Things That Go Lump In the Night

Sensitive content: cancer, period

Becca Bodichenko blinked awake from a sound sleep. Something had jolted her from her slumber, though she couldn't in this moment say what. She blinked at her bedside clock and sighed. 3:25. She was wide awake now. The only way she'd close her eyes again was if she did it manually.

So sleep was not an option. But neither was getting up; that would wake Alexander, her husband, and he was having nearly as much trouble sleeping as she was.

Damn! She hated this. Hated that her fear had infected him, too.

But that's what cancer does, isn't it? It spreads.

Not that it is cancer, she added, as an incantation, a prayer. It can't come back. I have four children and a husband who need me. My cupcake business is starting to take off. The triplets start school this year. Life is getting good.

It's just a lump, right? I mean people do get benign lumps after cancer, don't they?

Or was every lump from now on going to be life-threatening?

Alexander sighed in his sleep and reached out for her. Rolling to face him, she took his hand and watched him settle. It felt good, holding his hand, knowing that he found as much comfort in this small act as she did.

She remembered the day, years ago now, when he'd said, "Did you know that otters hold hands when they sleep, so they don't drift away from each other in the night?"

"Maybe we should try that," she'd laughed, only half-joking. It was when they were trying for another baby, a sibling for Gaia. And it wasn't happening. Month after month of disappointment, blood, tears. "Be happy with what you have," people said. "At least you've got Gaia. Loads of people can't even manage one." Secondary infertility isn't very well-understood. It doesn't get much sympathy.

A year after the triplets were born, Becca found a lump.

"It's probably a blocked milk duct," the nurse-practitioner had said with a smile. "But let's get it checked anyway, just to be sure."

After the mammogram, when she was supposed to give Becca the all-clear, she'd said, "I'd like you to get an ultrasound. And a biopsy. And after that, she'd said, "I'm so sorry to have to tell you this, but it's cancer."

It had been summer time then. They'd extended Gaia's stay at sleep-away camp. She still didn't know that her mother had had cancer. She'd been just nine when it happened and her world had already been turned upside down by the birth of her siblings. They hadn't the heart to add to her stress at the time. And once it was over, could find no way to broach the subject, to admit they'd been keeping secrets.

It was easy enough to keep quiet about it. She'd needed "just" a lumpectomy and radiation. If Gaia had noticed Becca's fatigue after, she'd have put it down to the triplets.

"This time, if it is cancer, we're going to have to tell her," Alexander had said. "She's old enough now."

"What, twelve is old enough to know her mother is dying of cancer?"

"Not dying," Alexander insists. "Maybe has. Maybe needs more treatment. Not dying. Not yet. Please."

And she realized how scared he was, too.

"I've got to stop doing this to him," she thought, giving his hand an unconscious squeeze. "After this, no more. No more obsessive checking. No more jumping at shadows." It had been four years of fear. Four years under the shadow of cancer's threat. The relief she thought she'd feel when her treatment ended hadn't come. She'd gotten off so lightly, compared to others, she knew, she kept expecting it to come back and exact payment.

If this is benign, she vowed, we start to live.

And if it's not?

Becca sighed. This had been the worst part of it last time. All plans conditional. Everything prefaced by, "If it is..." Once the axe had dropped, it all became much more clear, easier somehow. She knew what was expected of her. She was up for the challenge. Or she'd thought she was.

The first time she looked in the mirror after her surgery, she'd cried. A four-inch long scar along the top of her breast, which was smaller, tighter, higher. The other one looked old by comparison. Sad.

Don't think about it, she scolded herself. You'll start to cry. You'll wake Alexander.

She chanced a peek at the clock. 4:17. Just another hour and a bit to go. Then she could get up. Make breakfast, get the day started. Distract herself with getting the kids up and ready and off to school. Head to the kitchen she rented in a community hub. She needed to ice five dozen cookies for a baby shower today. There was a time she wouldn't have been able to do that, in the bleak years between Gaia and the triplets. Anyone else's joy had seemed to be a direct theft of her own. But now she could be happy. She could bake cookies for baby showers. Don't let this be taken away from me.

Maybe I should bake cookies for the lump, she thought. If it is cancer, I should have a party before my surgery. Bake a batch of breast cookies, some intact, some scarred. Have all my friends round to wish me luck.

With a huff, Alexander disentangled his hand and rolled over. Becca took the opportunity to slip out of bed.

In the kitchen, she filled the kettle for tea.

Two more days. Two more days till they knew.

There was a sound behind her. Becca turned. Gaia shuffled into the kitchen, squinty-eyed and sleep-tousled. "Good morning," Becca said, surprised. "You're up early."

"I got my period last night."

"Oh, my goodness! Why didn't you come get me?" She swept her into a hug. "Your first period! That's a big deal."

"You and Dad were argue-whispering again."

"Were we?" She leaned back, brushing the hair from her daughter's face. "I don't think it was an argument. We just didn't want to wake anybody."

"You've been doing it a lot lately," Gaia informed her. "It's like you've got a secret or something." Pause. "You're not pregnant again, are you?"

Becca burst our laughing. And realized it had been a long time since she'd done that.

"Sorry, honey," she addressed Gaia's offended stare. "But I'm forty-three. I'm getting a little old for an accidental pregnancy."

"Ok. But you could plan one."

"I'm not planning another pregnancy," she assured her. "I promise you."

"Then what's going on? You and Dad have been acting strange for weeks now."

She noticed far more than she let on, Becca realized. Taking a moment to fill the teapot and grab the milk out of the fridge, she indicated that they should sit down.

It was tempting to tell her. But she wanted to protect her from the worry. When they knew for sure, then they could talk about it. But for now, "Tell me about your period! Have you got cramps? Do you need the day off school? Wanna help me decorate some cookies? Then we could go shopping if you like. Ooooh! I could make you period cookies!"

"Mom!" Gaia couldn't help laughing, even though she felt fairly miserable. She did have cramps, in fact. They'd woken her up. "What the heck are period cookies?"

Becca chuckled. "I think they're sugar cookies with red frosting?"

"Well," Gaia agreed, waggling her mug for tea. "Maybe a few."