Even as we sit and wait, I know that something is wrong. I have lived my life listening to that inner voice, and it is screaming in my head. I don't need Dr. Ng to tell me but all he does is confirm what has become evident ... I have invasive ductal carcinoma. I don't even know what that is! It's very early and it's very small ... about 8 mm. They are recommending a lumpectomy and radiation.
I am waiting for my heart to sink, but it doesn't. I am not afraid. Why am I not afraid? Hope is still alive.
We will deal with this as we deal with anything else ... together as a family. Sarah is waiting at home. She has asked that I text her when I get the results, but I do not, because this is not something that you text your child. A decade ago when I thought that I might have to tell my child that I had breast cancer, I was paralyzed with fear. It is different now ... I just have to tell her the truth, and as long as I am strong and fearless, she will not be crushed by this horror.
John and I can even laugh a little as we drive home. I have never liked labels or categories and now I have a big one ... breast cancer. I do not want it to be a stamp on my life. I am so much more than this.
When we get home, I tell Sarah as dispassionately as I can, but she still cries a little. And I try to remember what it was like for me all those years ago when I learned that my mother had colon cancer. I was not much older than Sarah, and here we are again, confronted by this crappy disease. This was not the cancer I thought I would get. I am hoping that because I am brave about this, my child will realize that I am not going to die ... at least not today. We have a battle to fight and many years to go.
The de Paredes Center has arranged everything. I have a folder of material, dates for an MRI and a date with the surgeon. There is a plan in place and a team of people whose job it is to save my life and I don't feel quite so helpless. I am deeply grateful to Dr. de Paredes. Her skill means that I get to see my grandchildren and tell them tales of their mother. I am so very grateful that I live in this country where mammograms are so routine and doctors like de Paredes exist. I am giving her a virtual hug!
I get on the computer and find breastcancer.org and I read as much as I can possibly stand for a night. I am putting off having to tell my sisters. Joyce already has a sense that something bad is coming and I couldn't tell her then that the something bad was going to happen to me. For just a brief moment I consider not telling anyone, but I realize very quickly that that would be impossible to do and exceedingly silly. We are all part of each other, bound by blood and history. I just cannot do it tonight.
Instead, I plan because having a plan makes me feel better. I have never been one to drift aimlessly or to let life sweep me along. By gum, I need a plan!
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