10/31/02 - The Nurse Practitioner examined the lump.  I could tell she wasn't pleased and  she did express some concern.  I became agitated and she took me aside and right away said the "C" word.  She said what's the worst it could be?  Cancer, right?  We can take care of that.  It's small, it moves around very well and it's located in a pretty good spot.  We set an appointment for a mammogram and needle biopsy.  I start to sweat.  My heart starts pounding.

I go home and call my daughter, Christine, to let her know what's going on.  I know this scares her but I can't do much about that.  This makes me unhappy but I don't dwell on it because I'm already beginning to turn inward and to prepare myself for the worst.  I think I already know where this is going.

11/4/02 - I show up for the mammogram.  The technician is a doll.  Very kind, patient and efficient.  She feels the lump and I get a good sense that she's having some concern.  I know better than to ask questions that won't be answered. 

11/7/02 -  I head out to Kaiser - the surgery department to meet with Paula (NP) for the needle  biopsy.  She greets me in the waiting room with the news that the radiologist is expressing concern about what showed on the mammogram.  At the same time, she tries to calm my fears and tells me it's 50/50 that it's nothing.  It's time for the biopsy.  Paula explains every step of the procedure very clearly and then gives me a tiny injection to numb the area. I barely feel the needle.  She prepares me before each  insertion of the biopsy needle.  The only "pain" I experience is when she extracts the tissue.  She does this 4 or 5 times.  It burns, but it's no worse than the burn of a mosquito bite.  Afterwards, Paula talks to me again and says it will be a few days for the results and she'll call me immediately she finds out anything; she expects the results on the 11th.

11/10/02 - Now my fear begins to take hold.  I can't sleep.  I have trouble eating and concentrating on anything.

We're having a family get together.  my son, George, has flown  out from South Dakota and he'll be reunited with Sandra, his high-school sweetheart.  They haven't been in contact for 12 years.  I'm so excited about being with both my kids at the same time and to seeing Sandra again.  At the same time, I'm wanting to just stay home and curl up into a ball.  This time of reunion and joy is marred by my fear.  At the same time, I remember "things happen the way they're supposed to".  My family is here...all together.  I take comfort in that and I'm able to enjoy their company over dinner.  It's fun to watch and "feel" the interaction between George and Sandra.  Even though they've been talking on the phone a lot, this is their first face-to-face in many years.  I'm chuckling inside.

11/11/02 - I'll be leaving the office early to head over to Christine's.  Every time the phone rings, my heart jumps into my throat and I begin to sweat.  No call from Paula, so I drive over to Christine's.  I walk in to a most heart-warming "picture".  George is sitting on the couch with my grandson, Kevin (my "sunshine"), tucked under his arm.  Christine is fussing in the kitchen.  Sandra is sitting on the floor going through Christine and Jason's wedding album.  Jason isn't home from the office yet.  There are big hugs and sloppy kisses all around and for awhile, I forget about the news I'm waiting for.  At around 6:00 PM, the phone rings -- it's Paula.  My heart starts pounding and George and Christine are on alert.  Sandra doesn't know yet what's going on.

Paula was very gentle, very kind and sounding "sorry".  She just comes right out with it.  "Sweety, I'm sorry...it is cancer."  I'm pretty much dumb-struck.  She goes on to say that the tumor is small, 2cm or less, and it was caught early.  She expresses that she's glad I'm surrounded by my family and tells me I have an appointment on the 13th to meet with the surgeon to discuss options.  I have Infiltrating Ductal Carcinoma.  Ugly words!!

I'm crying and trying to breathe, but it feels like all the air in the house has been sucked out and I'm stuck in a vacuum.  I start apologizing through my tears to the kids.  I feel so guilty for "doing this to them".  This is my first and dominant thought.  I was going to put my children through pain after they'd already experienced so much loss, heartache and pain in their lives.  At the edge of my mind, I hear and feel their love and support and sense they're already building up their courage in order to comfort me.  Right in the middle of this, Jason gets home.  I turn to greet him and when I open my mouth, nothing comes out but a wail.  He folds me into his big, strong arms and lets me sob.  I try to apologize to him and he says "It's ok...I lost it a few times after my diagnosis.  You're going to be okay.  I beat Hodgkins...you can beat this."  Never once did I have the thought "I'm going to die."

I'm supposed to fix dinner but I'm needing to escape.  I ask George to take over at the stove and I head home...to my nest.

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