Two Weeks Later: Living in the Fog
Unbelievably, only two weeks had passed since my diagnosis. Just two weeks — and yet I had already seen the surgeon, had a full MRI, emailed and called my nurse navigator what felt like a hundred times, and cried more than I ever thought a human could.
I remember walking through the grocery store one afternoon, barely able to push the cart. Everything around me felt surreal, like I was floating through a fog of horror and heartbreak. How was this happening to me? How was I supposed to make these enormous decisions? I couldn’t think clearly. I felt like I was always on the verge of falling apart.
I wondered if people could tell. Did I look like someone who was silently screaming inside? Could they see it on my face - that I was terrified, and suddenly face to face with my own mortality?
The Radiation Appointment
Next up was the appointment I dreaded most: meeting the radiation oncologist. Radiation had become the monster in the shadows, the thing I feared more than anything else. I’d convinced myself it would break me.
But then I met the doctor – and she was wonderful. Calm, kind, deeply knowledgeable. She explained everything thoroughly, answered every question, and didn’t make me feel rushed or silly for being scared.
My nurse navigator came with me, thank God. She took notes, sat beside me, and anchored me when I felt like I might float away in panic. Once again, I had told my husband not to worry about coming - and once again, I regretted that choice. It turned out to be another massive, overwhelming appointment packed with information I could barely absorb.
When I got home and tried to explain it all to my husband, I just... collapsed emotionally. I was mentally and emotionally wrecked. Radiation still felt like the scariest thing in the world to me. I didn’t want to do it. I wanted all of this to disappear, like a bad dream I could shake off by morning.
But this isn’t a dream. I can’t fast-forward through it. I have to go through it. And I have to be able to live with the choices I make.
How do you make a decision when it feels like your survival is at stake?
How do you ever know if you're making the right call?
This is my actual life.
Mother’s Day
That weekend was Mother’s Day. I didn’t feel like celebrating anything. I wanted to crawl into a hole and cry until I disappeared. I was scared. I was lost. I was mentally spiraling. I kept thinking, I don’t want to die – but I don’t want to live like this either.
The panic was constant. I felt like I was coming apart at the seams. I didn’t recognize myself anymore – not in the mirror, not in my thoughts. My mind was a war zone of fear and confusion.
This wasn’t just hard.
It felt unbearable.
But somewhere in the back of my mind, even in that awful weekend, a tiny voice kept whispering: You’re still here. You’re still standing. You’re still fighting.
And for now, that was enough.
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