ChapterOne
Viv
It wasn’t over. Viv looked down at her body. She was changed. Forever. Maybe she should have had reconstruction. Maybe that would make her feel more like herself.
But it was a longer recovery. And they were just boobs.
Who cared about that at her age?
Honestly, right now, she didn’t know what she cared about.
She slipped on her t-shirt and tucked it into The Power Skirt.
She’d sold The Power Skirt to thousands of women, usually with her Means Business Blazer.
She did not pair her skirt with the blazer today. Today, her soft, worn old jean jacket topped off her ensemble.
Viv ran her fingers through her hair. She’d lost hair, but not because of chemo. They said it was stress. Early on, she wound up cutting her hair into a tight pixie. It was an act of defiance, or maybe it was acceptance. She wasn’t sure. But now it was growing back. Weirdly. It had no style, and she didn’t care. It was just hair.
She’d lost something else. She didn’t know what. Viv couldn’t put her finger on it.
This was supposed to be a great visit. It was supposed to be a celebration. She finished getting dressed and just felt disconnected. The exam room was a familiar place these days, but it all seemed alien. She was someone others described as comfortable in her own skin. That was another thing Viv had lost.
Her daughter, Siena, was in the waiting room. Her lithe and sunny girl was happy. She was ready to get a cake. Siena saw this as a sort of birthday event. Viv plastered a cheerful look on her face. She turned the corners of her mouth up, but try as she might, it wasn’t a smile.
Her doctor told them exactly what they’d hoped for.
“It’s looking great. We think we got it all!”
Dr. Hinkley had been wonderful. Truly. She had reassured Viv every step of the way. And the doctor was happy too. Happy for her.
The phrase,we got it all.That was the brass ring of cancer treatment.We got it all.
Viv looked at Siena’s face upon hearing that pronouncement. Siena did a fist bump, and she hugged Viv. It was good. Viv knew it was good.
It was the thing they had hoped to hear.
The goal of her adult life as a career woman was to have it all.Have it all.
You can have it allhad morphed intowe think we got it all.
The first had not proved possible. Was the second?
It was,we think. Notwe know.
At the height of her career as a clothing designer, mother, and wife, Viv didn’t have it all any more than any other woman. Maybe her treatment didn’t get it all. Have it all, got it all. They both swirled around her brain. Focus was hard for her. The other result of all the treatments, she was told. It would get better.
Stage 3A breast cancer, ER, PR positive, tumor grade two. She’d learned about all the categories, subcategories, hoops, numbers, and grades since finding that little lump. A little lump combined with the lymph node and her mother’s death from the same diagnosis meant a double mastectomy and radiation.
Despite the scary diagnosis, everyone kept saying,you got this.
Have it all, got it all, and you got this. Add that to the list of pithy three-word phrases that haunted her lately.
Viv had been told a million times, “You got this.”
Maybe she did. But it felt more like the scalpel, and the radiation “got this.” She’d been passive in the process. You couldn’t tell cancer to get lost. You couldn’t expel it via your iron will. Viv had spent the last few months holding her breath, showing her daughter she was strong, and laughing at Bret’s jokes about him not being a breast man.
She’d been acting. She hadn’t shown her true self. She hadn’t allowed her fears to spill onto her daughter or her ex.
