Somebody requested more on the other members of Winnifred's Momcology support group, so here's this!

Paging Momcology II:

During her second Momcology meeting, they talked about things that brought them back to the thick of it. Winnifred shared her aversion to nature documentaries. Edith talked about how she'd gone through nearly every Bath and Body Works hand sanitizer scent because after a few months of using one it became irrevocably tied to some horrible treatment memory, for both her and Clint. And Liz mentioned that she removed and threw away the squeaker in any dog toy she ever got.

"I don't think Winnifred has heard the story behind this," Jackie said with a grin. "Liz, you've got to tell her about the squeaker."

Liz smiled. "Alright. I know it seems unusual to associate a squeaker with traumatic memories, and really the memories I have of the sound aren't really bad." She waved her hands and continued, "It'll make sense once I explain it. Logan's tumor was in his left shin, and instead of amputating they did a limb salvage. They replaced his entire tibia with some new metal alloy called adamantium. Anyway, Logan had to completely relearn how to walk after that. At first, he walked only on his toes on that foot and it started to affect his Achilles tendon because it wasn't being stretched normally with every step. So, to remind him to get his heel down, we strapped a squeaker to it when he walked around the house. Every time I hear that sound now…I look around and hope to see him walking around with that lopsided gait of his…even though I know it's not him. It's just too painful to hear."

"Wow," Winnifred said quietly. "That's quite a story." She felt connected to Liz as a fellow Ewing's mom, even though their sons' stories were so different.

"Yeah," Liz sighed.

"I remember Ginny saying that's why she and Howard had to get divorced," Sharon said glumly. "They were each other's reminder of the worst of it, couldn't stand being around each other all the time because it hurt too much."

Jackie shook her head. "That's awful."

Edith agreed. "I can't imagine losing Harry after all we've been through together. He's the only reason I've made it through everything."

"I feel the same about my George," Winnifred said. "He was my rock. Even though he was still working, he managed to be there for me whenever I needed him. I suppose I have George and his boss to thank for that."

"I don't have a partner, but my other two kids were what kept me going through Nick's treatment," Jackie said. "They still managed to be a pain in the ass sometimes, but they somehow understood when I needed them to step up. The first time around, Jake was only four and Dawn was just a baby, but even she was good for my friend when they had to stay at her house so I could be with Nick. It's amazing what kids can do. And I truly believe that this experience has made us stronger as a family."

All the heads around the circle nodded. "Cancer's fickle like that. Sometimes it destroys relationships, sometimes it reinforces them," Liz said.

Winnifred was still hung up on what Sharon said. She hadn't heard that name mentioned before. "I'm sorry to derail the conversation, but who's Ginny? I don't think we've met."

"Ginny used to come to group," Liz explained. "She lost her son to leukemia. But she went back to school and became a pediatric oncologist. Now she's a total big shot and doesn't have time for us ordinary people anymore." Liz smiled at her friend's accomplishment.

"Wow. That's impressive. Where does she work as an oncologist?"

"Gravesen, actually. As a matter of fact, she was probably Bucky's oncologist if he was treated so recently."

"Wait, Virginia Potts?"

"Yes."

Winnifred had no idea that Bucky's doctor had lost her own child to cancer. She already respected the hell out of that woman for her expertise, and this only magnified that tenfold.

"That's the ultimate cancer mom move, to take that grief and channel it into helping get at the root of the problem. I could never do what she did. Seeing all those kids come through and suffer—and seeing some of them not make it—it would just be too much for me. But I'm so proud of her," Sharon said.

"You should be. She's a formidable woman," Winnifred remarked.

"Absolutely. But I like to think we're all formidable women."

"We have to be."

"I know we are, but I find that I don't like getting called resilient and strong by other people all the time," Eleanor admitted.

Liz nodded her agreement. "That's a really important thing to discuss. Can you talk a little bit more about how it makes you feel?"

"It just always makes me feel like I should feel accomplished or honored or something for enduring what I went through. But I don't feel any of that. I feel…" she made some sort of gesture that Winnifred assumed was the sign language term for whatever she was trying to articulate. "Exhausted."

Edith added, "When people say things like that, it's almost always accompanied by some sort of feeling like, 'Oh I could never do what you do.' That's not the compliment people think it is because I never chose this path. It was forced upon me, and I have no choice but to be resilient. Clint has no choice but to be strong. Fighting cancer isn't necessarily worthy of compliments. Especially when most of the time I feel like I'm two seconds away from completely losing my mind."

Everything she said resonated deeply with Winnifred. She remembered saying things like that to Sarah, before she also became a medical mom. I don't know how you do it. You're amazing. You and Steve are some of the strongest people I know. Those words spoke of someone who knew nothing of the experience of parenting a sick child. Now that she'd lived it, she didn't feel strong. Every last ounce of strength had been wrung out of her.