Two weeks ago . . .
Curled up on the floor of the shower, fighting off the fear and nausea, trying not to faint, I wished again that all of this could just be a BAD dream. But, the lump in my left breast discovered the night before was very real, very large, and very scary. Why does this sort of thing always happen over the weekend . . . when doctors are unavailable??? My grandma died of breast cancer. If something happens to me, Bryan loses a wife and a daughter because physical custody of Ariana would revert back to “Utah Dad.” How does all of this impact our very early pregnancy . . . FINALLY . . . after nearly a year of trying to conceive. I’m so weak from the stomach flu and from morning sickness. This is more than I can bear.
Monday, 2/11 . . .
Bryan and I were comforted a bit by my physician’s initial assessment, but he wanted me to get into a specialist STAT. Later that day, after a 3-hour ordeal with a doctor specializing in “surgical diseases of the breast,” the horrible feelings of panic and despair returned–the specialist said that the mass was an “irregular shape” indicative of cancer. She was not very optimistic. All we could do was wait for the biopsy results which were promised by Wednesday.
Tuesday, 2/12 . . .
Lots of tears. Lots of prayers. Couldn’t eat. Couldn’t sleep. Watched several episodes of “24” (season one) that we borrowed from the library.
Wednesday, 2/13 . . .
More tears. More prayers. More episodes of “24.” Still can’t eat. About to jump out of my skin every time the phone rings. FINALLY, at 6:30 p.m. we get the much-anticipated call from the doctor. BENIGN Fibroadenoma! She even discussed the results with the pathologists to get comfortable with their findings because it’s not what she expected. But after walking through the results with them, she is confident that the diagnosis is the correct one, and I am confident that we’ve just been blessed with a miracle in our family.
Two weeks later . . .
I am a different person. I am more patient, more kind, more understanding. Not a day goes by that I don’t thank God for my miracle . . . my reminder that life is fragile . . . my chance to raise my family, to be a better mom/wife/friend. As scary as it was, I pray that I may never forget this experience and hope that I may be changed forever.
