The day I was diagnosed with Breast Cancer Pt. 2
It felt like I was drowning. It was the most despair I’d ever felt in my life. Shit, am I going to die? This shit kills people. Somehow, I had always been good at finding the bright side of any situation. Not this time. I literally had no control over this. No changing it around. No waking up from this bad dream.
I called Ashley down to my car to have her help me bring the groceries inside. I was dead inside. It felt like heartbreak. Fuck this 5 day weekend. Fuck everything until I figure this out.
Here comes Ash. *Sigh* She’s not ready for this bomb that I’m about to drop. I'm trying to hold back every tear until I at least make it inside. She grabs a few of the grocery bags from the backseat and we head inside.
We walk up the three flights of stairs it takes to get to the 1st level of my home and I blurt out “I have breast cancer Ashley.” I tell her sadly with my back toward her. We make it to the top of the stairs and I drop my bags in the kitchen and walk over to the couch. I burst into tears as soon as I sit down.
I sobbed off and on for hours, which would continue throughout that 5 day weekend and continue for months to follow.
All I kept thinking about was how I could undo this. I have no control over this fucked up situation do I? ME, not have control over every aspect of my life? Anyone that knows me well enough knows that I am a (whispers) slight control freak. Soon I would realize that I would have control over literally nothing during my cancer journey.
I call Dr. Rebenowitz at least twice more. All the same shit. “Are you sure? What stage? Am I going to die? Are you SURE???” (It wasn’t just an ugly cry. I WEPT.) I had to have heard him wrong. He has no answers for me. He had one job and that was to just pull out the titty meat. He explains in the most sincere and helpless tones that he can’t answer my questions but that women beat breast cancer every day and that I can too. He tells me that on July 7th I can go to the Breast Center at Anne Arundel Medical Center where they will give me more information.
I called my husband, then my closest friends and THEN my mom.
My friends and I nicknamed my mom “Hurricane C”. And that is because she is TOUGH. Her family calls her Pepper Red because she doesn’t take any shit. Growing up she was tough on me. She was the black mom that instilled fear in you at an early age so you knew moving forward not to try her. Not always the nicest with her words but I knew she loved me. She was a single mom that sacrificed so much to make sure that I was well taken care of.
My mom's response when I shared the news was, “What?! Well how did this happen?!” Not the gentle, comforting response you might receive from most moms, but there was love behind it. I could hear the panic and the pain in her voice and it made my stomach ache even more. Her only child was sick. She wasn't a short car ride away. She was 3,000 miles away in California. Her voice began to crack and I could hear her trying to be strong on the other end. I was too. I told her that I would be fine and that I was going to fight this.
I made a promise to my mother and it was in that moment that I decided death was not going to be an option no matter what stage I was in.
That night my lovely friend Ashley did what any amazing best friend would do; she made me dinner, freshly baked cookies for dessert and of course poured me copious amounts of wine. And my husband held me a little tighter as we slept.