March 20, 1998. There, I’ve said it, put it to paper, taken it to task…think of any other cliché phrases that might be appropriate for facing your demons. And no, ma’am, this is NOT a book that will end up in the “Self Help” section – though I can certainly understand if it did. (And secretly I hope that it will create some sort of underground buzz amongst us “survivor” types!)
And now then, where were we? Ah yes…Friday, March 20, 1998. It has little significance for anyone outside of my immediate circle. And, actually, if pressed to name it, I seriously doubt that all these years later anyone can remember why that day started the clock for how my life was about to change
When I think about today, in this moment, looking back, yes I do still get a little miffed. Okay, angry. Maybe more than angry…I’m thinking serious expletives here but curbing my instinct to utilize them in printed form.
I mean I had MY life all figured out then, didn’t I? The last thing I needed was an illness that could
The week or so leading up to March 20th was a Three Stooges funfest of doctor visits including an attempt to aspirate the tumor, a mammogram that couldn’t see squat followed by an ultrasound that had an image as ‘frozen’ by the technician to print out and give to my physician. When he walked into the room with “that look” – I just knew that the funny half-dollar sized blurp in my left breast wasn’t just going to go away!
The karmic joke definitely turned on the fact that I was trying to add to our family at the time. Pregnant, last I checked does not equal cancer.
So, following a thwarted attempt to see and be seen by a local surgeon, a frantic call to my then brother-in-law brought us to Friday, March 20th and a field trip to Stanford Medical Center – oh won’t this be fun? Are there surprises in my brown bag lunch?
and so...the journey began
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