Two weeks ago I pulled up my big girl pants, kissed my husband before he headed off to work and dragged my mom with me to an appointment that I never imagined I'd have to make. I wore my brave face up until they put me in a small waiting room where everyone was at least twice my age. They looked at me with pity as the tears began to pool at the corner of my eyes. While I dabbed quickly, it wasn't enough and they began streaming down my cheeks. This was more than a hormonal cry, it was reality hitting like a hammer. I rubbed my belly and tried to focus on the scripture given to me by a dear friend just months before.
"She is clothed with strength and dignity..."
But I had no more strength. I was scared for my life and that of our unborn child. I wanted someone to reach over and tell me it would be okay, but we were all here for the same thing and we all knew that there was a high probability that for at least one of us, things wouldn't be okay. I looked at the women around me, composed and reading their magazines as their gowns gapped haphazardly across their chests. Then I looked at me, clenching the top of my gown as if it mattered. Funny, the things we hold on to.
Eventually my breathing slowed as I remembered something my mom told me just ten years before while I laid in the hospital. I had asked her if she was scared and she said, "God never gives us more than we can bear." It wasn't specifically what she had said, but how her words resounded with such conviction and assurance- certainly it must be true. I decided then there were two ways in which this appointment could go- I'd find out I had breast cancer or I didn't. And regardless of the verdict, I could count on these three things: my God would take care of me and those I loved, my husband would find a way to make me laugh regardless of how grave the situation, and our love would become even greater than we had ever imagined.
When they called my name I held my head as high as I could and walked with as much confidence as I could muster. The doctor explained what we were looking at throughout the process, but slowed over several spots in which were concerning. She left to show the images to the radiologist and I laid there praying for strength and courage to be able to hear what she would say upon her return. I prayed to my grandmother, a victim of breast cancer, and asked her to watch over me. Maybe she heard me because when the doctor returned she explained that we would continue to watch these areas throughout the pregnancy, but at this time, they believed the three cysts were benign based on how close they were to one another. Benign. At that moment, it was the sweetest word I've ever heard.
I walked out of the room, found my mom sitting in a separate waiting area and gave her the thumbs up. I quickly changed and came back. We didn't say anything and there were no hugs; just tears as we walked out in to the hospital's main hallways. I knew she was thinking about my grandma and I just looked at her and thought, "there's no way you're getting out of being called Granny." I flashed a half smile and we finally both breathed.
**In six months I'll return for a mamogram and follow-up ultrasound. Ladies (and men, you're not excluded), please know your body. Don't wait for a doctor to tell you, especially now that they only do breast exams only once every two years. I went from being a monthly checker to a lazy procrastinator and it gave me the scare of a lifetime. Don't wait, especially if someone in your family has been diagnosed with breast cancer. Early detection DOES save lives.
No comments:
Post a Comment