DAY TEN.

#TeamNothing

And I thought the Core Biopsy I had last week had sucked…the MRI-guided biopsy I had this past Wednesday was in a whole other league of suckage.

It starts off like any other breast-MRI. You’re on your stomach, face inside a hollow pillow, breasts inside what I’ll not-so-fondly refer to as “boob boxes”. You’re hooked up to an IV and rolled into the machine. Pictures are taken, dye is administered through your IV, and more pictures are taken. You’re then rolled out and your breast is injected with a numbing agent, and a needle is inserted into your breast. Again, you’re rolled back into the machine for more pictures to insure the needle is where it should be. You’re rolled out again. And then the soft “whirring” noises commence. It sounds sort of like a saw, only much, much softer. It didn’t hurt at first, but as the seconds ticked on I started to wince, the pain of which was probably made worse by my own anxiety. Each time the doctor said, “almost done”, it seemed to go on and on and on. I feel as if he’d said “almost done” at least 30 times, when in reality it was probably only three. Then you’re cleaned up, bandaged, and sent for a mammogram to ensure the marker they’d left inside you is where it should be.

I was mostly fine throughout all of this. In fact, I hadn’t shed a single tear since the night before. But for whatever reason, when the nurse who was leading me around brought me back to my changing room and offered me some juice, I emotionally crumpled and burst into tears. She was an older woman, and very kind, and I’m sure I’m not the first breast cancer patient she’s had to comfort. She hugged me, whispered things I don’t recall, dried my tears, assured me that my makeup was unharmed, and brought me back to Sean.

The rest of the day was shit. I was full of nervous energy and without an outlet for it. I played video games and texted my friends. I tried not to think and failed each and every time. Yesterday was worse. After dropping my son, Cayden, off at school, I took to the couch, wrapped myself in blankets and stared out at nothing. I felt as though I had a cloud of doom hanging overhead, it’s darkness slipping free, bit by bit, until I was veritably drowning in it.

I was so low. I had no energy, no appetite, I was just entirely immersed in my feelings and every single one of them were bad. I think waiting for (possibly bad) news is one of the worst places to exist inside of. Like I’ve said before, you’re in a hellish limbo of sorts, where you don’t know what’s coming next.

Yesterday evening came, Cayden was running around the house, shouting on his phone with his friends. The dog was chasing after him, barking. Sean was doing everything else — cooking, laundry, and then later, helping Cayden with his homework. Life was happening all around me, my fucking life, of which I’m supposed to be taking part in, while I just continued to lay there, unable to break free from my thoughts. I’ve struggled with depression and anxiety throughout my life but both have since skyrocketed to unhealthy levels since Day One. A typical weekday for me is spent on my treadmill in the morning, working diligently throughout the afternoon, walking the dog outside in the evening, while weekends are spent out with my family or friends. And lately, I haven’t been able to do any of that. Even the most menial task has begun to seem daunting. On the occasion I break free from the fog, I’ve found that I can forget for a few minutes or so. But then I always remember. And then I start to cry again.

I realize now that I’m probably going to need some sort of medication to help me through this, as I’m told a lot of cancer patients do. Because the “mind over matter” and “positive thinking” bullshit doesn’t apply to everyone, especially for those who struggle with the above-mentioned even when not faced with something as life-altering as cancer. But before I’m prescribed anything, I still have to wait to find out whether or not my cancer is hormone positive or negative. This is because certain anti-depressants contain estrogen and if my cancer is estrogen fueled, well, the meds could end up feeding the cancer. Further proof just how very, very important everything you put inside your body is.

And then, at around 5:00 PM, my phone rang.

“It’s benign,” a man’s voice said. “Hallelujah, right?”

I know he must have said other things before that. And after, too. Obviously, he must have introduced himself and whatnot, but I honestly don’t remember any of it.

Benign. Benign. Benign.

The lone word thudded fast and hard through my head like John Bonham on drums. I bolted upright. Sean’s eyes snapped to mine. I made the man on the phone repeat himself three times because I just had to be sure. And I started crying happy tears. Cancer in one breast is bad enough, cancer in both…I don’t know. And right now I’m just thrilled I don’t need to know.

In other boob-news, both my breasts are black and blue from the biopsies and I’ve been telling everyone I’m naming them Glenn and Abraham, as it appears they’ve taken quite a beating. To which my husband, dark and disturbed man that he is, replied: “If only the tumor would pop out like Glenn’s eye.” Now there’s a visual for you. 😀

TWD jokes aside, oh my gosh, you guys, what an absolutely insane ten days. I’m physically and emotionally starving for yesterday. Or any day back before the diagnosis. Back when I had the luxury of taking every single second for granted, and take them all for granted I did.

Anyway. This coming Monday I meet with a surgeon, find out the results of my genetic testing, and plan a course of action. Until then…

Don’t take your seconds for granted, fellow humans.