We all have a story behind our breast cancer diagnosis. Some are encouraging – doctors who believed our symptoms and advocated for us. Others are horrific – patients repeatedly being sent away, told their symptoms mean nothing. Only after a couple years of advocating for themselves or getting multiple opinions is their cancer discovered.

Overall I was quite fortunate. The timing and situation were more tragic than my treatment by medical staff.

Still, I find everyone’s story interesting because it’s such an incredibly pivotal moment. We each remember that day of being told “you have cancer,” yet those moments are as unique as the storyteller.

So for those of you who are just as interested in everyone’s Diagnosis Moment as I am, this is my story…

September 17, 2018

At that time, (I’m sure it’s no big deal) I mentioned to my doctor (I have dense breasts, after all) that I had found a lump in my breast. I found it a couple months prior, but it wasn’t going away. I thought maybe she should know. (Ya know, just to be safe.)

She agreed it was likely nothing, but (just to be safe) she referred me for a mammogram and ultrasound (family history being what it is). The lump hurt if I pushed on it, and I was young, both factors working in my favor that it was just a cyst.

October 2, 2018 – The Scans

Two weeks later, that Tuesday morning found me at my local hospital in a white terry cotton robe issued by the mammography department. Because I was having both a mammogram and an ultrasound, I spent more time in the waiting area than most the other women as I patiently listened for my name to be called. Several women came and went again, and the wait time between the two scans grew.

The time was spent in the waiting area chatting with others (You’re rather young to be here) and making small talk (Oh, it’s just a cyst, no worries).

After my imaging, the nurse led me to a small office to meet with the radiologist. The radiology techs gave me sympathetic smiles. I figured it was just because I had been there all morning, they felt bad making me wait longer.

The nurse navigator came in, a lovely woman with a bubbly personality, followed by the radiologist and a radiology student, neither of which were as animated as the nurse navigator. The analysis of my scans was verbalized as fast as their introductions had been.

“So the ultrasound shows cancer. We’ll need to get a biopsy to verify, but that probably won’t be today. Shelly can get you scheduled for that.”

A discussion followed between the doctor and nurse navigator as she jovially assured him she could likely get me a biopsy that day, and he sullenly disagreed.

All I could do was sit there and look between them. My body’s panic button is slow to activate, which is quite helpful in most life circumstances. But I also hadn’t finished processing what he had said. (Cancer? Did he just say cancer??) I literally only had time to verify that yes, he had said cancer, before he and the student wished me good day and strode out the door.

The C-word still hadn’t sunk in, and the next several minutes were spent with Shelly, looking at which doctors had availability for a biopsy that afternoon. Somehow the topic of my job came up, and we happily talked about life in Alaska for a few minutes before she handed me an appointment card for 2 p.m. that day.

I was smiling as I walked out of the hospital’s front doors. The sun was shining, there were a handful of clouds in the sky – the fun, cumulous ones that everyone loves – and I had just had an enjoyable conversation about a job I love with a woman who loves her job as well. It wasn’t until I reached the front sidewalk and thought about where I parked my car that reality finally caught up to me.

It’s breast cancer. I need a biopsy. It’s not a cyst?? But…now what?

I had an hour and a half till my biopsy appointment. I called my mom, who worked nearby. Maybe she hadn’t taken lunch yet and could help me process this. (Thank God for my mom who so often serves as my sounding board while I process anything from boyfriend drama to grocery lists!)

It wasn’t a good time to talk – she was busy with something at work and needed to go. Just as well, I conceded. I really should see the other doctor first and get his opinion before I go raising alarms. It wasn’t fair to Mom to drop that bomb of possible misinformation, then send her back to work. And really I should tell my whole family at once.

I had just enough time to drive home, eat, let the dogs outside, and get back to the hospital before my next appointment. The next 90 minutes were a mental tug-of-war as I wondered what this meant for my job, for my trip to Thailand, for my finances and career and future and…

I’d start to cry, but a moment later I was struck by something funny or ironic and I’d be laughing again. Over and over that cycle continued. At one point I was thankful a police officer hadn’t seen my half-crazed pendulum of emotions or he might tell me I’m not suitable for driving, a thought that sent me into a fit of giggles until the next worry hit.

October 2, 2018 – The Biopsy

Fast forward to the finished biopsy with a doctor who was infinitely more empathetic than the one I had met that morning.

“Don’t sugarcoat it. In your professional opinion, are you confident that what you’re seeing on the ultrasound is cancerous?” Yes, he was confident.

He and the nurse left me to get dressed again. The side of my breast throbbed slightly where the needle had entered the skin, then the mass. A small, flesh-toned Band-Aid was the only physical evidence of the test. (Why do doctors stop giving us cartoon Band-Aids once we’re adults?) I slipped off the paper gown covered in cute pink ribbons and looked again (for the 100th time) at the wall poster informing patients of the signs of breast cancer.

This wasn’t a good time to have cancer, I thought. I still have things to do, I had made plans for the next five years and cancer was not one of them! My boyfriend and I had only been dating three days and I had no idea how he’d take it. My mom’s sister had just passed away from pancreatic cancer a week ago – how was I supposed to tell her that now her daughter has cancer?

I’m incredibly blessed – insanely blessed – with how well my family and boyfriend took the news. I had told my family that Tuesday evening, my boyfriend on Wednesday. I had prepared them for the worst, but reiterated I wouldn’t get the biopsy results till Friday afternoon.

October 5, 2018 — The Official Breast Cancer Diagnosis

Friday morning I was at the funeral service for a friend and local police officer who died far too young from an unexpected heart problem. It seemed like the makings of a terrible day, going from a friend’s funeral to a doctor appointment that would confirm the tumor was indeed a breast cancer diagnosis. Triple Negative breast cancer, at that. I was thankful I not only had had a few days to prepare mentally, but also that my sister had been able to get time off work to join me at the appointment.

I sat in the exam chair wearing another pink ribbon paper gown while my sister recorded details of the next steps. The shock was over. It was time to start formulating a plan.

The date was Friday, October 5th, and the doctor’s office had pink ribbons everywhere for Breast Cancer Awareness Month. I asked if they had any pink ribbon pins that patients could have. I was feeling better with a treatment plan in place, even with the multitude of scans and appointments that plan entailed. I had my game face on, and I wanted a pink ribbon pin as some symbol of my perseverance.

One of the nurses brought out a large pink bucket containing not only pink ribbon pins, but also car magnets, keychains, and pens. A minute later she came back and handed me a pink tee shirt, a ribbon on its front, and “let your faith be bigger than your fear” written on the back.

That phrase would become one of my mantras over the course of the next year enduring my breast cancer diagnosis.