Technically, breast cancer is always a possibility if you have breasts, even for men. When you look at the plethora of carcinogens and add to that any genetic predisposition, the potential of breast cancer has been a topic of public and private discourse for some time. What I am confronting is having gone through my annual mammogram, which led me to my repeat mammogram and sonogram of my left breast yesterday. At this very moment, breast cancer is a very real possibility for me.

They found “densities,” one of which is a cyst and the other which they want to biopsy. The tech who did my sonogram was kind and had a disarming way of going about getting the images she needed. As she reviewed my images, I could see her almost unnoticeably nodding her head and appreciating the gravity of what she was about to say. “He is going to want a biopsy. You will have results the very next day.” Jason was in the room, and I could feel his whole being shift at hearing this. She went on to explain that it is done by needle aspiration that is guided by sonography. A local anesthetic is given to numb the area well before they begin. The tech left the room to get the radiologist. I was still processing all of it as Jason handed me my clothes piece by piece, prompting me and helping me to get dressed. Then the radiologist blew into the room and stated something after introductions before he sat on the exam table, and then I cued in on his sharing that his mother and sister had breast cancer. He went on to say that if I were his daughter, he would want a biopsy. It is the only way to know for sure. He also stated that it was small. As a nurse this is comforting. As a patient, it doesn’t change how it all washes over me. I noticed they never used the word cancer or malignant, just benign. As a nurse, I understand why. As a patient, it feels patronizing. As quickly as the radiologist blew in the room, he swooshed out. The tech asked for days that would be best for us to schedule the biopsy. Our daughter, Isabel and a dear friend who brought her, were in the waiting room. Isabel had an appointment following mine and, thankfully, all looked good for Isabel. My tech caught us before we left and gave my appointment date and time for next week. She assured me that I would be made as comfortable as possible for the procedure.

I went through the evening and tried to watch the movie the family was watching, but couldn’t. I was on the verge of tears all evening and I finally just retreated to the bedroom. Tears streamed my face as I went on to do my nightly hygiene. In solitude, with no distractions, I sobbed and sobbed until my eyelids got red and puffy. I was miles from the smile you see here. I didn’t get bad news, “you have breast cancer.” I got its ugly cousin, “You might have breast cancer, but now you must wait to find out.” I realize that it could just as easily be the “pretty cousin” because there is still hope in the “might have.” But I am no different from anybody else in the mind’s tendency to go towards the ugly.

My inner pragmatist chastised the sorrow that welled up inside of me. Physical death is a certainty for all humans. But my grief was because I am a 43-year-old wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend, etc. From my perspective, the worse thing is prematurely departing from these relationships I have on earth. Not to mention, willingly infusing poison to get rid of cancer and all of the indignities that come with that is not something I readily welcome.

Before I went into my appointment yesterday, I shared with others that I did not even know what to pray. All I came up with was surrender. I would not beg. If this is my lot, then I accept it, because it is His will, but certainly not mine. Only God could make something good come out of something so awful. Even Jesus prayed, in the Garden of Gethsemane, for God to take away the suffering that would come.

“…take this cup from me; yet not my will but yours be done.” Luke 22:42

I took the day off from work today to process and digest it all. Socially and emotionally, my response to a crisis is to retract and in solitude allow myself to fully feel and sort out what I don’t let in public. The dear friend who brought my daughter to her appointment called me earlier yesterday to support me, pray for me. She reminded me of the importance of sharing what we are going through so that others have the opportunity to love and support us in our time of need. She is right. We are made for fellowship, not continual solitude. Whatever good that might come of this is only hindered if I keep it all to myself. So I share it and pray that the good far exceeds the bad.

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For more information on breast cancer screening click here.