I remember the moment, 4 years ago. The look on the radiology tech’s face when she set down the ultrasound wand, walked out of the room and came back with the radiologist. When he looked at the lump and within moments he shook his head and said it was cancer.
We didn’t expect the news. I have never heard of anyone being diagnosed directly from an ultrasound. We were confused. Mike was there… He came with me. We had had a bad feeling about this appointment at the last minute, and he decided to go. Mike asked the radiologist if he was sure? He asked if we need to do a biopsy or something to know? The radiologist told us he was 99.9% sure.
They sent us to another room. I had two mammograms, they needed a better picture for the second one. The tech joked nicely that she didn’t want to hurt me and scare me off from getting them later on. Tears. Tissues. Shortly after, one more ultrasound. Several pictures of the tumor. They asked if I wanted the biopsy today, or did I want to wait for my oncologist to do it. My head was swimming. TODAY? Of course I wanted it today, whatever gets treatment started. Kill this thing. Take it out of me. Bruises. Phone calls. More tears.
That is how it goes, every year the day before my birthday. Memories…
Now it is year 4. Year 3 we knew I was possibly metastatic. Those little lung nodules were so minor though, we hadn’t watched them for very long yet. I felt in my gut that they were cancer, but tried not to dwell more than possible. January came and we found out they were growing at the proper rate for concern. Thus PET-CT number 2.
Birthdays took on a new meaning since my diagnosis. I hated them before. I didn’t want to get older (not sure why). Now one year older is awesome. One year older is good.
Tomorrow I turn 35.
I just want to make it to 40. Please let me make it to 40.