Miracles. I love it when my sister Shelby calls me because she CAN call me. She had cancer, she doesn’t any more. That’s not what I’m used to with stupid cancer. My dad, my grandmother. I hate cancer. I hated it when she got it. I sat in this same place, crying and praying. Not cancer. Not again. We’ve met our quota!
But Shelby beat cancer. Not only beat it, but trashed it. She fought hard. Her chemo was awful! She had to have very very aggressive chemo because her cancer was all that aggressive. It was huge. It’s true what they say about chemo, it kills you enough just to keep you alive.
So in the past three years Shelby has gotten most of her life back. She’s run half marathons. A lot of them. Which, by itself is amazing. Her hair has grown back. She’s almost been back to normal life. The last thing that cancer had over her was her ability to have more kids. She had to wait until two years after her treatment to even think about having more kids. When they started trying, no one thought it could or would happen. It had never been easy for them to get pregnant anyways, and now the doctors were telling her that the chemo had fried her eggs. But Shelby knew that their family was incomplete. I hurt that she hurt. I couldn’t begin to say I understood, because I didn’t. I just wanted her to be able to beat cancer in every single way.
Then yesterday Shelby called me. She’s pregnant.
Cancer-0- Shelby 1.