“Good news, it is a benign fibroadenoma…”
The jovial intonation of the radiologist’s voice indicated he was happy to convey this news. I gasped at hearing the word “benign” and held my composure long enough to get off the phone. Jason held me as we both soaked in what we heard. “It [Breast cancer] wasn’t your cup,” Jason whispered. I called my mother to tell her the news and we both just cried on the phone together. “Gracias a Dios mija,” she said. I eventually got my father and sister on the line as well, to share the news. Jason left for work, leaving me to digest it all. Again, I retreated to my bedroom in solitude.
I have been staring out at this daunting precipice, pondering all the ways my life would be impacted by such a diagnosis. The gravity of my circumstance consumed me all week. On my knees, I praised God and thanked Him over and over again. I steeled myself, prepared as much as I could, to accept a grim reality and instead I found myself mercifully spared. To receive a call that gave me the “all clear” was overwhleming and humbling all at once.
I use to get hung up on the “why.” Why did I go through this? Why was I spared? Why weren’t others spared? My finite understanding of things will only yield answers full of my limitations. I will only see a fraction of what’s at play, a piece or two of a million piece puzzle. Instead of asking why, I simply say “Thank You.” Two little words that are hardly adequate in describing my heart at this very moment. I will die one day and when I stand before my maker to be held accountable for my response to being mercifully spared from breast cancer, I will proudly and honestly say that I gave God all the glory and thanked Him for yet another blessing.
The beauty of one’s heart reveling in gratitude is the clarity it provides to see all the blessings previously taken for granted. I still feel the dull ache in my left breast from yesterday’s biopsy, but I am grateful for the ache and I gladly take the ache over breast cancer. Any day. Every time. The ache represents the advanced technology that allowed for a rapid diagnosis. The ache represents a second chance. The ache is nothing to the gratitude I feel. And while I am not going to go running around town wildly waving to everyone “It’s not cancer!!” like a female version of George Bailey in It’s a Wonderful Life, I do have new eyes for my life, in particular, my roles as mother, wife, daughter, sister, friend, and public health nurse. My prayer is that as the ache in my breast wanes, my new vision that sees all the blessings previously taken for granted does not go with it.
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