The First 48 Hours

So I’m about 48 hours into my cancer diagnosis, and I’ve learned two things:

Bad News Can Be Good News

Being told you have cancer -- whatever the stage -- is scary, but the overwhelming emotion for me right now is relief.  I finally know what's wrong with me.  Type in "heavy menstrual bleeding" into your search bar sometime, and you'll be shocked to learn that there is a significant  percentage of women who have gone through every test under the Sun and still do not know what's wrong with them.

My symptoms were so awful and came on so quick,  I really braced myself for something truly awful like “you have 24 hours to live,” even though my highly left-brained head knew that this was pretty unlikely. Receiving news that I have a highly curable, early disease -- even if it's cancer -- is far, far better than being told, "we couldn't find anything wrong with you."

Support Goes Both Ways

I called Mom yesterday afternoon just to ask her how she was coping. 

“You shouldn’t be taking care of me,” she said, “You should be taking care of yourself.”

Well, that's true. And I am. But I am also quite aware that this news is far easier to deal with when you are the patient, because you have the control. You talk to the doctors, you agree to the treatment plan, and you are the one who can make lifestyle choices to improve your chances of success. The rest of the people in my life are the helpless spectators. It’s less nerve-wracking to be the player on the field than to be the fan in the grandstands. So, yes, I do want to check in on them if only to remind them that I’m fine and doing well at the moment. There will be a time in the near future when I’m worn out, tired, and don’t want to play any more, and that's when I’ll need them to give me a pep talk.