Eighth grade was very difficult. Not academically; I was a good student and had good grades. I was still considered the “new girl.” For the first time in my life, I felt unliked. One of the friends I had made in seventh grade moved away. The other girls in the group I had befriended started giving me the silent treatment. I had no idea why, and it hurt. Was I too timid and shy? Or was I too bossy and a know-it-all? To this day, I don’t know why they rejected me. I started sitting with the “popular” girls at lunch, and they were cordial to me, but I never really felt like I had friends in eighth grade. After graduation, I went home and cried my heart out. My parents comforted me the best they could; their hearts must have been breaking for me. Part of me couldn’t wait to go to high school and start over.
The June after my graduation was especially hard. My parent told us some news; Mom, the mother of four children ages five to fourteen, had breast cancer. She was forty years old.
Last week, I told you that God must have called us to the suburbs for a reason. Mom had the best care at one of the best hospitals in the nation; the breast care center at this hospital now bears the name of her doctor. He was a wonderful man, and my parents had the utmost confidence in him. Mom was a breast cancer survivor of twenty-six years before this disease took her away from us.
Years later, when I was diagnosed with breast cancer, my parents wanted me to have the same doctor. He had already retired by then, but he referred me to one of his students. I couldn’t have found a better doctor. I am now fourteen years past that first diagnosis. The doctors that took such good care of my mom and myself were a gift from God.
When I was fourteen years old, there was no way I could have seen such a blessing for me in the future. I was more concerned about surviving a very large and intimidating public high school….
Janna of Mommy’s Piggy Tales began a project to share our youth with our children. Every Thursday, I will tell a story about my childhood as if I were telling it to my children. At the end of this project, I’ll have a collection of stories about my childhood for my children to keep, and hopefully treasure.