My Cancer Announcement

I was in the middle of writing Christmas cards when it really hit me that I had cancer.

The ultrasound wasn’t completed yet. The biopsy hadn’t been done, but I knew. I knew in October when I felt the lump that it was something, even though the doctor said it wasn’t the kind of lump you worry about and told me to just get a routine mammogram this year. I was uncharacteristically calm when I moved my mammo appointment up by calling and asking for a cancellation spot. I remained that way when asking the radiology tech to feel the lump because I thought I needed a diagnostic, not routine mammo. And in that moment, she went to bat for me and reminded me to breathe. I think we both knew.

I have Invasive Ductal Carcinoma. It has metastasized to four lymph nodes, but has not made its way into the rest of the lymph/vascular system yet. Last week, I had my PET Scan and met with my Oncology team. My treatment begins with 4 cycles of chemo, a rest, and another 4 cycles with a different chemo drug. I rest for a month, then go to surgery. I rest for another month, then start radiation - if all goes to plan.

People ask me how I’m doing, and I guess the best word to describe that right now is annoyed. Inconvenienced. I’m so irritated that my family’s life will have to adjust around how I’m feeling. I’m disheartened that some of our plans are canceled or postponed. I feel immense guilt for them missing out on my account and adding things I usually handle to their plates, though rationally I know this is ridiculous. But of all the things I do feel, I don’t feel like I’m going to die.

The overwhelming support from people around me who care has been humbling. There’s still lots of good people out there, guys. I am not an easy person to help; I realize I need to change that right now.

There’s a couple things I need to let you know about from my perspective too:

- I don’t like talking about my cancer or treatment plans ad naseum, especially via text or phone call. I’m quickly learning more terminology new to me every day. I’m not remembering many things correctly or at all right now, because that’s how my brain deals with stress. All of that makes me the wrong person to educate you on cancer. Don’t confuse this with how much I appreciate when people ask me what or how I’m doing and tell me they are thinking of me. I just can’t answer 75 follow-up questions. If we are in person, I might just spill all the details, and you can tell me to shut up.

- Please don’t tell me horror stories. As confident as I sound, I’m still also scared. I appreciate all your success stories. I can’t believe how big this community of survivors is; almost everyone is affected in some way.

- Please keep in mind that it’s important to do due diligence on where and how research, support and nonprofits are allocated before throwing money their way. Make sure your good is doing the most good.

- I still like to talk about normal stuff! Your kid left the fridge open again? Grrr! You took up macrame and are inexplicably great at it? Rad! You dressed up your dog in a ridiculous costume, and he feels ashamed? YES, SHOW ME. I need that normalcy.

- Please don’t be offended if I don’t text, message or call back. I wasn’t great about it before C, I’m not going to get any better during it! It’s not that I’m ignoring you or mad about anything. I just might not have the energy for that thing that day. And, forgetfulness.

Of all the yuckiness and uncertainty, I can tell you there’s already good to come from this. I love my husband in a way I could never have before. My kids are stronger than I imagined, and they make me proud. It’s precious to see their empathy and strength in a situation no kid deserves. My parents still 100% consider me their little girl.

I appreciate all the time, tears and effort everyone has allotted me already. I know I will only continue to be amazed by all of you.