Since the discovery of the lump, in the pit of my stomach, I knew something was wrong. Leading up to the first doctor's visit, I kept hoping that the lump would somehow just disappear. Unfortunately it did not.
At my initial doctor's visit, that bad feeling simply grew. My primary care physician, Dr. Anderson, felt the lump and the look on her face told me something was wrong. She is a breast cancer survivor. She walked me out to the front desk and asked her staff to book me a mammogram ASAP! She also gave me her personal email address. I didn't deserve this special treatment, nor did I want it! I desperately was grasping at any and all hope but it was looking dimmer and dimmer since, in the back of my mind, I had family history of this awful disease.
The follow-up mammograms and biopsies didn't help the negative feelings. At the ultrasound/biopsy appointment, they took a sample of the lump and then I had to get an additional mammogram since they placed a clip/marker in the lump. When they took the second set of mammograms, the images showed something was wrong w/ a lymph node. The radiologist, Dr. Foley, requested that I go back in for an ultrasound and a biopsy of the lymph node.
When the doctor's office called the following day and asked me to come in...I knew the results were going to be not good. When I had my biopsies the previous day, radiologist told me I could hear as quick as the following day and she would call me or may consult my doctor. I knew hearing from the doctor directly wasn't good!
When Dr. Anderson came in and said 'you have breast cancer,' I heard words but nothing was registering. I wasn't scared for myself. All I kept thinking about was the kids. My heart was bursting of sadness for Carter and Katherine. All I want to do is protect them from the pain, confusion and fear. They shouldn't have to know the word cancer at 6 and 4!
I vaguely remember texting my siblings and a group of my closest college girlfriends on our drive home. I must have been in a state of shock since a lot of the events that follow escape me. I do not remember the conversation I had w/ my sister, My, about coming over. I don't remember much of the days after the diagnosis. I was alive but not really living.
Since my sister's diagnosis, I have had a mammogram every 6 months. My last mammogram was in October. How could something grow inside of me so quickly without my knowing. The doctor's looked back and nothing was present in those images then. I often wonder what I could have done differently.
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