughter noticed the shift in your face, as your eyebrows scrunch and you stare past the puzzle pieces in front of you. “Mommy, are you sad?”

Mommy is haunted by the fear of cancer.

You cannot shake the constant feeling that the other foot is about to drop, even if the doctors feel confident that both feet are firmly planted on the ground. You beg the universe that the next clear scan will give you comfort or peace and lift the weight from your shoulders. That soon you will have some ability to be present for these moments you fought so hard to live for.

Please give me a moment without the fear of recurrence—just for one puzzle.