My brother Ross and husband Arie saw a ride called Dive Bomber Alley. They hook you up to heavy duty harnesses and connect you with your riding buddies. Then you are all connected to a massive cable and hoisted 15 stories above the ground. Once in place aloft, an announcer starts the countdown . . . three . . . two . . . one . . . pull! The one person in your group who has been designated to pull the rip cord to release you all at that last command has to pull the cord and you are sent soaring downward 15 stories until the cable catches you and you soar out above the awed crowds, swinging back and forth, all the while probably screaming at the top of your lungs either from shear adrenaline or absolute terror!
I insisted I wanted to be the person to pull that cord. I'm not sure why. I was even slightly concerned at the time that I wouldn't be able to follow through when the time came. I recall my brother swearing as we were being pulled upward. Truth be told, we were all a little freaked out. Then came the countdown. On pull, I didn't hesitate one nano second. We soared through the air screaming with fear, delight, a few expletives, and my brother saying he hated me. LOL It was a good time that we'll never forget and some of us may never do again.
Flash forward about ten years . . .
Just as the surgical staff was preparing to roll me back to the OR for my bilateral mastectomy, I asked Arie if he remembered that particular ride. Together we recalled the rip cord - no choice, no hesitation, and complete faith that the equipment would take us safely back to earth. During the planning, appointments, and pre-op for this surgery, I appeared resolute, even stoic perhaps at times. At that moment, my husband saw my first tears as I told him, "I'm pulling the rip cord" and he kissed me and understood.
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