Garden of Dandelions

Well, crumb.

I had hoped my update would read: All is well, lumpectomy went swimmingly, cleared the bump in the road called cancer.

Of course, that would have made for the shortest blog post ever.

AND I don't regularly use the word swimmingly.

After feeling as though I'd been kicked by a Shetland pony for a few days, I bounced back from the biopsy, no problem. Not terrible, just uncomfortable. But I was still relieved to put the whole process behind me. The procedure, the recovery, and the w...a...i...t, grateful I wouldn't be going through that again in the near future.

Next came my MRI. Not a fan. I'm the person who gets to the movies/church service/program early to secure a seat near the aisle and feel confident in my escape plan, heaving a heavy sigh when asked to "move in toward the center aisle to make room for late comers". Well, they can just shove their way past me and feel stuck for all eternity in the middle of the row because I ain't budgin'.

So getting slid into a tube, in my skivvies, staying stock-still, was not my ideal way to spend a half hour. I almost pushed the panic button twice. But I refrained and tried to think of humorous things to distract me. Which may have included envisioning some of you falling. Don't judge.

And can I just say: You know you're from Kansas when...your medical facility is under construction and the MRI machine is in a trailer out back! I kid you not. The techs wrapped a warm blanket around my shoulders and out the door I trudged in my hospital gown and scrub pants in 30 degrees. No sir. If I never had to have another MRI in this millennium, it would have been too soon.

Lo and behold, my surgeon called the next week saying the malignant area on my right side measured twice as big on the MRI as it had on my original mammogram. AND the images picked up an area of abnormality on my left side. So I'd need an MRI guided biopsy.

An MRI BIOPSY?! Was that even a thing? Would a clown with a knife be performing the procedure? Because that would pretty much cover all the bases of what my current nightmares are made of.

We decided to wait to tell the kids until after the results came back. But Reese foiled that plan. She is always watching. Always listening. And has been since toddlerhood. How she didn't figure out Santa and the Easter Bunny by age 3 is beyond me. The girl picks up on everylittlething. The evening before my second biopsy, she casually asked me when my next appt was.

"Uhhh...errr..." I stammered.

"Oh, and why did you have your cancer notebook this morning when you took Tate and I to the dentist? You brought it out of the house and put it in the car," she observed.

My bedroom was an interrogation room. Luckily, I had a good answer for that one, "I had my blood drawn today for all the genetic tests. My orders were in that notebook," I explained.

"Hmm. And what about your MRI?" she quizzed.

"That's tomorrow," I said, not thinking.

"Tomorrow?! It was last week! What are you talking about? You have another one? What's going on?"

Oh boy.

Drue appeared from across the hall. The girl can't hear us yell her name 4 times to do the dishes, but by golly, she can sure pick up on conversations I hadn't planned on having yet.

Cancer is getting on my nerves. Literally. Some days, out of the blue, my stomach just knots up like I'm about to perform the National Anthem at the Super Bowl. But the next minute, I'm fine. And I know it's because someone has prayed for me. I cannot thank those of you enough who've done so.

So, the results are in. My left side decided to say to my right, "I see your non-invasive ductal carcinoma, and raise you an invasive lobular carcinoma."

Double the cancer. Double the...ugh.

Over this past month, they've been poked, prodded, smashed, smooshed, pushed, pulled, tugged, clipped, bruised, marked, steri-stripped, and glued. And quite frankly, they've had enough. Their series of unfortunate events will conclude with a mastectomy.

Which Reese has been on board with from the beginning, "Just get everything off. I mean, it's not like you have all that much up there anyway."

Straight from the mouth of one of my biggest supporters, folks.

She also feels she's earned a spot on my surgical team because she watches Grey's Anatomy. Yeah, no. I've seen her bedroom. And I most certainly wouldn't let her anywhere near my operating room. The nurses would be tripping over her backpack, shoes, and dishes from last week.

When she found out about my second diagnosis she said, "On Grey's, there was this fake doctor diagnosing people with cancer who didn't really have it. And he would start them on medicine and everything!"

As I made a mental note to research boarding schools, she continued, "I mean, I don't think that's what's happening here. I'm just saying..."

They can't tell right now the extent of the invasive component/stage so they won't know if I need chemo until after surgery.

Reese's take on that? "Awww...I hope you don't need chemo. You just figured out how to curl your hair good."

Seriously, someone take this child. Give her a loving home.

I'm so thankful for my first cancer diagnosis, which led to a discussion with my surgeon about getting an MRI, which led to David and I shrugging our shoulders and saying, "Sure, why not?", which led to a diagnosis of my invasive cancer that wouldn't have been found otherwise. Does God work in mysterious ways? I've never been more certain.