Our Slow Steady Light

Last month my twin was abruptly diagnosed with breast cancer.  And our world stopped.  It’s lumbering forward now but very painstakingly and very slowly.

Let me preface all that’s next with “She has an excellent prognosis and will be fine”.  Please breath a sigh of relief with me because it is the truth.  And don’t immediately say, “Oh you should get checked yourself!” because I will only file that under the “Gee, why didn’t I think of that???” circular file.  For the record, it’s been addressed and addressed over again.  My post is about my beautiful sister and her new world order.

Initially, there is terror because so many things in this realm take time.  It seemed to me that each new thing we had to go through took 7 days to resolve:  the repeat mammogram with ultrasound, the biopsy, the surgery, the pathology, etc. etc.  All with lots of waiting days in between.  Days to worry and wonder and of course pray and hope.

And now beautiful, beautiful skilled people are surrounding us and they are so steady in their message that things will be well again.  And because of that, we have finally stopped shaking.  Yes, there is work ahead and hard things to go through.  And there is light.  Slow but steady and we are leaning towards it every single day.

But sometimes people say the stupidest things and the curtain draws closed again.  It’s not that I blame them or it’s truly their fault.  They use old cliches that may have been told to them or things they heard or saw on an old TV show.  So many people are not up to date on modern breast cancer treatment which is so much better and more targeted than ever, even in the last 15 years.  Nevertheless, things have been said.  But our team is still edging that curtain back and proceeding to open it to full sunshine which is not a milky white one but full-on bright yellow.  And we will get there.  Together.

There is something about this kind of news that rearranges everything quietly but completely. We are learning how to live in two places at once: in the reality of appointments and side effects and timelines, and also in this growing, stubborn belief that she is going to come through this. Not untouched—but still herself. Still my sister. Still us.

Some days the fear is louder. Some days the light is. Most days, they sit side by side and we just keep going anyway.

And maybe that’s what this is now—not a dramatic story of bravery or transformation, but something quieter. Showing up. Sitting next to each other. Letting the hard moments be hard without letting them take everything.

We are not rushing this. We are not skipping ahead. We are just here—holding onto a slow, steady light—and trusting that if we keep facing it, that light will take over.

And for the first time since all of this began, that feels like enough.