I learned the lesson I can’t control where life takes me through many ways. In smaller ways, like my parent’s divorce or moving to Clarkston 5 years back, I began to understand at a young age my life has a mind of its own sometimes, and I wouldn’t be able to change that. Also in major ways, as in my dog passing away while I was out of the country or my mother getting breast cancer, I’m learning slowly how to deal with these tragic events rather than letting them control me. When my mom first told us about her breast cancer during our weekend getaway up at Traverse City, I couldn’t hide the emotion. I didn’t know I had so many tears in me. I couldn’t face my sisters, who were making fun of me for crying, or even my parents, who attempted getting me to stop. I calmly got up from our lovely lakeside dinner and took off for the beach.
There, I could be alone in my own thoughts. Lake Michigan has always been a part of my life, and it was all the more calming to just be able to watch it in the moonlight and listen to the gentle waves hitting the shore. More sooner than I would have liked, my mother’s fiancé came to find me and dragged me back with him. For some peculiar reason, taking me back to the dinner table where an even more in depth conversation of my mother’s circumstance was occurring seemed like the best idea to them. I knew it wasn’t fair to my mom to be so emotional while she was the one affected and dealing with it stronger than ever, so I put forth my best effort at getting my s*** together and listening cooperatively. “Surgery,” “vasectomy,” “chemo,” and “radiation” are most definitely not the words you’d be fond of hearing from anyone, especially not your very own mother. There were plenty of other unpleasant words as well, evidently far past my adolescent
knowledge.
     The surgery was a real thing, occurring a week from that night. I didn’t know what to anticipate, other than she would be on bed rest for some time afterwards. September 15th, 10:00am, at Huron Valley Hospital. She had to be there hours earlier, of course, but my younger sister and I were told to come later, when she would actually be up and able to have visitors. Waking up to an empty house and navigating my way to a hospital I’ve never been at before I don’t remember much of. But, walking in continues to remain in my mind as vivid as can be. My
uncle, my mother’s brother, sitting on a bench outside of the hospital, was at a crucial point in his new job and had to be working from his phone and laptop. We approached him just as he was ending a phone call, and though he looked tense and overworked, he managed to conceal it when he saw us. Being the positive, great uncle that he is, he gave us smiles and updates of what he knew.
“We’re waiting on the lymph node results,” He informed us. Having no idea what lymph nodes were, and not wanting to keep my uncle from work any longer, I decided I’d ask my grandma once inside. Walking through the huge revolving doors and seeing patients in wheelchairs, nurses in scrubs, and desks with old reception ladies squinting at their computers, I suddenly remembered why I hated hospitals. Though more modern and clean than I remembered them to be, the atmosphere remained the same; complete and utter sadness. The frowning and vacant looks I received from patients made me feel sorry for them, reminding me prisoners trapped in their own bodies. The gray walls and white floors sucked the life out of anyone stuck inside. Such dull colors give off nothing but a dull feeling. Like the plenty of houses we had moved into throughout the years, the lack of furniture and color made them empty and lifeless. We got our guest passes from the front desk and made our way upstairs. It was so weird to me, being the leader of my sister and I. I was so used to always following my older sister around, depending on her to take us to the right place. She was always the driver, for example our trip to South Haven for my dads 50th birthday over the summer. She decided when to leave, when to stop for food, and what music we listened to along the way. Her leaving for college in the fall left me as the oldest sibling. Without realizing it, I had taken over her position and was now expected to know where to go, how to act, and what to do as a role model for my younger sister. It made me feel older and at a loss for time, yet proud of my own reliability and trust from my parents. I now feel less dependant on others, and more self sufficient.
    Walking into the family waiting room was an experience of its own. The gray double doors opened up to a white room with blue carpet and a desk along the right hand side. The left wall covered in windows showing the bright blue sky, making me wish nothing more that all of this was a dream, and that when I woke up my mom would be okay and I could spend my day outside in the beautiful sunlight instead of in this crowded waiting room. As I entered I could hear the low murmur of conversation, computers buzzing, and restlessness of the people who have already been waiting for hours, shifting in their seats. Passing different families in each section of blue chairs while looking for my own, I started wondering what each of their stories were, while looking for any clues in their facial expressions. The tv’s hanging on the walls silently showed which surgeries were in session and when the others would occur. Because they used codes instead of names, I didn’t know which was my mother’s. Finally seeing my own family at the end, I froze. Seeing my Aunt, not an actual Aunt but my mother’s best friend who’s been in my life forever, with swollen red eyes and her hands squeezed together was absolutely terrifying. I had never seen her not totally in control, fierce and sarcastic. My grandma too, pacing anxiously, freaked me out. When they finally saw me, all emotions were hidden instantly. I got hugs, kisses, and plenty of love. My grandma’s not one to keep information from us, she knows we deserve to know anything we should know about my mom. She explained to us what lymph nodes were, and how if they found cancer in them it could lead to it spreading throughout the whole body. This was not pleasant information, and it was then the nerves started kicking in. It hadn’t even occurred to me the cancer would spread, effecting more organs than it already was. My stomach churning, the lump in my throat you get when you’re about to cry appeared instantly.  As we waited and waited, for what seemed like hours, our anxiety levels had all reached an all time high. Wasn’t she supposed to be finished already? Why is it taking so long? My thoughts getting uglier with each passing minute. Then a surgeon walked in, asking for “Lisa Bullinger family?” We all jumped, but I had never seen my grandma out of a chair so fast.
“That’s us!” She yelled frantically, while waving her hands aggressively in the air. Tall and skinny, with a pained expression on his face, he slowly approached us. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what he’d say. We all fell silent, waiting.
“Lymph nodes are clear,” he spoke, ever so casually. It took a few silent seconds to process, all of us in shock really. My grandma breaking into a smile and forcing the guy into a full on hug made me realize, this was the exact news we wanted. The cancer hadn’t spread, they were successful! The tears were finally happy tears. No one there could’ve been more thankful at that very second. We were then allowed to see her, and it felt like a race in those long narrow halls. When we finally arrived to the room, the whole family filed in, one by one. My mother, the most fabulous fashionista I know, looked dull and fragile, lying sadly in a gray hospital gown. If she was happy to see us, we wouldn’t have been able to tell. Still a little loopy from the anesthesia, we didn’t get much out of her. It was terrible yet amazing just to be able to see her though. Terrible to see her in such condition, yet so great to know she would only be getting better from that point on.
She was able to come home a few days later, and though we had school and sports and various clubs to attend, it felt right with her in her own bed in her own room. I would, to be honest, get frustrated with all the extra stress it put on me having to run the errands she couldn’t, but at the end of every day I still thanked God for her being home and being okay.
I used to think life was unfair, confused why bad things happen to good people. I didn’t understand that I was the one calling the shots. Obviously not calling the situation itself, but my own outlook on it. Yes, it was and still is difficult, but I believe I’m stronger and more knowledgeable from all the situations I’ve been put through. I feel more prepared for the future and to be able to find the good in anyone or anything. I feel more positive now than I ever have, ready to grow and better myself not only for me, but as an example to my younger sister. I see the world as a journey, my journey. I will decide whether or not to let things get in my way, or how fast or slow I want to travel through different experiences.