Coping with Cancer: Finding Strength in Vulnerability

The week of my annual mammogram was a shit show. Life was lifeing, I was white-knuckling sanity, and I just knew … it wasn’t going to be good. 

At first, the news was fairly benign: there were calcifications in my left breast that needed further evaluation. So I booked my next appointment around summer vacation plans. Then, I filed it way back in the reserves of my brain. 

These early moments set the cadence for my breast cancer journey to this point. Probe, wait, probe again, sit on my hands to tame anxiety over what’s to come, and on and on. 

In July, with my kids at day camp, I went in for more imaging. The drive was long, so I chilled out to an upbeat podcast. The appointment was fairly routine (high-res mammogram followed by an ultrasound, aka: non-invasive). So, I relaxed and pretended it was all no big deal. 

Remember the cadence of probe, wait, probe again? This time, I was asked to schedule a biopsy. When I shared this news with my mom (a retired oncology nurse), she scheduled a flight to be with me. Her action was a signal: this is actually a big deal. 

I scheduled my biopsy when I knew my son would be at another day camp. Then, I found an afternoon play date for my daughter. I wanted to remove the burden of driving for my husband and my mom. So, I drove the three of us to my biopsy. This, of course, meant the traffic was particularly horrible that day. I had mapped the 40-minute journey, and we left 1.5 hours in advance. Unfortunately, a trip that was supposed to take 40 minutes kept rerouting – growing in both distance and duration. Ultimately, we arrived about 15 minutes late. And, no amount of deep belly breathing was going to save me. As soon as I sat in the waiting room, the floodgates opened.  

Time and life had finally caught up with me. This was scary and real and happening right now. I couldn’t compartmentalize it away anymore. The walls were all around me. And, yes. It was a big deal. 

In my post, Endless Summer – My breast cancer diagnosis, I describe the mechanics of my biopsy. But what I didn’t touch upon was the tech who cared for me in that tender moment. 

Sure, compartmentalization was/is a good (and largely involuntary) survival strategy. But this separateness in my brain was/is equally matched by deep, tactile, human connections. 

The tech who held my hand during that first biopsy saw my fear and was there to reassure me. She also answered frankly when I asked her about her work experiences and herself. Our conversation helped to steady the ground below me. Precious time was needed to refocus while she compressed my breast to stop the bleeding after my biopsy. Her kindness was a deep belly breath I couldn’t take on my own. And, it helped me walk out a lot lighter than I had come in. 

Fear (and massive probe) behind me. It was now time to wait and brace myself. 

The one vital piece of this journey I had control over that summer was the scheduling. I was going to get my results 2-3 short business days later, while we were on vacation. Whatever the news, at least I’d be with my family at my favorite place on Earth. 

And, in fact, it was there by the beach. My kids and dog lay relaxed in the calm and hazy coastal mist. My husband and I were secluded in a little converted shed. He was working remotely while I stretched on my yoga mat. Then, I got the call. 

It was in this coastal calm that our lives remained rooted while I was hit with a torrent of news. It was cancer, it was in the early stages, and it would (again) need more imaging. I scheduled an MRI two weeks out, hung up the phone, and cried.

I wept from exhaustion. Keeping our summer packed with fun. Navigating my care around the fun. Aiding my ailing mother-in-law. While also managing a massive renovation at her rental property an hour away. I was Tired. Capital t.

I wept from relief. After all … that … I finally had an answer. I also wept knowing this was just the tip of the iceberg.

In fact, I was already on a long, scary journey. Hadn’t packed. Hadn’t planned. What I had managed was much more beneficial. I had created a bubble in which to exist and stay protected for the road ahead.

Somehow, I instinctively knew to make my world small. Keep those closest to me a little closer. My life would be a little haven of healing. But first, the worst would have to come…