A Path Through

I knew I had cancer when I had my mammogram on January 13th, 2022. You may think this is odd, but let me explain.

Prior to starting the scan, the technician went through a script telling me about how the results would be sent out within two weeks to both my doctor and me. She flowed through the information with a familiarity that indicated she had said it more times than she could count and was able to multi task getting things in place as she spoke without missing a beat.

We then went through process of “yoga pose-squish-jingle bells-release-repeat”, and at the end as I was doing my Olympic speed re-dress routine, something changed. The technician looked at me and almost stumbled through telling me that if there was a need for additional imaging, I would hear within the next 7 days. Gone was the confident scripted message. Her voice was different, softer, with a note of knowing compassion. She knew that my journey was just starting.

This final interaction held emotional weight. My spine tingled and I could feel my adrenaline flow as I said my “thank you” and joined my husband sitting outside the door. I took his hand, casually mentioned the two week wait and that I might hear earlier if there was an issue, and we made our way home. Back to work, back to a life that now felt uncertain. The fear was growing.

I knew I would be back …..and less than 24 hours later I received the call that additional imaging was required. As much as I was expecting the call, I found it hard to write down the appointment details as I kept telling myself to breath and hold it together as I spoke with the receptionist.

As I hung up the phone I started to weep, the fear was growing larger, more overwhelming. Moments later my husband was beside me, holding me, assuring me it was going to be okay, willing me to be positive. He held me tight as I wept because deep down he knew too. That morning would not be the last time he would hold me as I cried and in the days ahead, the tears would be shared between us both.

January 21, 2022 we were back at the breast health clinic for another scan of the right breast. While in the mammogram room, the feeling was different. The technician moved quickly and was looking for something specific, the yoga pose was a little more advanced as she needed to get the right image. Once the first scan was done, as I stepped back I got a glance at the monitor and there it was, as clear as day. The white mass that would send me down this path.

Once all was done, I was not given the option to leave, rather I was told to get dressed and rejoin my husband and the doctor would be meeting with us. Oddly, I dressed a little slower, almost hoping to delay what was to come. When I went back to sit down, I looked my husband in the eye and told him “there is something there”.

A short time later, sitting in a small room in a gown that allowed for easy access to the girls, we waited to meet the first of a team of many doctors who will be with me through this journey. Dr. Janzen, a woman with gentle compassion and confidence. As she did a quick examination, she spoke directly to me saying “when looking at tumors, we look at shape. There are circles and stars, and you have a star. It means there is a 95% chance this is something”. I heard the words, I understood them, but my mind did not really want to accept what she was saying to me. However, as she had her hand on my breast and was looking me straight in the eye, there was little doubt that I was the intended audience.

Moments later, in a flurry of activity, a nurse was speaking to us in the same voice that I had heard in my first scan. The voice that tries to assure the words being said are said with compassion as to what lies ahead. She told us that they were fitting me in at the end of the day for an ultrasound. We would need to arrive at 4:00 and wait as it would be at the end of scheduled appointments, but they needed the ultrasound for the biopsy that would follow a few days later. Everything moved so quickly, but the shock was just settling in.

As we had a few hours before the ultrasound, my husband and I agreed we needed to go home, and we needed to tell our children. We have never lied to them (outside of the seasonally based situations of course), and this something they needed to know.

The drive home was quiet as neither of us knew what to say, and both of us knew that the next conversation we had would be one that would break our hearts. This was the first step on this path through, and it was a tough one.