Just in case you’re under the mistaken impression that I am calm and brave in the midst of all this cancer crap, I’m going to tell you about yesterday.
Angela had texted me on Thursday that she would hound the pathologist and have results for me on Friday. I did not share info that with Banjo Man. I didn’t think he needed to have the stress of waiting for the phone to ring all day Friday. We were both calm and resigned and not just a little numb. As of Monday, there was an unspoken agreement to go avoid “what if” and instead just carry on as usual. And he was doing a really good job of staying calm.
Friday morning I was up at 7 and carried my phone with me from the coffee pot to the computer to the bathroom to the laundry room, etc. In an attempt to find some encouragement about a “recurrence”, I went on the breast cancer website and visited the forums there. Instead of comfort, I learned that 80% of these “architectural” abnormalities are malignant. They come in third as a way of identifying breast cancer.
I was stunned. I had had no clue. I shed a few tears and started to think about the summer. My last summer? Maybe. We would drive to Idaho, then. Our last road trip? Probably. Maybe we could meet the Funny Grandson and his parents in Yellowstone, as they were going to be on their own road trip. We could buy a Toyota 4 Runner here to replace the very ancient one we used for driving up to the cabin in the mountains. And fly home late September, if I lasted that long.
I was in full-blown panic.
I cried and shopped online for used 4 Runners for an hour and found a good possibility in Massachusetts. I bookmarked it to show Banjo Man after we got the news of my impending death. Because if there was cancer it was going to be a different, fast-growing kind and that would be very, very bad.
It was time to put the clothes in the dryer and do my 25 minutes on the treadmill, so I cleaned myself up and went downstairs. I didn’t tell Banjo Man about the percentages but I did get wound up about a road trip and a car and maybe it would be the last summer and all the “what ifs” we’d been avoiding. I cried.
My poor husband just stood there eating his oatmeal. “Can we just hold off on all of this until we get the test results?”
I sucked up the tears and went into the exercise room to get on the treadmill and try to immerse myself in the latest Longmire novel.
The text came in ten minutes later. “No cancer,” Angela texted. “The pathologist is asking for more slides just to be 100% sure.”
My surgeon called to make sure I’d received the news. She said there would be a report on Tuesday and she’d call me if we needed future follow ups. She was happy. I was happy. We told each other how happy we were.
Banjo Man was very, very happy, too. Especially after I told him the odds were against me. We talked a little more about the road trip and will keep thinking about it. One huge issue is my energy and stamina. A lot would have to improve before I could enjoy a week or more on the road.
But at least I have options. And I don’t have cancer.