I awoke determined not to spend another agonizing moment filled with worry. (just call me already...call me and tell me the good news so that I can get on with my life) I couldn't take it any more...so I spent the day absorbed in mundane house work. I had immersed my tired mind deep in my chores and got lost inside the Clorox bottle...I let the scrubbing bubbles wash the dark thoughts from my head.
It was around 3 o'clock when I was done with my therapeutic cleaning frenzy.
Plopping down on a lounge chair outside...with the warm Florida sunshine on my face, it was
quiet, except for a few random seagulls and the bamboo wind chimes.
The ring from my phone sliced through the air...stabbing a jagged hole in the small corner of peace that I had found.
"Hello?"
It was the Radiologist in charge...
"Hi, is this Janine?"
(turns out, he lost the coin toss with my Gyno. Not kidding)
"Yep, it's me. How are you?" I asked.
He replied, "I'm good.
The pathology report came back from your biopsy.
Sorry it's taken so long..."
And in that very instant, the sun went away and I was covered in a cold, black shadow...
the whistling was deafening.
I could sense by the sound of his voice, that the anvil was falling fast, and I was about to be crushed.
He continued...
"are you driving?"
(OH SHIT)
The tears were marching in to position.
There was shaking in my voice.
"Nope, I'm just sitting at home, waiting for your call".
Then I was struck...
and unlike Wil E. Coyote, it was doubtful that I would be strong enough to peel myself from the ground.
"They found some cancer".
I went in to phone etiquette auto pilot, mustered up some nervously inquisitive chit chat, and thanked him for the call.
A lead weighted finger pressed the power button and broke the connection.
I was sobbing profusely.
The water works ensued in a very unlady-like torrential downpour, spilling over my cheeks.
I have never cried so hard.
I have never been so scared.
I.
HAVE.
CANCER!
I rolled these three words around in my brain over and over.
My world stopped.
I don't remember how I told my husband...I don't remember dialing his number. I'm pretty sure I blurted out the word "cancer" in between hysterical gasps of terror laden theatrics.
He would be home from work any minute.
Then, in a bipolar moment of sanity, I calmly called the breast cancer surgeon.
I had met her already...she was the one I was sent to for my previous lump scare...and I felt very comfortable with her. She has a fantastic personality.
"I would like to make an appointment with the doctor as soon as possible, please. I have just been diagnosed with breast cancer and I need to schedule my surgery."
I was instructed to come in the next morning at 9.
I want this out of me now! Let's get this party started.
I couldn't sit down.
I paced a mile's worth back and forth across my patio...cell phone in hand.
The subdued tears once again gurgled to the surface. I was drowning in a hyperventilating Hell.
CRAP...I have a hair appointment tomorrow.
The next call was to my hairdresser.
I had been going to her for nine years, and she dealt with uterine cancer a while back, so I didn't feel too bad about being the frantic nut ball calling to cancel an appointment.
Much to my relief, she calmed me down a little, and became a wonderful, empathetic shoulder to cry on.
Once my garbled, weeping mumbles started to resemble English, we discussed pre-emptive hair cuts and styles that would put me in charge of what might happen to my hair in the event of chemotherapy balding.
I wasn't off the phone for a minute when I heard my husband walk in the door.
What little control I had over my crying fits disappeared when I saw the look on his face.
We fell together in a tight, inconsolable hug.
Making many unsuccessful attempts to regain our composure, when we finally cleared our eyes, we found ourselves huddled amidst mountains of dampened tissues.
The panicked "why's'"...the "how's"...the "what's next's"...
the inevitable out loud, selfish pleas...
"this isn't supposed to happen to us...
this stuff happens to other people"....
and then wondering if am I going to die like Kelly Jo did.
We couldn't sit still, we couldn't think straight, we couldn't eat.
To say that we were terrified, is an understatement of Biblical proportions.
Later that evening, I received lengthy, encouraging phone calls from all of my Doctors.
I was happy they called...it meant a lot.
I phoned my parents in NC.
It may have been because they were in shock...plus I was all cried out, and seemed very calm and matter-of-fact...but that conversation went very well.
Exhausted from the day's drama, we went to bed early.
As I laid there listening to the freight train in the room, I kept telling myself that I'm supposed to appreciate every moment now. Isn't that what automatically happens? You get cancer and the asshole cancer fairy whacks you in the head with a magic stick?
You become thankful for each and every little thing...and never take anything for granted ever again.
Even my husband's incessant snoring should be a sweet blessing, right?
"Cherish this dammit...appreciate that he's here next to you...comforting you..."
(the Lifetime Movie Network would've had a field day with this!)
HELL NO.
I'm not in the mood to play the role of the grateful cancer patient...not tonight...no way...not with this thunderous roaring laying next to me.
I've got a big day ahead of me tomorrow.
Take a hike buddy! Saw your logs in the other room...
mama needs her ZZZ's.
