Years Ago

Twenty years ago last month, I met the man who would become my husband. He was my math teacher. I still remember the first time he walked in the room: jeans, t-shirt, flannel, long hair, baseball cap, black Nike high tops. He looked like he was 12-years old. But he owned the place. So freaking confident.

Ten years ago last month, I was 3 months pregnant with Nathan, puking my guts out at anytime of day or night, and loosing weight. I felt like I was a looser at being pregnant. Because seriously, who drops weight during pregnancy? All I wanted to eat was chewy fruity candy. Jelly beans. Starburst.

Last year in January, I was preparing to homeschool this same child, doing my best to help him hold on until the end of the school year. We didn't make it that far. 

Twenty years ago this month, I was in a College Algebra class that I knew if I didn't pass, I would not earn my Bachelor's of Science in Community Health Promotion. 

Ten years ago this month, I was feeling better in my pregnancy and was craving watermelon. I was also traveling to DC for a national conference, and I got to tell one of my dearest friends from college, Melanie, who lives in The District, that I was pregnant. That trip was the last time I flew, or left the State of Washington. 

This time last year, Nathan's last day was tomorrow: February 13th. We sent him out with a bang, the entire school was partying hard for Valentine's Day. Then we went to a birthday party for Dean. I didn't get him a gift. I bravely stopped at Safeway, with my children, after school, who were higher than kites on sugar. Why? Because I knew my girlfriend needed a gift more than Dean. So I picked up a bottle of her favorite wine and a bag of Ghirardelli's dark chocolate. I remember Nathan and Isaac wrestling on the ground in the checkout line. Seriously.

And on February 18th, I found a lump in my breast. I knew right away that whatever was in my breast wasn't good. I knew life as I as a woman, a wife, a mother, and a Health Educator would never be the same. My family was altered in ways, both food and bad, that I could never ever begin to imagine. 

The cancer diagnosis came on March 9th, two days before Randy's 47th birthday. I was 42 years old at the time. I was told I was too young to have this in my life. 

As if I could go back and make alterations to what I'd done. And I firmly believe that this feeling of wanting a time machine is universal among all cancer patients. 

I know a lot of mathematicians, and a couple of physicists. Thus far, no time machine has been invented. And if there really was, what would you go back and change? Would you go? And how far back would you go?