On Monday afternoon, the 11th of June, a radiologist phoned
me from Northwestern Memorial Hospital. Dr. Whuen [not her real name], along
with a surgeon and one or two assistants, had performed a biopsy on my left
breast the previous Friday morning. I was expecting her call. I was also
expecting good news.
Perhaps bigger alarms would have sounded at her first words
-- "Is this a good time to talk." -- if my family wasn't inclined to
start perfectly normal phone conversations just that way. I am sure I said
something like "Of course" or "Couldn't be better."
Her next words, however, brought everything to a halt while
I got my husband on the phone with me: "Your biopsy did show the presence
of cancer."
This outcome was against the strong odds I been trusting.
Telling her that I was making notes but was struggling and
might need to have her repeat things, we launched into one of the more
distressing conversations of my life.
By the time we got off the phone, she'd made it very clear
that, as far as she was concerned, I would be having breast surgery. In fact,
some of the possible outcomes she covered had me believing it was time to get
my affairs in order.
At the risk of spoiling the suspense – or actually, because
suspense is uncalled for and unfair, I will jump ahead here and tell you that
within 24 hours, I understood clearly that my life is not in danger. Nevertheless, it’s been a bit rocky around
here lately.
Soon it will be a month since I got my diagnosis. It's been
a hard month and not just because of cancer -- or not just because of my
cancer.
But I've had a lot to study, much to think about. I've
learned quite a bit about cancer, though mostly about breast cancer. And I've
discovered some new things about myself.
Some of these things I believe are worth sharing.
So, despite some subtle signals from a dear friend or two
that they'd like me to stop using the C word already, I'm going to be talking
and I'm going to be listening. If you can listen or you'd like to talk, join
me.
