One in Eight

On a normal Tuesday in September, I walked the dog as usual at 6 A.M., thinking about what to wear to work. It promised to be a pretty fall day, so my major problem was whether to go sleeveless. It was sure to be warm by the lunch hour for outdoor recess, yet cold in the air conditioning of the classrooms. You can see the dilemma.
Once the dog and I returned home, I checked my email, ate breakfast and stepped into the shower.
And just like that my life changed.
‘What the hell?’ I had my finger on a lump. Not a tiny lump either, a how-haven’t-I-noticed-this-before-sized lump.
There ensued many phone calls; I called in sick, I called my gynecologist. Throughout the week there were doctor’s visits, waiting and then a mammogram, an ultrasound, and finally a needle-biopsy. There ensued more waiting and much praying.
I found out that I had breast cancer on a Friday while pacing in the school corridor, trying to get better reception on my cell phone. It was our lunch break. I had leftover pizza in the microwave and my new work colleagues sat stunned as I came in and sat heavily at the table wearing the news on my face. I’ve only known them a few weeks and this is pretty personal, serious business to share with near strangers. Stupidly, I went to get my pizza out of the microwave. As if I could eat. I was having trouble breathing. They sat and watched me try not to cry. They were kind and warm, sometimes meeting my eyes with sympathy, sometimes looking down at their plates. It was the consensus that I should go home.
I called my daughter in the car. She was calm and pragmatic, “Grandma and Aunt Boo got through it, and so will you.”
When I got home I called my sister. I told her I didn’t think I could handle it. She said, “Oh really? Exactly what does that mean? How do you plan to not handle it?”
Good point. Whining to my younger sister who went through surgery and chemo therapy just two years ago for the same kind of breast cancer, is perhaps not a wise move. And it only points out how un-unique this diagnosis is. Within the same hour that I discovered I had breast cancer, 20 other women were learning the same thing. Roughly 200,000 of us will be diagnosed this year. Which, whittled down to a neighborhood friendly statistic, one repeated often during cancer awareness month, is 1 in 8.
There ensued crying. I sobbed into my dog’s fur and she ducked her head into me to comfort me. I called my other daughter and my son. I called my mom. Then I called my best friend. She was over within moments. As the day passed into evening, more friends showed up at my door. My children showed up. Within two hours I had recommendations for surgeons and oncologists. I had assurances of well being and loving support.
And with my friends and family’s help I began to handle it.