writing my way through cancer

It's 3:45 in the morning. I am awake.

I had a mammogram on October 15th and then an ultrasound on October 26th. Then a biopsy on November 1st. Today a nurse called to tell me I have invasive ductal carcinoma.

There's something that will fuck up your day.

Carcinoma. What the fuck.

I wrote a few notes, looked up from my notepad, asked Regis to take me to Patrick's to start the wine therapy.

As we talked, I said I would write my way through this and I will. It's 3:30 am and here I sit, glass of wine at my side, numb from the wine and numb from the news.

There is no history of breast cancer in my family. I thought I was immune. I have regular mammograms. I thought I was immune.

I read this several times.

What the fuck. Mastectomy? Radiation? Chemotherapy? This is my 60th year?

I wanted to stop saying shit so much in my blog posts and instead I have progressed to saying fuck. Multiple times.

I am going to wallow in misery for a few days then I will buck up and carry on with my life.

For this moment, I am miserable. How can this be?

My first thought was that I am not so attached to my breasts. They can both go if it will protect me from the other bad shit. The chemo and the radiation.

I am not a sick person. I rarely get colds. What the fuck. How can I have this crap? Cancer. I have to put my head down on my desk for a minute to weep...long and deep sobs.

I appreciate my cousin's email with the subject heading s.o.b. That's it. Son of a bitch.

My brain is banging from one side of my head to the other. One minute I am feeling optimistic. I can beat this if I buy enough pink stuff. The next minute I am picturing my own funeral.

I don't want to talk to anyone about this right now because that will make it real. I don't want a support group or counseling. I appreciate your concern but I can't call you back. I can only write here.

I know this can be fixed. Maybe. But I have a dear friend who died from breast cancer. What the fuck.