The diagnosis

Monday I received several MyChart (online health record) messages about the biopsy itself.  I knew exactly what they were, but played dumb and used them as an excuse to call the clinic.  "So, I just received all these MyChart messages and I'm not sure what they are - does something in here tell me the results of my biopsy?"  That way someone was forced to pull up my chart and look.  Hehehehe.

Unfortunately they weren't in, that would've been a much better day since I wasn't at work.

The next day - Tuesday 11/20 - I was just about to start a meeting.  I had literally just said "okay - let's get started" when my phone rang.  I apologized, went to my desk and was told I had cancer. 

I hung up and clearly lost my mind. 

Luckily my friend and co-worker Katie knew I was waiting for the call and came over and helped me.  I called my sister (said nothing, although I'm pretty sure I tried).  She came to work to pick me up.

As I was leaving, I saw the people that I had left waiting for the meeting to start, in the same place waiting for the meeting to start.  That kind of makes me laugh now.

I called the nurse after I calmed down and was told that I have Invasive Ductal Carcinoma in my right breast.  Stage 2.  The grade (which means how active those little f*ckers are) is a 3 - which is the opposite of what I'd like.  It means they're active and aggressive.  I would've preferred sleepy little lazy cancer cells.

The next few days were filled with a pain I honestly didn't know existed.  I've never in my life (because I've had a nearly perfect life) ever cried the way I cried.  It was animalistic.  I hyperventilated several times.  The only word I could hear was cancer.  People die from cancer.  I have breast cancer.  I kept seeing my boys faces and would hyperventilate again.  I hurt like I've never hurt before, and I was absolutely and completely shocked.  I got mad.  SO MAD.  This is crazy. I'm not supposed to have cancer.  Then I went home and hyperventilated some more (there's a pattern).  At one point, the one night Scott wasn't with me - I watched a movie in bed.  And I felt good.  And the movie ended and I felt like someone kicked my in my stomach.  I screamed and cried and kicked and I needed...something.  I needed to get out of my skin.  I wanted the cancer out of me and I didn't know what to do with my body.  I wanted to go to the ER and tell them to get it out of me.  That night was the worse night I've had.

My OB/GYN called and told me she called in Ativan for me (I told you I adored her), my sister made a "kick cancer's ass" diet for me, my mom picked up a book from the bookstore on how to beat this, and our journey started.