2010 Essay

I wrote this in the early morning hours of September 30, 2010 as part of a scholarship application (which I was not awarded).  Wow!  If I only knew then...

It is 6:00 a.m., and my house is quiet.  This is the time when I make my son’s lunch for school, prepare his breakfast, and ensure that he looks presentable in his school uniform, papers signed and checks written, knowing  that I share this quiet ritual with hundreds of thousands of moms across the globe.  Once he is safely delivered to school, I will schedule this week’s conference calls for an AMTA volunteer workgroup, schedule a charity auction meeting for my son’s school, and then begin advanced reading in preparation for the upcoming fall quarter, which doesn’t begin for another week.
 

I have returned to school at South University in order to obtain an Associate’s degree in Physical Therapist Assisting.  As a Licensed Massage Therapist and Certified Lymphedema Therapist, I require an additional degree as either a PT or PTA in order to work for any Medicare-accredited facility such as a hospital or outpatient rehabilitation center.  Manual lymphatic drainage, complex decongestive physiotherapy, and compression bandaging are modalities employed to treat lymphedema, which is sadly a by-product of surgeons’ and radiologists’ efforts to save the lives of those who are diagnosed with breast cancer.   Although I possess the LLCC certification necessary to provide this much needed therapy, I have chosen to add “go back to college” to my daily list of things to accomplish so that I may provide support, treatment, and comfort to those who now find their scarred, swollen bodies on the winning side of a courageous battle. 

I can tell you from experience that there are few things more terrifying than finding a lump in your breast, few things more tear-inducing than dancing with your toddler in a music class in between radiologist and surgeon appointments, wondering if you have breast cancer.  There are also few things sweeter than the relief that washes over you when you are told that your lump is benign, as if you have just been bestowed the most precious gift: time with your child.  Although I know that I am not a member of the sisterhood of women that are fighting breast cancer, I feel as if I have touched their periphery.

I have made a personal commitment to continuing my education so that I can not only help this amazingly strong group of women, but to also set an example for my son, to show him that it’s never too late to better yourself, and it’s never ever too late to help someone else.  The educational journey that I now find myself on is now as much a part of my quiet ritual of motherhood as is the morning packing of a school lunch.