The Next Day…Three Years Later
I found out I had breast cancer on a Thursday late afternoon. I remember that night, December 20, 2018, like it was yesterday sitting on the couch with heaviness in the air I’ve never experienced before. Making calls to start sharing the news. Knowing the cancer was extraordinarily fast growing and large, but nothing else. Wondering if we caught it ‘in time’ with no idea what ‘in time’ even meant. I don’t remember going to bed but I know I did. I don’t remember having a hard time sleeping that night, but I bet I did. I don’t remember my thoughts as I woke up the next day but I remember the feeling in the pit of my stomach. In fact, it’s the same pit in my stomach I have today.
Today is the 3rd anniversary of waking up already knowing I had cancer. December 21, 2018 was cold and rainy. Much like today in the greater Atlanta area. In fact, it’s eerily similar. I was wondering today why I didn’t feel good but it dawned on me my body knows. In fact, every year I’ve felt sick on this day. The body knows; it remembers, too.
I haven’t written yet about the day after. The 20th has always gotten the attention, but the 21st was harder. Waking up knowing you have cancer & going to bed the same is exhausting, and even more so before you know your plan. Before you know the treatment is working. Before you know any information. It’s dark and dreary.
I had three items on my To Do List: (1) go back to the surgeon’s office to complete the genetic testing, (2) await a phone call from both Emory and Northeast Georgia Diagnostic Clinic to schedule an appointment and 2nd opinion appointment with my oncologist. O. N. C. O. L. O. G. I. S. T. I was healthy. Really healthy – best shape of my life kind of healthy. But now I had an oncologist. Surreal. And (3) tell our boys I had cancer.
I paced the floors and stared out the window. An angel of a friend, Debbie (previous cancer survivor) brought me lunch and stayed with me while Marc was at work. (We didn’t know what our journey would look like or how much time he’d need off so we knew it was best if he went ahead to work that day.) Debbie brought ingredients to do her Christmas baking at our house. I think we went on a walk. I started the calls of people I needed tell and texted others. I talked to the surgeon who did my biopsy, and he answered some initial questions. (My primary care doctor wanted to tell me the news so she asked that he wait until the next day so she could meet me and tell me in person. What a gift.)
I have no idea what Debbie and I talked about that day, but she was here. What a gift. She shared the news for me with some mutual friends. Another gift. It helped to have a friend by my side. It helped to have someone help me share the news… there is exactly one number that represents the number of times you want to say, “I have cancer”, and it is ZERO. I had already passed my limit, and I was just getting started.
By the end of the day, I had accomplished my three-item to do list. Genetic testing was pending, appointments were made so we knew how long we had to wait until we knew anything else, and our boys joined the growing list of people we told. We did it. We made it through our first day of knowing.
Clearly our lives have never been the same since but three years later, it’s amazing how far we’ve come. We have had disappointments and failures, but we’ve seen God in ways we never knew were possible on this side of heaven. We’ve been taken care of – physically, emotionally, financially, spiritually by a community of people. We’ve climbed mountains with both moments of sure footing and others stumbling to our knees (well me, really, for the latter one. Marc stays pretty sure footed ☺). We’ve met and lost others on this journey. We’ve made new dreams and are working towards them. We’ve had setbacks and have made adjustments. I’ve had ‘scares’ and thankfully hit major milestones instead. And life keeps moving on… except now with different (and most days better) perspective.
Not everyone has my story. This could’ve already gone so differently; in fact, it still could. I’m not planning on it or dwelling on it, but the reality is it’s hard to not allow the word ‘recurrence’ to have space in my mind. The good news is I think it’s downsizing; most days it’s also pretty quiet. Helping others helps. Practicing self-care helps. Dreaming helps. Creating helps.
Tomorrow, three years ago, was a sunny day, and tomorrow (in 2021) promises to be as well. So, cheers to three years of surviving and thriving and getting up one more time than falling down. Cheers to showing up and facing even the hardest days. Cheers to giving each other grace and kindness. Cheers to knowing tomorrow is a new day, even on the days we don’t feel so good. Cheers making tough decisions and following our hearts. Cheers to trying new things and bravely following even our wildest dreams!
Love first and hope always,
Lulu
P.S. I didn’t know that day I had Inflammatory Breast Cancer. We highly suspected it, but it wasn’t confirmed until December 31st. Not all breast cancer is the same; knowing there are differences can save a life. It certainly saved mine!