This was the day….the day that was going to direct the next months of my life. I was meeting with the oncologist, oncology surgeon, and radiologist. I can’t remember that morning very well, I’m sure I was nervous, that feels right considering the circumstances of that day. We got the girls off to school and my dearest of friends, Emily, came to watch the boys. (It’s funny because even now as I type about this morning I find myself shaking a bit. So I think my body is remembering feeling pretty scared. It was scary!) Chris obviously took the day off of work and came with me to these unwanted appointments. The car ride was thick with the tension of this new difficulty for our marriage to weather. I was so anxious that cancer was going to change everything. Chris and I were going to have to take on rolls we’ve never even practiced for! I was going to be a cancer patient and he was going to be the primary caregiver to our children, working as close to full time as he could (thankfully we have the privilege of having access to PFML), feed so many mouths, keep our house from turning into a hoarding situation, and all the invisible tasks that I did without him really noticing (there is a lot that goes on during the day while he is at work, he was taking on the weight of the little things in our life that impeded productivity – things that primary caregivers take on without even realizing). Chris was going to have to manage the wake of destruction that my cancer was going to leave behind in our lives. God, I didn’t want that for him. My roll was changing too. I had to stop, like literally. I was going to need to do everything I could to heal and care for myself – I couldn’t put myself off, I had to be priority. I knew the family was going to have such a hard time adjusting to me being sick. I knew the kids were going to have to learn a level of resilience that I wished I would be able to protect them from for just a few years longer. I definitely didn’t want to be the reason this level of resilience needed to be learned.
I’m sure Chris made me laugh and get out of my head for a bit as we drove to my appointment, he’s so good at making me laugh. I dearly love to laugh. (Unsolicited advice: spend your life with someone who makes you laugh. It’s like oxygen in the toughest of times.) The drive felt long and in my memory I remember an overcast day, but I know it wasn’t, it just felt that way. We parked in the parking garage and made our way to medical offices where we’d find ourselves in a tiny waiting room with 3 nurses and 2 office staff crammed into a desk area that was way too small. It felt a little scattered but everyone was so nice…I mean, it would be so terrible if they weren’t nice. You need to be nice if you are at the front desk, first face seen, for anything related to cancer treatments. At least I feel that way. I would be so very nice to anyone in the situation I had found myself in.
We were escorted into an examination room where we would wait until the first specialist came in to talk with us. I had selected this group because they always worked together with breast cancer patients and I felt like there would be a better flow of communication with each other. They came in one by one filling my ears with information I had no idea how to digest. Each one giving me a folder stuffed with papers telling me all about the terrible things I was going to have to endure. The plan was to have surgery first and remove the tumor. The oncology surgeon suggested that I get a mastectomy of the left breast but also encouraged a bilateral (double) mastectomy in case it turned out I had a genetic predisposition to getting this type of cancer. I somehow just knew that I was going to need to get a bilateral mastectomy. I was also told I was a candidate for nipple sparing surgery and direct-to-implant reconstruction if I decided I wanted to have implants. That was really exciting news. I really didn’t want to not have boobs, even if it was just for a little while, and I REALLY didn’t want to lose my nipples. Some good news for such a terrible situation. I didn’t cry though, I was surprised by that. I think maybe I was just too overwhelmed with feelings to understand how to express them. I just kinda went numb and made it through each meeting robotically. I kind of remember the meetings with the oncologist and radiologist but I think my brain was just off by then. After meeting all the specialists, the surgeon came back in and said that she was going to submit my case to a board of cancer experts and have them review her treatment plan to make sure they are caring for me in the most effective way. That was such a relief and made me feel a little more at ease about things.
My favorite person I met that day was my nurse navigator, Natalie. She brought a level of calm with her that made me feel calm and less frantic. She was going to be a very valuable asset in these beginning weeks. She told me the only thing I remember clearly from that day. “Emilie, this is all so overwhelming and I’m sure you feel like you are drowning in information. I’m going to tell you what to do now – I want you to get a yummy lunch, go home, crawl in bed, and do nothing for the rest of the day. I’m serious! Don’t look at that pile of folders, just do nothing.”
Those were marching orders I could get behind and Chris was more than happy to accommodate. We went to get tacos first, afterwards we stopped at the liquor store to get a bottle of wine. I remember telling Chris, “I don’t plan on drinking away my sorrows throughout this whole ordeal, but I do plan on doing that today. I am going to get drunk and rot in bed.”
That’s exactly what I did. I can’t remember if I watched a show or a movie, I likely escaped to the world of tiktok, but I finished my tacos and my bottle of wine by 3pm. James came in and asked if he could be with me. Of course I said yes and we sat together watching Paw Patrol and eating corn chips. It was sweet, something I want to remember. James had no idea how much I needed to be pulled back into reality. His sweetness was a shock to my system that had been sitting in dread for the past couple of hours. He came in and brought his light of life with him and reminded me that cancer couldn’t take that moment away from me. His presence reminded me of how wonderful it is to be with the ones you love, no matter how challenging life is. That’s the great thing about having so many kids, there is always someone who is going to step in and remind me of how sweet and dear this life is…even if I have to battle cancer. I took pictures of his sweet and dirty little boy feet and soaked in his profile as he sat there chomping his chips. He brought the magic of life with him as he entered my bed-rotting room and sparked my hope again. I looked at James and said, “I’m going to get through this.” He just smiled and nodded not realizing just how important it was that I said that out loud. His smile and nod were all I needed. I was going to get through this. I had no idea how, but I was.
