PAPER SWIMSUITS

So, yesterday I posted that I was feeling pretty calm.  And I was.  That is until a bird flew into our windshield.  I screamed "oh no, this is a bad sign!"  Mr. Eckhoff was screaming back...."what sign?, we don't believe in signs!".  I was crying and maybe hyperventilating saying "this is not good, this is definitely not good".

I know a lot of people are praying for us and sending hugs and positive feelings.  I have to say, I have felt them and I am grateful. Its the only explainable way that Mr. Eckhoff indulges me in these little fits of crazy and the only way I am able to get through them.

At Mayo the back waiting room for mammograms and ultrasounds is possibly the most depressing place I have ever been.  It's large, so we don't have to be too close to each other. We don't have to make eye contact and we certainly don't make small talk.  I don't think we dare.  Each of us sitting silently in our blue robes waiting to find out our fate.  It's breast cancer awareness month and for some reason someone thought it would be a good idea to put giant, frilly, impossibly happy posters covered in pink ribbons, everywhere.  It's ridiculous.  I think we are already VERY aware.

My lump is large. You can see it coming out of my chest. So I'm surprised when they start the ultrasound on the wrong breast.  Is this really happening right now?  They keep me laying down when the doctor comes in and sits eye level to deliver her findings.  She seems very serious when she takes a big breath and states "You do have a very large mass."  She pauses and all the air is suddenly sucked out of the room and I can't breath.  I turn away, tears start down the side of my face and everything starts to spin.

She doesn't grab my hand for comfort. She just sits silently waiting for me to breath again.  Waiting for me to collect myself.  She continues with "We believe it is benign."  What did you just say?  Benign?  Benign?  Cheese and rice lady, why couldn't you have led with that??  You really need to work on your delivery.

My next appointment is with my surgeon.  She tells us after meeting with the radiologist she is....wait for it...here it is..."98% sure"...it is fat cells that have died.  I swing my head in Mr.Eckhoff's direction. He sees the panic in my eyes. (If you don't understand how hard this is for me to hear, read my past blog about the 98% diagnosis and my family).  This tumor, this mass, this lesion, whatever you want to call it, needs to come out.  Surgery is scheduled for November 4th and from there they will send it to pathology to be tested.  Then we will be 100%.

On the way home Mr. Eckhoff reminds me that this is a win.  He is right. And I am upset with myself for grabbing on to that sliver of doubt, that 2%.  But it's more than that.  I'm pissed because I let cancer win even before we got here.  It won when I went to those dark places. It won when I started thinking of my children's lives without me. It won when I started thinking insane thoughts like the reason my dog is being clingy is because she can sense cancer in me.  And it certainly won today when I chose to grab on to that 2% chance, that doubt, instead of the good news of benign.   No more. I just can't let it win anymore, whether it be physically or mentally.

The ride home was great.  We laughed, real laughs, as we talked about how my ass fat grouped together and decided they were going to try and make a run for it.  "Get back where we belong!" Mr. Eckhoff, the romantic he is, suggested we pull over at the nearest motel (yes, he said motel), grab a box of wine (yes, he said box), buy a couple of paper swimsuits out of the vending machine, and dammit, let's celebrate!  We didn't get that crazy and made it home late last night.  But yes, today I think I feel like celebrating.