Tag: mammogram

Living with the Wind Knocked Out of Me: Part 5~ Anxiety

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Anxiety is quite something, isn’t it?

I mean, there is worry – which is one thing – but then there is anxiety.

Trust me, I have done my fair share of worrying: I raised two boys so that is reason enough right there! I’ve worried over what we would do when Dan’s job was unexpectedly downsized leaving him unemployed. I’ve worried over silly things like what to wear to an event, would we be on time or late to an appointment, who would I sit next to when I have to be somewhere.

But anxiety? That’s a different beast.

Those worries can turn into anxiety for sure, but on their own they come and go as quick as the time passes.

Anxiety grips you. Holds you hostage. Clings tightly. Digs in deep.

Worry can be somewhat rational….”I’m worried about what the diagnosis will be”; “I’m worried if the person I love will be ok”; “I’m worried about missing out on something because I might be late.”

Anxiety… takes whatever I’m worried about and twists it into something so much more. I am not trying to do this intentionally, it is something my brain does for me all on its own. Isn’t that special?

Some people, my husband for example, does not have anxiety. Does he worry? Yes. Does he get anxious about what worries him? No. My oldest son seems to be just like him.

I find that strange.

I, on the other hand, have struggled with anxiety for most of my life. I almost wonder if it is something that arises from deep within me when I do not acknowledge what I am worried about, do not feel validated in what I am worried about, or cannot seem to work through what I am worried about.

Whatever it is, it is my worries MAGNIFIED.

I remember having bad dreams as a kid and wandering the house in the night unable to separate myself from that dream. I remember it so that must mean I was awake, but I also remember feeling trapped in it at the same time as if I was partially asleep. I could not settle. I could not relax. I did not feel “safe” even though I was safe inside my home.

I would go upstairs to my parents bedroom and try to settle into a “nest” built on the floor for the dog, but it was not “enough” to calm me or to stop the feeling of being “trapped in the dream.”

As an adult, I can now recognize that I was having a panic attack.

Unbeknownst to my brother, who was my arch nemesis at the time, I finally crawled onto the foot of his bed and curled up. It was there in the (if you have a brother then you understand, but to my brother this is no way disparaging of you as an adult!!!) grossness of his teenage bedroom by his yuck boy feet that I could feel secure again to be able to return to my own room and sleep once more.

I remember doing that more than once.

I also remember waking up in the middle of the night and scaring my parents half to death because I swore I could not breathe. I think my mom was on the cusp of taking me to the Emergency Room when I was finally able to settle down.

As I got older, the expressions of anxiety changed: insomnia continued, restlessness increased, inability to focus, a roaring in my ears, stomach “butterflies”, consuming thoughts while jumping from topic to topic.

It’s fun stuff.

Where did it all start? Why?

Who knows. Maybe there was a reason- it would be nice to “blame” it on some event I suppose. Or, as we now have discovered through science, maybe it just IS. A true medical diagnosis of anxiety that I have not been officially diagnosed with.

In 2014, I had the best time ever going to a Beth Moore conference with some friends and my mother. It was a chance of a lifetime to go and I am so glad we jumped at that chance! If you don’t know her- she is a dynamo of a speaker! An authentic woman of God. An incredible author too!

Anyway, at that conference, at the end, there was this time for prayer and reflection. In that time, I remember someone praying specifically for the chains of anxiety to be dropped; for those bonds that feel like they are holding a person prisoner, to be released.

I felt the release.

Does anxiety still beckon to me? Yes.

Does anxiety still cross my threshold into my home, into my mind? Yes.

Does it rule me? No.

Does it define me? No.

Do I still struggle with the temptation for it to consume me? Yes.

It’s a battle. In some seasons, it feels like an all out war, but I do feel free from its grip on me.

I’ve gone to counseling over the years when my personal coping choices were not effective due to the extreme circumstances I found myself in. I’ve changed many of those coping choices over the years, as well, when I realized what was helping or hurting me.

Well, let me tell you…. once again I can honestly say that I am struggling.

Hello, anxiety, my old friend….I’ve been freed from its chains but it still likes to try to take hold of me.

I made the decision to have the bilateral mastectomy and braced myself for the “comments” that may come my way once I announced my treatment plan.

I worried about what others would say, but I was anxious about what decision to make. See the difference?

There is an interesting detail that still remained: the MRI my surgeon still wanted me to have.

I met with the plastic surgeon on a Tuesday, and he went over what surgery would look like as well as the recovery plan. I handled a silicon breast implant as if it were a stress ball throughout that whole appointment.

Remember when I talked about all those choices we make in a day and how overwhelming more choices were to me? Well, who KNEW that there would still be more choices included even when I made a decision for the mastectomy~

*what kind of implant: saline, silicon, my own tissue?

*nipple or no nipple?

*tattoo nipple?

I never realized how modest I was until I started having health problems…These are crazy conversations to have with a stranger!

When I left that appointment, needless to say, I was overwhelmed and emotional. My anxiety had once again surfaced and the roaring in my ears was present. As I approached the elevator I saw a familiar face: one of the doctors I work with on a regular basis. I did not realize that he was a part of that specific medical group and was not prepared to make casual conversation so I made myself small and quiet: he never saw me standing there.

The next day I went in for the breast MRI.

At this point of the journey, I have had 2 mammograms (naked breasts squished in a machine with the tech standing right there “woman-handling” my breasts to obtain the best imaging views). I had 2 breast ultrasounds: one with the female ultrasound tech waving her lubed up wand over my breast and the second with a doctor joining her to do the same. I next had the biopsy, which was another ultrasound with my breast exposed and cleaned, and a doctor- with the tech- performing the ultrasound guided needle biopsy. I sat through an appointment with my “team” of physicians where 2 of the 3 doctors did a breast exam in front of my husband. Finally, I met with the plastic surgeon where another exam was completed, measurements were taken, and photographs were done all with the nurse present to assist the physician.

Everything and everyone have been incredibly professional. It is just a body part. I am a nurse and I know this. But it is personal to me.

Now it is time for the breast MRI. Are you kidding me with this one??? Top off, lay on your stomach and let your breasts dangle through a hole with my arms over my head.

Are you comfortable, Amy? Never better.

Oh my gosh. I am not ok.

It’s over in about a half hour and home I go with whatever dignity is left.

The next morning I woke up to the “My Chart” app alerting me to the findings from the MRI. They were a little confusing to me so I was pleased that the Nurse Navigator from my team called me within a few short hours:

“Did you see the MRI results?”

Yes.
“We are concerned that there were more spots on your left breast found. If a lumpectomy is planned, we will need to do more biopsies for sure. There is also a “spot” on your right breast. We “think” it looks benign, but that will need to be monitored every year from here on out depending on your treatment plan. We need to make some decisions quickly.”

(I’m at work in the middle of a procedure when this call came through.)

I am planning to have a bilateral mastectomy and met with the plastic surgeon Tuesday to discuss that as my plan. This MRI confirms that my decision is the correct one for me.

MORE spots? Are you kidding me?

I can’t have this surgery fast enough.

Do you know when that surgery will be scheduled?

“No, but I will tell your surgeon what we have discussed and it should be scheduled soon.”

Soon is a funny word, isn’t it? When exactly is something “soon”?? Tomorrow? Next week? Later today? In a month?

I take a deep breath as I hang up the phone and get back to my assignment at hand: my job as a procedural nurse. Back to business.

That same week, on Friday, I have a big thing to do for myself. It may not seem like a big deal for others, but this was huge for me.

My breast cancer is “hormone positive” which means that hormones “feed” it. I’ve been on one form of birth control or another since I was 18 years old. For about 8 years I took “the pill” and then I was introduced to an IUD.

Was it the birth control pill that caused all this? It is hard to say, but taking it definitely increased my risk factor for breast cancer.

My youngest child is a precious 19 years old. He was born in 2005. That means I have had this IUD as a birth control option for 19 years. I was told that my IUD could “carry me through menopause” nicely. It could diminish the side effects many women experience as they become menopausal. In 19 years, thanks to my IUD, I have not even had a menstrual cycle. No period. No cramps. No cravings. No obvious PMS symptoms.

For 19 years.

I was told it needed to come out. Yes, the hormone it releases is not one that feeds my tumor, but it is still best to not have any hormones be fed into my body anymore.

So on the same week that I met with the plastic surgeon and had the MRI, I now get up close and personal with my OB to have the IUD removed.

I cannot even begin to describe how vulnerable and exposed I am feeling these days. My body has become something more public than I would prefer it to be and it makes me incredibly uncomfortable. Is it all medically necessary? Yes. Has everyone been professional about all they have done? 100% YES.

Yet, I still feel raw just the same.

My OB calls me as I am driving to office because she does not know why I am having the IUD removed and wants to inform me that the “exchange of it for another” is not required for another year. She is being kind in trying to prevent me from an unnecessary appointment.

I inform her that I need to have it out because I have been diagnosed with breast cancer. She is immediately empathetic and says she will see me soon in the office.

My nerves are shot by the time I get there.

Here is the thing: I have had many appointments through all this. I’ve been told where to go, where to stand, where to park, when to arrive, what to wear all so something can be done to me.

THIS is something I have to do myself for myself. This is something that is going to change many things about me. My husband and I are fairly young: birth control is suddenly a new issue to deal with as we enter our 50’s. I will probably have periods again and all that goes along with it each month. They may be regular or irregular in their cycle, heavy or light. We don’t know.

And I will definitely being going through and feeling ALL of menopause.

I have to do it. This life change must happen for me to move forward as a breast cancer patient.

The tears start falling as soon as the doctor enters the room. I explain my situation as she compassionately listens. She gets it. She even asks if I want to take the IUD home so I can bury it (I declined that offer in case you wondered!).

She understands that in this one simple act, I have begun to grieve the life that I once knew, the future that I had believed would come.

I have breast cancer and life is going to be different because of it.

ANXIETY hit when I walked out of that office that day. It hit HARD. It hit fast and heavy. I got in the car and cried a million tears before I could even think of driving. I could not figure out what to do next as I sat there in the parking lot.

I was not worrying… I was anxious.

Anxiety won’t let me make a decision. It tells me that the choice to get a coffee from this Starbucks or that one is as big a deal as should I have open heart surgery soon or not. I cannot think clearly or hear my thoughts that should instinctively guide me toward my next natural step.

It freezes me in a moment of “do I go in or do I stay out?”

When Troy was a baby, he was born with a club foot. During my maternity leave, I had to take him weekly to the pediatric orthopedic surgeon’s office where she would wrap his little leg in a stiff yet pliable cast to gently turn his little leg outward. The goal was to increase the length of the ligaments on the inside of his leg and to tighten up the length of those on the outside of his leg (the Ponseti method). After that stage of treatment was completed, he needed to have his Achille’s tendon released surgically at the age of 3 months: a hard plaster cast was put on him for a month or 2. When that was removed, he had to wear special shoes that would attach to a bar to hold his legs apart as well as to keep turning the right foot outward with the shoe holding his foot more flat.

It was at this that I realized that I was having some serious emotional issues with what was going on with him. Over the early months of his life I seemed to handle most things alright. However, I needed to get this “normal” shoe that would go with his orthopedic shoe to fit into this bar (Denis Browne splint). I was to look for the classic baby shoe: white leather with laces.

I went to the mall so I could go to the Payless Shoe Store (did I just date myself??). I remember standing outside the store and would take a step toward it and then back away. I did this for quite a while. I could not go in, but I could not walk away either. Back and forth. Do I go in? Do I go in? Do I go in? I could not make the decision. I could not breathe either and it felt like the weight of the world was suddenly sitting on my chest.

Anxiety at its finest.

21 years later and I am just as frozen. Crippled by it.

Through my years of grief counseling, I have gained some wisdom. One refrain entered my head: do the next thing. If you don’t know what to do, just do the next thing. It does not matter what it is, just do it. Then do what is next after that.

I started with turning my car on and continuing to deep breathe. I chose the closest Starbucks and treated myself to a hot latte made with oat milk (it changes the latte game, I’m telling you!). I chose my next step from there and gradually made it through the day.

I believe I did some therapeutic shopping that day and bought fancy recovery jammies with buttons as well as new lounge wear as if I’ll be some idle queen laying on her chaise lounge enjoying the companionship of those around me instead of recovering from having my body surgically altered because I have to instead of doing it because I want to.

The day ends and I notice that I am without word of a surgical date. I can now assume it will not be the next week but cannot guarantee any secure future plans I’ve committed to for the weeks to come. We look at our calendars and try to determine how to plan Dan’s work-travel as well as my speaking engagements I have looked forward to. It was stressful because we knew we needed to cancel our plans at any minute.

The weekend passes as we tell people, “we don’t know yet” when they inquire frequently and with compassion.

The unknown is so hard. Hard to plan for. Hard to stay present in the moment. The weight of not knowing settles on me uncomfortably. I do not want to harass my doctors office with phone calls. I do not want to try to micro manage this situation – which has only proven to make me more anxious in the past and I’m already intense as it is.

The waiting means I continue to walk around with potentially growing cancer inside of me.

I want to TRUST. I want to believe that God is IN this still. Trust that I will not fall through any cracks in the system. Trust that God’s word to me is true that I will NOT be overwhelmed or consumed by the waters and fire that threaten me.

I decided to give the office until Tuesday before I would call them. By Tuesday it would have been a week since I was seen in the office with the plastic surgeon and the decision to have the mastectomy was made.

Remember that surgeon I saw by the elevator that I hid from?

When I got to work on Monday, there he was in my break room. For this to be truly understood, you have to know that I work 2 days a week. These two days vary from week to week as I do not have a consistent schedule at all. Also, I work with many different doctors as they all have different schedules too. I can see the same one each week, but another only once a month.

That is the case with this particular surgeon: I do not work with him too much. I work with enough to know him and for him to know me, but I am not scheduled to be in his room each time he is in our unit. It’s just how our schedules go there.

But here he is in my breakroom at 0800.

A co-worker of mine is there as well and asks me the infamous question: do you have a date yet??

I said no and then looked at the doctor. She sees me look at him and asks, “could he help?”

He asks, “with what?”

I inform him that I have breast cancer and that surgeons in his office will be doing my surgery but I have not received a surgical date yet and that is making me more and more anxious about all of it. Could he help me to get it scheduled in some way??

In that moment I remember that his sister had been treated for breast cancer so he is even more empathetic than the usual person I inform of my situation.

God has put the right person in the right place at the right time for me.

He immediately agrees to help and within minutes, I was told, he was on the phone with his office manager.

In that moment the relief I felt was palpable when I could still see the hand of God working in my situation. He had not left me alone in my anxiety -even if I could not feel Him directly there.

I was promised that He would be right here and here He was.

Before lunchtime that day I received the call from the surgeons office that I had been waiting for and my surgery is officially scheduled.

April 16, 2025 at 0900 I will be having a bilateral mastectomy.

The pressure eased a little that day. The anxiety subsided somewhat as my trust in the Lord was strengthened. I was, and am, thankful for God’s continued provision.

I am going to need that reminder for the days to come.

Living With the Wind Knocked Out of Me: Part 2 ~ The_Diagnosis

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In John 21:18 Jesus is talking with His disciple Peter telling him that “others will dress you and take you where you don’t want to go.”

I remember when my youngest was little we had to take him to the doctor. He was scared of the doctor and always had been. For years, prior to going, he would repeatedly ask if he was going to get a “shot” that day. We would never lied to him to try to ease his anxiety out of a fear that doing so would backfire on us so, instead, we would say, as honestly as we could, “I don’t know buddy; you might have to have one this time.”

It was hard having to take him somewhere that he did not want to go; where he was scared to go.

In his sweet childhood, he was quite shy and nervous around new people, places, and unknown experiences. In fact, it was often the fear of the unknown that made him most anxious. He seemed to think ahead wondering or worrying who would be there, what it would look like or feel like.

I often think that he and I share the same brain as that is so similar to how I process things.

There was one particular time at the doctor that was the worst; I think he had a rash or something that needed to be assessed for treatment. As we approached the front door of the office, he hard-stopped walking. Completely stopped and dug his heels into the cement.

Can you envision trying to pull a young elementary age child to go forward? Can you see him with legs locked, heels firmly placed into the cement ground, head down, back arched, with arms stretched forward because his dad and I are trying to coerce him into movement?

He was terrified for some reason and we could not move him an inch no matter that we were reassuring him that we would not leave him; that we would ensure he would be alright because we would be right there with him the whole time.

Crying hard, he conceded and into the office we went.

I remember another time, I do not recall WHY he would have said this, but he asked me about “the oxygen mask that would smell like bubble gum” and if he would have it too.

He was 4 years old when his older brother required a rather major surgery to repair ligaments that were deformed due to being born with a club foot malformity. We took our youngest (maybe it wasn’t a good idea, but we wanted him to feel involved with what was happening with his brother as he seemed rather intuitive and introspective about things instead of being “clueless”) with us to the pre-anesthesia appointment where they showed both boys the oxygen mask smelling of bubble gum that our oldest would see again on his surgery day.

That experience had been years prior to when his inquiring mind paired that event of his brother together with whatever doctor office experience he was about to have: and it brought him anxiety and fear because that was what was known to him.

How often does that happen to us? We allow fear and anxiety (do we really allow it??? I don’t always feel I have the choice when it shows up…) to take over all rational thought because of a previous experience when we are suddenly faced with something new and unknown.

In 2021, my best friend of 20 years forever finished her battle with Colon Cancer.

We were months apart in age. We were both nurses for about the same amount of years and worked in very similar fields. Our mothers and mother in laws were similar in temperament. We were married almost the same amount of years and both married to a “Dan”! We had children the same age. We laughed about the same things. We both analyzed every thought and action said or done by those around us. We both believed that life mattered and what we did with our lives made a difference in this world around us.

Her experience with cancer is the experience that I recall now.

I remember the day she called me to tell me of her diagnosis in 2016. She told me that her husband was not with her for that infamous scheduled colonoscopy because she did not think it was going to be a big deal. I thought it was interesting that she had prearranged for a friend to take her home when it was over so he would not have to take the day off of work.

She had to call him on the phone to tell him a cancerous mass had been found in her colon.

What I do not remember is how that felt to her to make that phone call. I’d asked her so many things about her life and her cancer… but not about that. I did not ask her how she told her children and how that felt… before, during, and after.

At the time, those seemed to be silly questions. I figured I knew the answer: horrible. “It felt horrible, Am.” Of course, Al, of course it felt horrible- I can’t even imagine.

Now I can.

Oh Ali, it is the worst thing ever. I wish I would have asked you about that. How did you do it?? What were your thoughts?? Did you pray first or were you so shell-shocked you felt numb? Were you worried about Dan? Were you broken hearted because you knew you were about to change their worlds and break their hearts?

We aren’t supposed to hurt our children. Ever. Discipline, yes. Hurt? NO. My life as a mother has been one of protection. Of support. Of encouragement.

Have we had hardship that we had to face with them? YES. But we were always shielding them and making a path before them all the way.

Not this time.

And now we have a precious girl brought into our lives…one whose own momma had only recently passed from breast cancer before her battle with it could ever really start.

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Oh Ali, I miss you. I cannot even describe in words how I wish I could talk to you about how to do this with my kids.

But first… I have to tell Dan.

On February 4 I was in Muskegon sitting by Lake Michigan while my husband was working in Atlanta. I had texted him to ask him to carve some time out to be alone and undistracted so we could talk before I had my luncheon meeting.

It was beautiful by Lake Michigan. The air was crisp and the sky was even a little blue that day with the sun trying to peek out from behind the puffy clouds. There was not a lot of snow but the ground was frozen.

Have you ever walked on frozen sand? I highly recommend doing it.

As I sat on the bluff overlooking the beach and lake, I could see the open water of Lake Michigan crashing into the ice shelf that had formed up to the shoreline.

It was beautiful…quiet…peaceful.

Matthew 6:26

“Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?”

The old hymn His Eye Is On the Sparrow kept echoing through my head:

“Why should I feel discouraged? Why should the shadows come? Why should my heart be lonely and long for heav’n and home when Jesus is my portion? My constant Friend is He; His eye is on the sparrow and I know He watches me” (Civilla D. Martin 1905).

Dan calls while I sit in the serenity of that moment. I am able to calmly explain to him that I had felt a lump in my breast the evening before which caused me to remember I had been told upon scheduling that this upcoming 2nd mammogram was NOT because of breast density. I confessed that I had suddenly recalled it was to directly screen my left breast only.

I calmly told him the verse from Isaiah 43:1-3 that had been revealed to me by the Lord the previous night~

Do not be afraid…When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze. For I am the Lord your God…your Savior.

We both cried.

Atlanta felt very far away in that moment and he would not be home until later that week which would be the day after the 2nd mammogram.

We encouraged each other with hope that I could very well be wrong in my prediction…although we both knew I was right. We decided together to keep these thoughts and concerns to ourselves until we knew with certainty what was going on.

When we saw how deeply the possibility of having cancer was affecting us, we did not wish to put these worries onto anyone else until we had to.

Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own (Matthew 6:34).

I apologized to Dan for hurting him. I know in our vows it says, “in good times and in bad, sickness and in health”… and we’ve been through so much of that already and now… there is even more hurt to come. My physical body is hurting him and I cannot stop it from happening. I hate it.

The rest of the day and week somehow manages to pass and Thursday has finally arrived.

The check in for this 3D Mammogram is the same as before… put clothes into a locker, put the white gown on that opens to the front, and step into the exam room. When I walked in my previous mammogram image was up on the computer screen for the technician to know what she was looking specifically for in this current one.

In all irony, my job as an RN has given me some experience at looking at x-ray’s and ultrasounds. I have seen what “normal” looks like, how cysts look different from a solid mass, and what lymph nodes are visually. As I look at the screen, I can see as plain as day the dark “paint splatter” that rests inside my left breast.

I state aloud, “well, there it is I guess.”

The technician asked me if I had palpated anything on my breast before so I, as I began to cry, pointed to a specific area. THE specific area. She marks it with a pen so she can tell on the imaging if this is the same “spot”.

“X” now marks the spot.

The mammogram is completed quickly and I am escorted to a waiting room while the radiologist looks at my films to determine if a “next step” is required. In my heart I KNOW one is. The certainty of what is happening is heavy on me.

She comes back and confirms that an official ultrasound is now necessary. I must wait for a technician to be available for me to have one so I text Dan to tell him what is happening. He is still in Atlanta sitting on pins and needles of helplessness.

In not too long of time, a young woman asks me to follow her to the next exam room. I laid down on a table to, once again, expose myself to a stranger. Trust me, that particular aspect of exposure does not get any easier within this process.

She begins the ultrasound and I can very easily see what she is doing… what she is measuring… what she is labeling. I tell her that I am an RN who assists with Ultrasound Guided Fine Needle Aspirations and Biopsies and that although I know she cannot technically tell me anything, I can clearly see something IS there.

Her non-verbal communication and eye contact confirms my suspicions.

She tells me that a radiologist is going to come into the room next to talk with me. I laid there alone in the silence of the room for a few moments with my heart beginning to pound faster.

He comes in with her and sits down. I don’t think that is ever a good thing to have happen.

I ask him if I should call my husband to put him on speaker phone to be a part of whatever is about to be said to me and he tells me to wait because he would like to do another ultrasound with the technician before speaking his mind to my husband. I’m encouraged to text him to be ready for a phone call.

The second ultrasound is completed as I watch the screen with them.

The doctor comes back to his chair to have me call Dan. With Dan on the phone, he begins to say words like “biopsy needed”, “we need to see what these suspicious spots are”, and potential “treatment plan” ideas.

Both the doctor and technician are extremely apologetic for having me wait until the next day to get a biopsy done; both wishing they could fit me into today’s schedule. But, it is scheduled for Friday and they leave the room with Dan still on the phone.

What else is there to say to each other at this point?

I love you. It’s going to be alright. I wish I was there. I wish you were here. I’ll see you tomorrow when it is done.

Oh Ali, how did you do this??

I’m supposed to work the next day when the biopsy has been scheduled so I decide it is time to rally my co-workers around me while I see how I can adjust my work-day to accommodate this new “crisis”.

I walk over to Endoscopy and find my support co-worker and ask her to quickly get the other one I lean on. She immediately can tell I’m starting to get visibly upset as the shaking inside of me started to escape my weakening control over it.

In the “privacy” of a storage room it explodes out of me to verbalize what is happening. As I do the panic within surges over top of me.

My friends quickly surround me and offer the comfort only a nurse can give; optimistic yet realistic at the same time. They arrange my schedule and assignment for the next day before sending me home after lots of hugs.

Home.

Dan is not there for safety.

I am alone with a secret I must continue to keep for just a little while longer.

My insides are churning. The acid in my stomach is boiling. The ache in my head is pounding.

I push it down and focus on other people’s needs to get through the evening.

Friday morning I wake up and head to work as if it were just any other day. My co-workers now know so I have a sense of security to feel my feelings of anxiety as I attempt to function in my assignment for the morning until my biopsy at 11 am.

Dan is due to fly home around that same time.

I was put into yet another exam room where the ultrasound technician was going to assist the radiologist with this ultrasound guided biopsy. He walks in and says, very honestly, that these are “concerning” spots but could still be scar tissue so don’t lose hope.

I do not tell him that I have been prepared by the Lord that I WILL be going through this fire…I have a certainty about it.

I watch the biopsy as it is happening: the nurse in me is too curious to not pay attention. I see the needle go directly into the “paint splatter” as well into a 2nd area they wanted to test.

It is over quickly and I am informed that the result, because it is a weekend, will not probably be available until the upcoming Tuesday. As a healthcare professional, I assure them that I am aware of that reality.

They tell me a “nurse navigator” will be calling me as soon as the results are available to speak to me about more “next steps.”

I get dressed to leave for home and wait for my first hug with Dan.

I’ll leave that moment private to myself.

We now have a weekend to endure in silence so plans go into motion of how to fill time without it appearing that is what we are doing. It is interesting how one can compartmentalize something in order to function, don’t you think? We even choose to talk to our son stationed in Washington while serving in the Navy-like nothing out of the ordinary was going on.

We had not talked with him in a little while and I did not want the first time we reconnected on the phone to be because I needed to tell him something BIG. I wanted to talk to him just to talk to him and have him talk to us casually for the same reason.

I quickly ended the call though, because all of the sudden I envisioned what we needed to soon tell him and I became overcome with emotion over the mere thought of it.

My love for my son is unmeasurable. The distance between us in mileage feels like too many. The time constraint on travel for a leave is too narrow when someone is in the Navy. A hug of reassurance is a long way off and my arms are aching for him.

On Sunday I determined to start praying that those results would be available on Monday instead of Tuesday. The waiting was HARD. The silence of secrecy was HEAVY. I told the Lord that I did not want to be at work when that “call” came through.

I busied myself on Monday with odd errands. We have a shopping center in Lansing called “Frandor.” I found myself wandering around there until just choosing to sit in my car in its parking lot.

Praise the Lord! My Chart app suddenly alerted me that there was a “new result.”

I called Dan and said that the result was in: would he like me to open it so we could read it together? Was he in a place at work where he could listen and respond as he may need to?

He made himself ready and I opened the app.

Invasive Ductal Carcinoma.

What is that, we both wondered?

A quick Google search gave me the confirmation I knew in my heart to be true: cancer.

Oh my God, my God… I have breast cancer.

Lord, help me… I have breast cancer.

Oh Ali, I KNEW it. How can it be that I can’t talk to you about this??? How can you tell us the way to tell our children???

WHAT DO WE DO NOW became the next thought. We HAVE to be together and home was not an option just yet as our precious girl was there: we were NOT ready to tell her or anyone else just yet. We needed to think. We also knew that the nurse navigator was supposed to be calling soon so we chose to do what a normal American would do: we decided to meet at Costco.

As I drove there a wave of numbness came over me in place of the panic that had been held at bay for the weekend. Pulling into the parking lot, a call came in from the hospital. Answering it, I was introduced to this “navigator.”

In a matter of minutes, Dan arrived and climbed into my car as she talked to us about what those results meant and what we can expect to happen in the next few days to weeks. A doctor’s appointment was made with a “team” of specialists to help us determine our staging and what the best course of action will be for me for a week from Thursday.

She says terms like “single mastectomy”, “double mastectomy”, “lumpectomy with radiation.”

We get off the phone with her and sit there quietly together in the parking lot of Costco. The world is bustling around us while ours feels to have slipped off its axis.

I’m deep breathing with my heart pounding.

I say, “this is really happening.”

We hold onto each other as we cry.

It’s time to let our world know.

Others will dress you and take you where you don’t want to go.

We are being led where we do not want to go.