My narrative:

34-year-old woman with recently diagnosed invasive ductal carcinoma of the right breast.  

My reality:

I have breast cancer.  What the F*CK?!?

In early January 2018, I felt a lump in my right breast and I honestly thought it was a bug bite. I know how silly that sounds.  It wasn’t red or swollen but having no family history of cancer, I was so sure it wouldn’t be anything serious.  I made an appointment to see my gynecologist right away, which btw took some effort since they tried to schedule my appointment 3 weeks later (Imagine if I actually waited that long?!). The check up was quick and routine and to my surprise, she wasn’t too worried about it either.  Since I was nearing my menstrual cycle, she explained it could be a Fibrocystic change due to hormones, BUT I should get an ultrasound just to be sure.  

The ultrasound was painless; the results were not.  I was asked to wait for the radiologist to speak to me.  A few minutes later, I was called into a room where she told me my results were abnormal and that she had spoken to my gynecologist and they were recommending a mammogram and ultrasound guided biopsy.  The mammogram (my very first) left me bruised for days – damn, my small perky boobs.

Even at this step, there was still a part of me that was in denial.  I kept telling myself that they would do this biopsy thing and tell me everything was okay.  This was just routine. I read through the material and understood that they would be taking small samples of tissue and what would be involved but the thought of it was still scary.  They used a local anesthetic and it didn’t hurt as much as I was expecting. For me, it was the noise.. Every time they took a sample, it sounded like a loud stapler and mentally it’s hard to prepare yourself for that.  You expect to feel a staple and you tense up in anticipation.. And nothing. Although I didn’t feel much, that sound alone will haunt my boob-nerves forever.  Then, I waited for the results.. 

…

They say you will always remember specific dates.. For me, it’s January 22, 2018, the day I was told I had breast cancer.  Thinking this would be a standard “there’s nothing wrong with you” call, I spoke to my doctor at work, sneaking away from my cubicle.  The conversation that followed is still such a blur. At the time, I don’t think I fully understood what she was saying… I’m so sorry to have to tell you this over the phone… invasive ductal carcinoma.. Breast cancer… I don’t have more information at the moment… Are you okay?… please call…

Tears just started streaming from my eyes. I had no words. How could this be happening to me? I hid in the file room as my doctor gave me a number to call for their breast cancer center.  I didn’t know what to do. I called my cubicle-mate, asking if she could meet me. When she opened the door, I lost my shit.. I cried and cried in her arms, my snot dripped in her hair.  Note to self: always have a Veronica at work.

Looking back, it’s hard to believe that all of this happened just a few months ago. It seems much longer.  It’s scary to think that one little lump could change everything. Although I still catch myself in denial of my diagnosis (are they really, really sure?), I’m slowly learning to accept things as they come and I try my best to not google.  Please don’t google.