Words, words, words

Words are so powerful. One very short sentence changed my life, and not for the better. "It's cancer." One short sentence, and I watched the words turn into a bomb and destroy the future I had planned.

I had made the appointment to discuss my biopsy results for a Friday afternoon. My doctor called me that morning saying that the results weren't in yet. Instead, we rescheduled for the following Monday morning with hopes that the final results would be completed. I spent the weekend in an almost constant state of anxiety. The more time went on, the more sure I was that the results weren't going to be good. Surely if the pathologist hadn't seen anything suspicious, they would have been confident enough diagnosing it as 'not a cancer tumor' (official medical terminology) by Friday. I also couldn't figure out why my doctor would be so certain that the results would be back on Monday morning if they weren't back by Friday morning. Pathologists don't work over the weekend.

That morning, I put on an outfit that made me feel strong and confident. No matter what was going to happen, I wanted to look like a beautiful and strong woman you want to be friends with but don't want to cross. It did help a bit. When I checked in for my appointment on Monday, the receptionist looked at me in confusion and said "That doctor isn't in on Mondays". My stomach plummeted. I knew I had the date right. Was I in the wrong place? Had my doctor and I miscommunicated? What if my results still weren't in? Another receptionist quickly chimed in, she said that that my doctor was coming in on her day off for my appointment. I almost started crying on the spot. Doctors don't come in on their days off to tell someone that they don't have cancer.

I sat in the exam room alone. I had asked my husband to wait in the lobby for this visit. I'm very good at keeping myself composed most of the time, but when he's around I feel more comfortable showing my emotions. I knew what the doctor was going to say, I knew that I would want to have an immediate emotional breakdown, but I also knew that I needed to have my wits about me to discuss the next steps before I truly let everything sink in. I didn't trust myself to hold it together if he was in the room.

My doctor walked in with a file in hand. She was wearing a Mary Poppins pin on her white coat. I collect Disney pins and I'm a huge fan of Mary Poppins, so we discussed the character for a few minutes instead of the usual cliche pleasantries. I talked about how excited I am for Emily Blunt to play the character. She said that her kids describe Mary Poppins as her favorite Disney princess (who isn't actually a princess). The talk didn't last long, we both knew why we were there. She took out the papers she had carried in, looked at me, and told me those words that I wasn't ready to hear.

"It's cancer."

"Fuuuuck." I said, trying, unsuccessfully, to hold back tears. I pulled a small pack of tissues out of my purse and apologized for my language.

She admitted that she had spoken with the pathologist on Friday and he was pretty sure that it was cancer. However, he wanted to run some extra stains to be sure about the diagnosis. This is one of those situations where he didn't actually think he was wrong, he just hoped he was. I guess he didn't want to give a 30 year old the diagnosis of breast cancer any more than the 30 year old wanted to hear it.

We read through the pathology report together. I doubt she usually hands over the pathology report to patients so quickly, but she knew that I have medical knowledge and would understand it. More importantly, I wanted to read it. I wanted to know exactly what I was up against. I was still quietly crying, I couldn't get myself to stop, but I would not let myself shut down yet.

We talked about the type of cancer, how big the lump was, and a bunch of other information like percentages and estrogen and progesterone and HER2. My doctor was so kind and patient throughout the whole discussion. I told her that I would do whatever I needed to do, just tell me what the next steps are. We started going down the pathway of what would happen. Next, I would have to get an MRI. My doctor also wanted a repeat ultrasound of my lymph nodes and my left armpit, since the images from the first ultrasound either didn't get saved or weren't sent properly. I was not excited about further imaging. To be fair, there isn't much of this process to be excited about.

After we had made plans for further imaging and further appointments with her and a plastic surgeon, she sent in a woman to discuss the more mental aspects of my diagnosis. This woman is a former nurse and now coordinates support for women going through this process. She handed me a binder with information to read about what to expect about the surgery, chemotherapy if I needed it, and other risks and care. She even gave me a packet of information for my husband to read through about being spouse to someone with cancer. She told me about some amazing things in the area, such as support groups, exercise groups, etc. I had a lot of new resources, but I couldn't be grateful for those resources at the time. I didn't want to need this resources. I didn't fucking want cancer.

Tears slowly dripped out of my eyes through the entire appointment, which had have lasted an hour at least. When I walked out and saw my husband in the lobby, it was all I could do not to break down. I spent the rest of the day crying, looking up everything I could about my diagnosis, and trying to figure out how to tell everyone. How do I tell my family? My friends? My co-workers? What about my clients who are going to wonder why I'm going to be out of work for such a long time?

The biggest questions were: How am I supposed to go about living my life while I was breaking apart inside? How am I going to make it through every day for the rest of my life? How the hell do I live with this? I still don't have answers.