Unfolding

I had breast cancer on Wednesday.

For about five minutes.

It was, of course, all in my head. But for a good, solid, eternal, breathtaking five minutes...I had breast cancer. I sat and sobbed, feeling fear the likes of which I've not known since Elizabeth was sick. Too many odd things had happened while I was there, too many odd comments made by the technicians conducting my tests for anything other than the words "I have breast cancer" to be volleying around in the various corners of my mind. They needed more pictures for the mammogram. That was strike one. Then the ultrasound was supposed to be only of the left, and based upon the mammogram the radiologist also wanted a scan of the right. Strike two. And while the ultrasound technician (who was so sweet) was doing the ultrasound, she says the following:

Comment #1: Do you have a history of breast cancer in your family?
Comment #2: You'll know EVERYTHING before you leave here today.
Comment #3: Just to warn you, the doctor will want to come in and scan you himself.

There are a few things you shouldn't say to someone in a vulnerable condition. Three of them are mentioned above. In hindsight, I know why these comments frightened me the way that they did. I had a miscarriage many moons ago...actually I've had two. But the first one was particularly devastating because it was the first one. Before I had any children, before I knew the joy of motherhood, I was handed the pain of it. It was also a week before we were getting married, shotgun style, because we found ourselves very accidentally pregnant while engaged. I went for a prenatal exam at 13 weeks and the doctor was unable to find the baby's heartbeat. He sent me for an ultrasound. I went alone, not having the least idea that anything could actually be wrong. During the scan, the tech said the words, "Do you have anyone with you today?" And I knew then that something was wrong. So I guess I'm just slightly defensive when it comes to commentary during testing, because I've had these experiences that let me know that heartache and bad news are very often the result when people look into your body.

She left me alone in the room, with the lights dim, to retrieve the films and let the doc have a look-see. I had no breath in my body. I was so sure that tragedy was looming and an anger welled up within me, much like it did when those doctors didn't care for my daughter, leading me to pray the Hail Mary over and over and over again. Me, the one who has no real dogma, prayed to the Virgin Mother to protect me. Because I could not be sick and leave my daughters motherless.

I never got to strike three.

The girl came back in to the room and told me that everything is fine, there's "nothing there" and that the doctor doesn't even want to come in and scan me himself. I now think that the extra pictures were needed to make sure that what was on the left side was also on the right, because a lack of symmetry, either in cystic tissue or scar tissue from my reduction, would be alarming. Apparently, all things were equal. I became completely unglued, and my life, with all of it potential, unfolded. Everything suddenly made perfect sense and it was all going to be just fine. It was a beautiful moment.

And we've been celebrating ever since.

The one part of this that I did not expect was for Pete to be so effected by this. He is so level-headed, rarely gets ahead of himself, and never, ever shows fear. He is the rock. Always. And he has come to me, out nowhere, at least a hundred times, to hug me and say, "I'm so, so glad that you are going to be alright."

Life is crazy for us...it just keeps handing us opportunities, especially lately, to center ourselves and get our perspective straight. Maybe we need that more than others, or maybe we're just in a place where we're recognizing these check points for what they are, rather than ignore them. Whatever it is, I continue to be grateful. And I look forward to life with my husband and kids that will, with any luck, continue to be one that is healthy.

We leave this morning to begin our twelve hour journey to South Carolina for vacation. There will be, inevitably, entertaining blog material to follow. Bon voyage!