Day One
“There are going to be very painful moments in your life that will change your entire world in a matter of minutes. These moments will change you. Let them make you stronger, smarter and kinder. But don’t you go and become someone that you’re not. Cry. Scream if you have to. Then you straighten out that crown and keep moving. ”
It was a day like any other day. When I woke up that morning the I definitely had no idea that this day, the day that started like any other, would be the day that changed my life forever. Forever, a word that sits very uncomfortably with me now. 3:15 pm on January 24th, 2018 is when I unconsciously said goodbye to a version of myself that I will never get back.
People always ask me what symptoms I had. Did I feel sick? Did anything stick out? I know that most of the people asking are really asking for themselves. What do they need to be on the lookout for? Where are the signs?
“If it happened to Kelly, healthy, active, no family history of cancer then it could happen to me.”
Well, that statement is true, cancer certainly doesn't discriminate. We all think we are in the clear until you look in the mirror one day and your left breast is almost double the size of the other.
Yep! That was it. A simple glimpse in the mirror before getting in the shower. I was getting ready to go to a Women in Leadership talk that night. I didn't go. I immediately called Claire, no answer. Next up, Tessa. She picked up and immediately started to talk me down. She is the person you want with you in a crisis. She manages 20 kindergarten students 5 days a week and she talks you through the unrealistic anxiety when you need her to. "It could be just a cyst", "probably not cancer, it popped up so quickly", "no need to jump to conclusions until we know what it is" and "stay off the internet". She succeeded in calming me down and I made my way to the walk-in clinic.
My clinic has one of those where you wait in line online tools. So at least I was waiting 2 dreadful hours in the comfort of my own home. She examined me and even she was surprised when I told her it just popped up that day. Cyst came up as an idea again. C'mon cyst! Let it be a cyst! I've never had one before but please let it be that! She ordered an ultrasound for February 1st. She also ordered a mammogram and biopsy just to get the ball running for Feb 22nd. Trying not to panic, I went on with my week. Worked as normal, had a great weekend like normal and kept it to myself because hey, it is probably just a cyst, cancer doesn't grow that fast.
After my ultrasound, they tell you to go sit in the waiting room. As I sat there I watched the other women waiting too. Most of the nurses or technicians would dismiss the women casually one by one mentioning their doctor will get the results within a couple weeks. I watched and expected the same for me. So imagine the feeling in the pit of my stomach when my technician sat down in the chair beside me, angled towards me, leaned in so she could speak in a tone that immediately made my heart skip, then sink. If you know it you have felt it. Heard it.
It's the bad news tone and it sucks!
They were concerned and want to move my mammogram and biopsy ASAP. You would think at this point I would start to panic again. I didn't and now I think it was denial. They are just being concerned. It isn't the big C until the biopsy confirms it. It could still be a cyst, cancer doesn't grow that fast. My mammogram was scheduled for the following day. On the positive side, things are moving quickly. Optimism is the key!
If I believe it's not cancer it won't be.
I'm too healthy to have cancer.
I received a call from my clinic doctor on Feb 2nd. I ignored it. I didn't want to know. You only get calls when it's bad news. If it is bad news I might as well have a good weekend and deal with it on Monday. Definitely a Monday problem. Yep, it's decided.
As you could imagine, Monday came too soon. I made my way to the walk-in clinic after work. Yes, that is right, I’m still working through all this. I was able to see the same walk-in clinic doctor I had when I found the lump. Some kind of comfort I guess. As I sat in that drab, tiny walk-in clinic room waiting for her to arrive I still felt… ok.
It wasn’t until she came in and started talking as if I already knew what she was going to say that my whole body felt numb.
She kept going, mentioning treatment, referencing options and moving so quickly that I finally had to interject abruptly and stop her.
“I'm sorry, can you clarify what it is I have?”
She hadn’t actually said it. She assumed I was told at my scans that it was likely cancer. It felt so surreal at first until she actually said the word
Cancer.
There is was. The set of syllables that may be one of the most feared words in the English language. I told her to start again. Everything she had said before had completely disappeared after that word. Somehow through this fear and shock, I took out my phone and started to record what she said. Head smart, even in the worst of situations. Something I am very proud of.
I don’t remember getting home. I do remember immediately collapsing in my hallway once I saw Claire. She sat holding me while I cried uncontrollably.
“Why me?”
“I’m dying.”
We sat on the floor for as I played the recording for us. I didn’t remember a single word she had said in the room that day except… cancer. To this day I haven’t listened to that recording again. After cycles of crying and blankly staring at the wall not saying anything at all, she finally was able to get me up off the floor and into the living room.
What happens next you will only understand if you know the inter-workings of mine and Claire’s relationship. She is my person (yes, Grey’s Anatomy reference). She knows me better than I know myself. She knows when to pry and went to leave it alone. She knows to close the shower curtain after she showers because that is the way I like it. She is my family, my sister, my soulmate and my best friend. We have been through a lot together. Our relationship blossomed over tragedy in both our lives 4 years ago. I have seen her in her darkest moments and now she was seeing me in mine. How do we cope? Well… we make jokes. We make inappropriate jokes about each other, the situation, and anything else we can think of. It is our “thing”. And so, we started drinking, heavily. Telling jokes and laughing in between cries when my mind would flash back to reality. There were music and crying and singing and crying, and jokes and more crying.
I don’t remember how the night ended but every day when I am sitting in my living room I stare at the empty bottle of wine that I drank that night, sitting on the TV stand. It is a constant reminder to me to continue to laugh, sing and cry. Live. February 5th, 2018 is the second worst day of my life. When the day comes, and I am positive it will, when there isn’t a trace of cancer in my body, I am going to (location TBD) smash the fuck out of that wine bottle!