I have it.

After the mammogram and ultrasound, I was worried, but I didn't really know true worry until the next day.  Jo, my favorite nurse at the gynocologists office called. (She pretends that I'm going to weigh in under 150 every time I step on the scale and the other B knows I'm going to be over that mark...it's the little things, ya know!?)  She asked if the radiologist went over my results with me.  I told her that yes, he informed me that he would like me to have further testing which included multiple biopsies and a chest MRI.  She continued to read from my report "Highly suspicious of malignancy, Birad 5".

And I stopped listening.  I started to research.  I have an online PhD if you didn't know that. Cancer terminology isn't new or confusing because I know it already.  The Birad scale is what radiologists use to tell the surgeons how concerning the lumps are.  The only thing higher than a five is a six...you can't score a six until it's confirmed by a biopsy.

EFF.

I went to Ashley's to workout after working all day.  Working out usually makes me a little less stressed.  I was looking forward to a hug and lots of sweat.  But, as I was pulling in, my general practioner called.  He knows me and knows that I like it straight.  Doesn't sugar coat because it'll just piss me off. 

He told me to prepare to fight.  They don't score a patient a 5 unless they are pretty darn sure.  He would recommend radical treatment. 

Jokingly I asked him for some Xanax. 

Quickly he responded: Laura, you might need some.  Please call if you do.

4/9/13

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The next day I met with a surgeon.  She was more optimistic, but did not shy away from the very real possiblity of malignancy either.  She answered questions as to why they believe it to be cancerous: Shape, dimensions, lymph activity.  All the things I know all to well.

We planned to meet her the next day for a needle biopsy with ultrasound guiding of two masses and a lymph node.  We all tried to remain positive, but we know this all to well.  We've been down this road before.

4/10/13

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I went to work the morning of the biopsy.  I did not complete one single task.  NOT ONE.   I starred at a blank computer screen or I researched breast cancer.

I arrived for the biopsy ready to go.  Ready to get this show on the road.  The surgeon was great.  Quick in and out.  It hurt, but no tears.  I'm tough.  I can do this.  I'm going to own this.

And then it was all over and one of the nurses, trying to comfort me-no doubt, said: "Wouldn't it be a great surprise if it wasn't cancer!?" 

All of the sudden, it was real.  I couldn't breathe.  I felt dizzy.  Tears started streaming down my face, but I tried to keep it together.  They asked if I was able to sit up and I thought to myself: I ran 4 miles a couple days ago, of course I can freaking sit up!! But when I sat up I felt dizzier.  I had to lay back down.  They had to get me orange juice and blankets and tell me to breathe.  I looked yellow...I felt black and blue.

They patiently worked overtime for me and told me to take my time.  They let me sit for my mammogram this time because they didn't want me to pass out.  The mammogram hurt this time.  The numbing agent didn't account for my anxiety attack and after a bunch of needles are poked into your breast and you don't take the pictures while your breasts are still numb, the mammogram hurts a little more. 

My first panic attack.  I survived.  I'm still on the fence about meds and I have been ok since.  Teary eyed and distant, but ok.

4/11/13

Now more waiting. 

4/16/13

The waiting is over. I have invasive ductal carcinoma with lymph nodes that test positive. 

I have breast cancer. 

I'm ready.  I am ready to fight.  I've been ready to fight for a few weeks now, but I've been waiting for confirmation that it's time.

I have flowers.  I have loving, supportive family ready to fight with me.  I have more friends than one single person could possibly ask for.

All I need now is prayer. 

Big, bold, noisy prayers.  The kind of prayers that drop you to your knees.  That kind.  That's all I need.

I'm ready.  Let's fight.



 

Trying to show a friend that I was ok before meeting with the surgeon;)

I'm a warrior.  I can do this....EXCEPT.  I turned yellowish-green when the nurse just assumed it is the stupid effing C word.  When I changed back into the Warrior Dash shirt, I didn't feel like a warrior and I noticed the title of the magazine...LIVING WITH CANCER.

Part of my war wound...

Hey, can you come out tonight?  I need to go out.  Yep, we'll be there.

Love my golden girls.  Pampering was just what I needed.