by Mary Helen Darah


Trickles to waterfalls
It’s October. Fall colors, sweater weather (if it ever drops below 84 degrees), Big Ten football and pink ribbons splattered everywhere in honor of Breast Cancer Awareness Month. I am so very tired of being made aware. I am already mindful of the disease, wrapped in a pretty pink ribbon, that I survived and that has taken far too many people who I love. People often ask me how my life is a post-cancer journey and do I worry about what my “situation” could mean for my offspring? It has been difficult to express until I came downstairs in my “new” 1930s old home to discover water on the kitchen floor that appeared to be coming from the newly installed ceiling fan. That feeling of panic is familiar. For I know, and have experienced, that trickles can lead to waterfalls, electrical outages and having the ceiling cave in at any moment. Yes, I know the feeling all too well. It’s the same one that tugs at me every day that ends in “Y”, as a survivor with three daughters.

Not a Trickle of Risk
As a parent, you are hardwired to protect your children. How do you defend your children against a silent enemy that attacked you when you least expected it? I was a non-smoking, athletic mom who had never taken an illegal substance and was the proverbial “good girl” her entire life. OK, I did (and do) like a glass (or two) of red wine and the occasional margarita, but that was my only vice. There were no risk factors—not even a trickle—before the ceiling came down around me with a cancer diagnosis at the age of 42.

I wish I could say that the feeling of helplessness fades, but it doesn’t. I continually remind myself of the advancements in the medical world that I hope and pray will lead to a cure. For now, all my children have to defend themselves against cancer are genetic tests and scans.

I have always wanted to leave my children rainbows, sunshine and memory-making moments. How could this be part of my legacy? I want to scream at cancer and tell it that it’s OK to pick on me but leave my beautiful, young, caring daughters alone.


Guilt with a Capital G
Cancer comes with a lot of guilt. It was incredibly difficult after my surgery to look at my daughters and desperately try to suppress the fear that they may have to endure a similar experience. I am clueless on how to protect them and give them strength to battle the fear that comes with my disease. It may not sound rational, but in my mind, I am the one who brought this foe into our warm, loving home. I have always been the “responsible” one and when it comes to my genetics, this is no different. I am the one that turned on the faucet that could lead to a nasty flood.

Stopping the Leakage
I have no idea what the outcome of my current kitchen water issue will be. It could be something minor or I could lose an entire part of my upstairs floor or ceiling. Regardless, I am determined to stop the leakage. I plan to do the same, to the best of my ability, with cancer and its effect on my children. I may not be able to control what flows in our direction, but I can control my attitude and how they see me as a parent. I can show them how to cope when life gets tough. I can give them a safe haven to ride out any rough waters where they can freely express their fears and anger. I can remind them that we have a tremendous support system that will help us even if our ceiling comes crashing down.

Oh, and if it does, I will remind them to look up. For miraculously, when things tumble down at your feet, you can see the sky a whole lot clearer.