Soapbox

Possible Abnormalities Detected

“Possible abnormalities detected”

Well fuck. 3 words to change a life.
This has certainly been the longest week of my life: waiting for the repeat scan and the news. So bizarre to realize that today I am me: tomorrow I will probably be “Cancer Patient”.
Something that’s supposed to happen to other people, right? I mean hell- breast cancer doesn’t run in my family!! I’m healthy! I do push-ups, for God’s sake!

I feel like I’ve been going through the motions all week; pretending that I don’t have a sword hanging over my head, which will fall tomorrow at my 10:00 appointment. Watching the clock: 26 hours from now I’ll know…. 24 hours… 22 hours til everything changes…
Last night I woke at 3 AM when Ted got up and couldn’t get back to sleep. I started to have one of those mini-panic attacks that I used to get long ago, where the adrenaline just surges and surges and I’m so clenched I’m almost shaking from it and feel like I’m burning up.
I calmed myself pretty well when I developed a sort of a mantra:
It will not be easy
but it will be Okay.
Life is worth the fight.
Love is worth it.
I am worth it.

Who might I be tomorrow? The brave lady with cancer, who has such a great attitude and a great support network and is gonna beat this thing…. all the cliches people say about people fighting cancer.
I refuse to wear all that pink crap, by the way!

Not looking forward to telling my family. Becky already knows I’m going in, and Ted of course. He’s going with me- I asked him to come. I guess I thought he’d offer, and when he didn’t I felt silly asking him to take off work for something that obviously didn’t seem like a big deal to me. Of course he didn’t hesitate when I asked, and right now I can’t imagine having the focus to drive myself home.
Who do I tell and who do I just say “Well they’re not involved in my treatment so I’m just going to go stealth with them”?
Shit, tomorrow night is book club. We’re having a pot luck dinner to discuss the book “Educated”. I can’t even think about cooking. Even if somehow the news is not bad (I try not to let myself even think of that because if I cling to it and it’s wrong, then I won’t be prepared) I won’t have anything to bring to share. Should I tell Amy that I probably won’t be going?

I’ve made it now to 21 hours from diagnosis without crying but I’m on the verge now. HOW DO PEOPLE STAND THE WAITING? How do they just go about their lives? Will there be oncologists offices and biopsies, or will we go straight to surgery? How much money will this cost Ted? Will they amputate? Radiation or chemo?
How can you make a person wait so long to know? I feel like it will be easier when I”m actually in it: actually having procedures and treatment. This standing at the edge of the pool staring down and wondering how damn cold the water will be Suuuuuuks!