Wow. The support I received from that first blog post was pretty much unbelievable. Your encouragement and love was needed and appreciated. For a cancer gal, I am pretty damn lucky.
To say I was nervous about today would be the understatement of the year. I was beyond nervous. Truly terrified. I tried to imagine what it would be like to hear the worst news possible, and I felt an ultimate low. It didn’t help that Andy woke up putting his hand on my face and telling me that he had a dream that I died. There was lots of crying in the shower.
Because I promised to be honest, I will tell you that I was really worried about dying. I kept thinking that my life has been so beautiful- filled with so much love and opportunity- that maybe this was my time. I know that doesn’t really make sense, but it is what I was thinking. Hearing my boys laugh and giggle with their dad -made me cry even harder. I was in the darkness.
I didn’t sleep much, and then spent the majority of the early morning willing myself not to throw up. When we got to Barnes, I got to walk down that bridge that connects the parking garage to the hospital. I remembered how much I hated that bridge. I had to walk that bridge a lot when I was dealing with my DVT (major blood clot). I remember seeing cancer patients walk by as I went to my radiologist appointments and I would think, “at least I don’t have cancer.” And today I walked across that bridge as a cancer patient.
Meeting my doctor instantly made me feel better. She is confident and smart, and explained things slowly. She ordered a mammogram of both breasts, and ultrasounds of my lymph nodes. Then I did a lot of waiting. (Those sheet-like robes they give you to wear should be outlawed.) I was freezing, and hadn’t eaten, and couldn’t even wait with Joel. After all the info was gathered, she met with me again and diagnosed me with early stage 2 breast cancer. She told me my prognosis is excellent and explained that even though I have a very aggressive, hormone fed cancer- that today there are drugs that will specifically target the cancer cells, and shrink my tumor. I will do 6 rounds of chemo, one every three weeks, and then tackle surgery. I asked her if I would live. She said, “yes.” I asked her if I would still get to raise my boys, she said, “yes.” I felt the light creeping back in. When she left the room, Joel said, “how do you feel.” And I said, “I can do this.” There is hope.
I am going to be one ugly bald lady, but I am going to live. I hear all of your voices. They lift me up.
I meet with the oncologist tomorrow. Let the games begin 🙂