The Diagnosis - One year later

 It was a year ago today that I got the call delivering what I refer to as “The Diagnosis.” Before that phone call, I hadn’t been too concerned about the biopsy. Over the years, I’d had them twice before and both times they turned up nothing serious.  With no family history of the disease, and my active healthy lifestyle, I had no reason to think this time would be any different. Plus it had been over a week since the procedure so surely I was in the clear…

But on August 10, 2020 a nurse called from the radiologist’s office to give me what she called “difficult news.” Breast cancer.  My world lurched. I grabbed a pen and paper and tried to write down some of what she was telling me, but my hand shook so badly I don’t think I got more than a few words scrawled onto the paper.

And so my journey began.

So often when people receive a health scare, it becomes the impetus for dramatic life changes. They start to eat healthy. They launch an exercise program. They join support groups. They begin to appreciate life. And farther down the road of their recovery, they look back and become thankful for their diagnosis. Without it, they wouldn’t have made so many critical life changes or found so much meaning.

And then there’s me.

At the time of my diagnosis, I already ate healthy, exercised vigorously, and appreciated life. I didn't need a wake-up call.

I was just pissed.

Now, a year later, I’ve moved beyond being pissed to perhaps just being angry. I don’t ‘identify’ with my diagnosis, and I sure as hell won’t be joining any pink ribbon events. I still struggle with some of the side-effects of the ongoing treatments, and I’m still sore from the surgery.  I’ve also given up the idea that I could live to be 95.

If there is a lesson for me to learn, it’s that no matter how hard I try to plan for every eventuality, there are just some things I can’t account for. I suppose I’ll eventually learn to accept that. Someday. But not today.