May 13: A Decision and a Path Forward
It was May 13th. Just nineteen days since I first saw the word cancer in my patient portal, and I was heading into yet another major appointment - this time with the oncologist.
The moment I stepped into the building, I felt dizzy. It was the same place as the radiation oncology office, and I couldn’t shake the thought: I’m not supposed to know what the inside of this building looks like. I felt like an imposter in a world I never meant to enter.
This time, my husband came with me. In the small exam room, it was the four of us - the oncologist, my nurse navigator, my husband, and me. The oncologist walked us through everything: prognosis, recurrence rates, long-term outlook. None of it was new information exactly, but hearing it all laid out in clinical terms made my head spin. I kept drifting in and out of the moment, like I was watching someone else’s life play out. This couldn’t really be mine, could it?
Genetic Testing and an Unexpected Twist
Before the appointment, I had reached out to some family members, trying to piece together a clearer picture of our medical history. I ended up with a long list of relatives who had faced breast cancer - more than I ever realized. Because of that family history, the oncologist recommended genetic testing. If I carried a gene like BRCA, it could impact what kind of surgery I chose.
They drew my blood right there in the office for several tests. Then, since we were already nearby, we stopped by the surgeon’s office to ask about scheduling a follow-up. And in the most unexpected stroke of luck - she was available to talk right then.
A Plan Takes Shape
We sat down with the surgeon, and I told her: I’ve made my decision. I want to do the lumpectomy.
She was supportive and calm. She suggested we go ahead and schedule the surgery, while giving the genetic results a bit of time to come in. If anything came up in the results, we could still revisit the plan. But otherwise, we were moving forward.
We set the surgery date for May 29.
I walked out of that office feeling a kind of relief I hadn’t felt in weeks. For the first time since this nightmare started, I didn’t feel lost. I didn’t feel paralyzed. I had made a decision. I had a date. I had a plan.
And it felt like the sun finally came out.
For the first time in weeks, I didn’t feel like I needed a Xanax or Ativan just to survive the day. I felt like myself again - not completely, but just enough to remember what calmness and hope feel like.
Choosing to Move Forward
We went home and talked about how we had two weeks to prepare. I had already decided I would move forward with radiation. I was going to trust my doctors, trust my body, and hope I’d be one of the people who sails through it with minimal side effects. I was no longer stuck in fear. I was standing in choice.
Nineteen days. That’s all it had been since I got the call.
Nineteen days that felt like a lifetime.
Nineteen days of spiraling, crying, researching, doubting, hoping, and trying to breathe.
But now, I had something I hadn’t had before.
A way forward.
And with that, for the first time in a long time, I felt alive.
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