When I was growing up in Philadelphia, I always thought my Aunt Isabelle was the coolest. I loved to run errands with her and take walks around my grandmother's neighborhood after dinner with her. She is several years younger than my mother, but in my child's mind, she was WAY younger, as in teenager or babysitter aged; the idea that she was actually a contemporary of my parents never really crossed my mind. Maybe this was because she was single, or maybe it was because her lifestyle was so different than the one I was used to, but I felt really cool if I was around her. Especially if it was her and I alone. We left Philadelphia when I was 8 years old, but visited a couple times a year, and I continued my admiration for Isabelle. No matter what she talked about, she did so with such authority and conviction. It was hard to imagine that anything she said or thought could possibly be wrong. I seriously remember conversations I had with her prior to moving away; conversations that must have taken place between the ages of 5 and 8 years old. I guess when it seems so important at the time, it's hard to let go of.
After we moved to North Carolina she and one of her friends took a road trip to visit us. I don't remember a ton about the visit except that they wanted to visit the "amusement park," PTL that was owned my Jim and Tammy Faye Baker back in their hey day. PTL was the ultimate golden calf and people would travel from everywhere to visit it, whether they were supporters of the Bakers or curious gawkers. I went on the day trip with Isabelle and her friend. I felt like the coolest kid in the world because here I was, no parents around, getting to hang out and laugh at the insanity that was Jim and Tammy Faye's Jesus wonderland with my cool aunt and her friend.
As I got older, became married and moved even further away from Isabelle, our visits have become much more infrequent. It's just not extremely doable to jump in a mini van with 4 kids and drive from south Georgia to Philadelphia on a long weekend. Despite the distance, Isabelle and I have always remained close though phone calls and more recently frequent emails. I still have that child like trust and belief that she has 100% knowledge about everything she says despite my overly healthy adult bred skepticism.
I remember the moment this winter when my mom told me that Isabelle was diagnosed with ovarian cancer; the same disease that had only a few months prior claimed the life of my mother's other sister. For a second, the air in the room stopped flowing. Everything froze. I knew enough about ovarian cancer to know that a diagnosis of such is not much more than a death sentence. Suddenly all I could think of was that the last 10 years of phone calls and letters were inadequately pitiful. All I could do is shake my head in silence. In fact, as I look back on that moment now, still that is all I can do.
Thankfully, God has used Isabelles's illness as vehicle to really strengthen our connection. We email several times a week and talk on the phone much more frequently than before. My aunt is a tremendous servant of the Lord and even through her illness she has been administering His word and sharing his glory fervently with me. Every breath she takes, she does so for her savior and she is overjoyed to share His message of salvation and grace. It is her incredible love for Christ and total faith in her everlasting life with Him that offers me so much peace. At the end of her illness, whether it is tomorrow or in 5 years or beyond, she knows where she is going and who she will be with and she could not be any happier about the prospect.
But unfortunately cancer has a very ugly reality to it as well. Isabelle has felt awful. Her cancer has spread and she has had to endure nausea, chemotherapy, and low white blood cells. Despite her faith, she is human. She gets scared, and irritated and overwhelmed. She is suffering; and her suffering is considerable.
And her suffering is unfair.
After her sister, Adele's diagnosis with ovarian cancer, it was revealed that Isabelle carried the Brac2 mutation making her more susceptible to breast and ovarian cancer. Unfortunately, she was already sick before she could receive preventive treatment, but it was Isabelle's illness that spurred my sister and I to be tested. Perhaps because she was the second aunt to be diagnosed, or perhaps just because it was her, but something about Isabelle getting sick suddenly made everything hit so much closer to home.
And of course, we are positive for the mutation as well.
I have now had my hysterectomy. The doctor removed everything because microscopic ovarian cells can exist even after the ovaries are removed and still cause cancer years later. It was a relatively easy surgery and did not really impact my life much at all. Because I had foresight, I will not suffer the same fate that my aunts have. I am so very thankful that I was able to receive this knowledge, but struggle greatly with the implication of the cost of which this knowledge has been gained.
I am safe, because she suffers.
The night before my surgery Tucker and I were talking about how nice it would be when it was behind us and we no longer had to worry about the likelihood of me suffering with ovarian cancer. As we were feeling giddily empowered at the bullet we were dodging he brought the reality back to earth;
"I have to remind myself that your preventive surgery isn't going to save Isabelle."
I am sure this seems like a no brainer, but when I am feeling like I have the key to the future and the holy grail to a cancer free life, it is an amazing letdown to realize that no matter what I do to save myself, I can not do a thing for Isabelle.
She will continue to suffer.
I am so thankful for what her illness has given me, but I am devastated that because she suffers I am safe.
