The Results

The biopsies were done on a Thursday, so I had the weekend to get through before I would hear the results. I did some Christmas shopping and went to another meeting. On Sunday evening I was wishing that the weekend could go on for a few more days. I was not looking forward to the phone call. I tried very hard to be positive, but really wanted to stay in that place of not knowing. The truth is, I was sure that the news would not be good.

On Monday morning, just as I was getting into the car to take my dad to a doctor’s appointment, my phone rang. When I saw the number on caller i.d. I thought, “crap, this is it.” I answered and it was the doctor who had done the biopsies. She asked if I was in a good place to talk. I told my dad that I was going back in the house to talk to the doctor.

“The biopsies were consistent with cancer,” she told me. Invasive Ductal Carcinoma, the most common form of breast cancer. The spot that I had been concerned about on the left breast was grade one, the one on the right was grade two. She explained that they are graded 1 – 3, 3 being the most aggressive. “You are going to be fine,” she assured me, “but you need to see a breast surgeon and get this taken care of right away.”

She gave me phone numbers to call for an appointment with a surgeon. I hung up the phone and went to find my husband. He held me in his arms while I cried uncontrollably.

My dad was still waiting in the car, so my husband threw on some clothes and went to take him to the doctor. I got on the phone and made an appointment with a surgeon for the following Friday. I called my children and friends who had been waiting to hear. I cried a lot. I screamed a little. It was about ten degrees outside and I thought about just going out to the back of our property and letting myself freeze to death. I hate to be cold, though. I know I would be back in the house in no time.

The thing that always happens when disaster strikes, for me anyway, is that the love and support of friends and family serve to lift me out of my despair. I have my few moments of insanity, then remember that I am not alone. People want to help, they cook and clean and hug, and tell me they love me. They remind me how strong I am and that I will get through this.

So now it’s Thursday afternoon, and I see the surgeon in the morning. I am trying to make a list of all of the things I want to ask. Someone from her office just called to remind me of the appointment, like I could forget about it.

I am scared shitless.