The journey of a million miles begins with a single step...

I have taken a bunch of steps already, and now, it’s time to journal them. I have breast cancer. It’s really a tough thing to say out loud. I’ve written it about a million times already since my mammogram on March 13. It wasn’t real until last week, when I got my surgery date. It existed in a theoretical world, where I’m actually sick; this weird parallel universe where my cancer is something that scares me.

I’m not sick. At least, I don’t feel sick. But according to the biopsy, I am sick and this will kill me if I don’t do something about it.

So I’m going radical and having both breasts removed.

I suppose I should start at the beginning….my beginning is December 18, 1980. I was 9 years old and it was exactly one week before Christmas. I was in 4^th grade. That morning, I had a music concert. I don’t remember if my dad was there or not. I suppose my mom was because she attended everything. I remember what I was wearing….a cream colored sweater and teal skirt. I even remember my afterschool snack of Townhouse Crackers and Merkt’s cheese spread. I remember all of this, because it was the day my grandmother died of breast cancer.

Ever since that day, I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop. I’m built like my dad’s side of the family, so I guess I always just thought it was probable….again, in a theoretical sense. It wasn’t ever going to ACTUALLY happen, right???

I also remember that day in June, 2006 when my mom told me her news….”I have breast cancer.” My heart sunk, but for some reason, I wasn’t scared. I remember saying “What happens now?” The fact that I said that still shocks me to this day. You see, I’m a worrier. I am among the best in the business. I would freak out at everything that didn’t go exactly according to plan. I’ve gotten better, but I still like things as planned out as much as possible. Why didn’t I jump to the conclusion that she was going to die from this? I don’t know. Perhaps some higher power jumped in at that moment to calm me. If so, I’m grateful for it. I was able to listen to her and evaluate the situation with a clear head.

I know, me with a clear head? That’s just crazy talk….

So, back to my beginning….part two. Routine mammogram on March 13, 2014. Of course I was running late. Emma forgot her clarinet, had to run home and I arrived at the appointment 7 minutes late. They told me they could accommodate me, until I pointed out that I had some sort of lump on the outside of my right breast. I was sure it was just a pimple, but I wanted to make sure. This was the first time the attitude changed.

“Oh, well then this is no longer a regular checkup,” she tells me. “Now we need to clear this with your doctor. We may need to reschedule.”

Crap. Really? I’m sure it’s just a pimple but go ahead, call the doc….ok, you can still see me today? Excellent. They put on some sort of metal marker sticker thing on my boob where the pimple (yes, it’s a pimple for heaven’s sake) to mark it while taking the mammogram. Squish, flatten, contort, etc and the picture is done. Then, she takes 6 more. This is not normal. I know something is up, and I can see the monitor. I know what I’m looking at. It looks like sand in little lines in my breast. The doctor comes in to tell me that I need a biopsy.

Shit. I have cancer. Ok, here we go…..

Biopsy on March 18. This is quite possibly the oddest thing I’ve ever done. I’ve done some odd things, but this is a new level of odd. I lay down on a table with a hole in it. My breast hangs down through said hole. (Gravity, doing its thing, makes boobs, especially older, post-baby boobs, look kinda ugly. Move along….nothing to see here….) The doctor numbs the area. When I feel nothing, he takes a cheese borer and takes a few plugs out of my breast. The cool thing here is that I get to see the samples. I know, gross, but cool too.

Go home and wait 48+ hours until the doctor calls with the results. Right, I’ll just wait and be all calm and shit. Whatever. I already know. I do my homework and prepare myself for what I know is coming.

I am not a patient person. Well, sorta, but not really. When I want information, I have no patience. I called the doctor myself, unable to wait for him. He confirms what I already knew. Stage Zero (I had no idea this existed until this moment), estrogen sensitive (this is a GOOD thing), non-invasive (also a good thing), DCIS (ductal carcinoma in situ – my 2 semesters of Latin helped me here) breast CANCER. And there it was. The official diagnosis. At that moment, I officially had cancer. 

Me, a 43 year-old runner, who doesn’t really even get colds, has cancer.