I do believe my week back after this Spring Break was my dooziest yet.
A biopsy, breast cancer diagnosis, and some dental work thrown in just for grins.
"Hi, Florida? Yeah, I think I'm gonna go ahead and come on back. Kansas isn't working out. At. All."
I had zero symptoms.
Zilch.
My mammogram at the beginning of this month was just another pesky thing to check off my "to do" list. Which I think must have hurt its feelings, because it decided to go ahead and just change the course of my health, my priorities, and my general outlook on life.
My images were suspicious so they recommended a biopsy. I can't help but wonder if my radiologist suspected malignancy more than he was letting on, because when he handed me my disc of images, he said, "You'll need to take this with you to all of your appointments." All of them? A biopsy is one appointment. And my results were supposed to be benign. So there wouldn't be "appointments" plural.
We headed off to sunny Florida. And I channeled my inner Scarlett O'hara, pushing aside all worries for a week away with the fam, "I'll think about that tomorrow..." We came home, David left for Indy, and the next day I headed to my biopsy. He called that morning and asked if I was nervous. "Nope," I said, semi-confidently. Apparently, my subconscious decided otherwise, because I started sweating on the way. And I was instructed not to wear deodorant until after the procedure. Not wanting to arrive a hot, stinky mess, I stuffed wads of kleenex under my arms and cranked up the A/C, all while the temp outside registered a balmy 40 degrees. At least I was headed to a hospital, where they'd be well equipped to treat me for my subsequent frostbite and hypothermia upon my arrival.
As I neared the exit, a billboard advertising their healthcare system caught my eye. Something about "advances in cancer treatment...". I'd have to speak to them about that. Because that's pretty much the last word one wants to see emblazoned in the sky as they reach their destination in a situation such as this. Perhaps a palm tree, or a cute puppy photo could better advertise their facility and evoke positive emotions.
Tate had forgotten his gym clothes at home that morning. Naturally, I was exasperated. Looking back, I think it was divinely timed. Instead of worrying about my predicament in the waiting room, I was focused on devising a plan for how I would make it back home, find his clothes and deliver them to the school office before heading to work. I was also scrambling to find the email I deleted from his school with the location of their temporary office while the main one is under construction.
My name was called. And off I went, trying not to leave a trail of kleenex behind me.
They said I should get my results in 2-3 business days. This isn't an Amazon order, people, I thought, this is my future.
I got the call at work 2 days later. And just like that, "oncologist", "treatment plan", and "hormone receptors" were added to my vocabulary list.
Next came telling the kids. The day I was told I'd need a biopsy, I was driving Reese to practice that evening and she was going on about great her life was at that very moment. "I just have like these bursts of happiness!" she said, all smiles.
"Awww...that's called bi-polar," I suggested.
"No, like I'm always happy. But sometimes I'm just like extra happy, like right now. But I kinda feel like something bad could happen at any moment though."
So I kept my mouth shut. I wasn't ready to be the reason that their biggest worry in life was no longer how many likes they'd get on their Instagram post.
Should we sit them all down together to break the news? No. Too ominous. Although, that is how we surprised them with a trip to Disney World a few years ago. So I guess it could have gone either way.
I told the girls together. "Soooo....I had my mammogram a few weeks ago..." I started. Reese immediately interjected, "You have breast cancer!" So much for easing into it. I went through the timeline of events, reassured them it was early stage and very treatable, then answered their one trillion and one questions. "So when they called me yesterday..." I continued, Reese interrupted again, "Yesterday?! You've known since yesterday? Why didn't you tell us last night?"
"Uhh...because I was carting all of you to and from practices all night. We weren't even all home at the same time," I reminded her.
"You, Drue, and I were all in the car together on the way to volleyball," she pointed out.
"Yeah. And you were driving! What was I supposed to say, 'Ok, go ahead and take a left up here. Oh, and I have cancer'?! What on actual Earth?!."
Our conversation took a slight detour when Drue asked, "So, do you know if you're heterozygous? Because we're studying punnett squares in Science."
Reese's biggest concern was that I'd let a man do my biopsy. Bless it.
Tate adorably let it sink in and asked, "So, like, is this something that we need to be worrying about?"
"Nope. Not in the least, Buddy."
The kids suddenly became very agreeable and amicable toward one another over the next few days. At first I thoroughly enjoyed it, but then it turned a little creepy. And when I suspiciously beat the girls at MarioKart, I said, "Aha! You let me beat you! Stop it!"
From the moment I got my diagnosis, I've had a flurry of phone calls from nurses and schedulers. The very first of which turned out to be a sweet nurse I actually met when she was a little girl and her parents taught my Sunday School class. It was very comforting to have her end our conversation with, "I'm praying for you and your family!"
My cancerous culprits look like grains of salt on my images. But instead of playing nice and spreading out evenly, they decided to cluster together and plot against me. We're waiting to see if any cells have escaped into other areas or if I have mutant ninja genes indicating a high rate of reoccurrence. If not, my surgeon is just going to crash their little party, remove them all in an outpatient procedure, and any stragglers will get zapped with 3 weeks of radiation. At which point I'll do a mic drop as I exit the hospital. Until I return shortly thereafter for my appointment with my oncologist to begin my 5 year med. Maybe I'll just take my mic to all future appointments from here on out.
So, ladies...G-O! Go directly to your mammogram. Do not pass "Go". Do not collect $200. Although I'd gladly bribe you if that's what it takes.
I want to go back and hug the radiologist who read my mammogram, the 75 year old survivor who didn't hesitate to approach me in the waiting room offering encouragement, and the nurse who instinctively reached out and held my hand during my biopsy. I'm not even a hugger. But I suspect I'll be more open to the idea from now on.
I finished out the week getting a filling in my tooth and was numbed up half the day. There I sat at my desk, contemplating the information I'd received within the last 24 hours, dribbling my water all down the front of my shirt thinking, "I've had better weeks..."
