hope

I don’t remember crying the first few hours after my diagnosis. Trust me, I’ve cried a lot since but I think I was so shocked my emotions were a million years behind the reality I was facing in that moment. I think Dr. Paul reiterated that my cancer was very curable and then began talking briefly about chemo and surgery. I probably only talked to him for five minutes, which was fine with me, I needed time to process. At the end of our conversation I told him how important it was for me to work through fertility preservation before starting chemo, he agreed that would probably be okay, pending scans and staging of my cancer then we hung up.

By this time mom had pulled onto the county road leading to our house. She cried and I quickly explained to her what the doctor had said. Then I had to call Cade. He was at a bovine conference in North Carolina. It had been planned for months and when I found the lump we both agreed it was probably nothing so we should continue with business as usual. Cade was being recognized for a scholarship he received and he was also competing on the quiz bowl team. I felt so helpless as I called my husband and told him the news that would change us both forever. So many miles separated us but he was calm and kept me (mostly) calm in the days that followed. I’m so grateful for him. He is the best life partner and his love has never swayed through any of this. As an added bonus, since he’s a vet student we often compare my medical experiences to things that happen to cows. Insert that one time I was “flushed” and we got 19 eggs. From what I’ve learned that’s a solid number for a human or a cow. Go me!

Dr. Paul’s phone call came on a Friday afternoon. A Friday AFTERNOON. This, without question is the worst possible day ever to get the cancer phone call. I had to wait all weekend for more information and to start a game plan. The most difficult part of the initial diagnosis was then thinking I had cancer everywhere. Oh, I have a headache it must be cancer. That’s not a pimple its cancer. I’m sneezing too much, my stomach hurts, my head still hurts. On that day and everyday that has followed I’ve imagined unzipping my skin from my head to my toes and just stepping out of this body like it was a onesie pajama and just trying a new one on. My body has betrayed my soul in a way I wasn’t prepared for. And since I can’t make an outfit change I’ve learned to rely heavily on God to get my body and my soul through this.

Okay, now for the condensed version of the days that followed. Finally Monday rolled around, the oncologist’s office called and I was scheduled for an MRI, PET scan and port placement later in the week. Then, a phone call came on Tuesday that once again rocked me to my core. My mom was home with me and the scheduler from Dr. Paul’s office called to set my first chemo session up for FRIDAY. As in 72 hours from that moment. We were both confused and shocked. I didn’t even know what kind of cancer I had or what stage it was and they wanted me to start chemo so soon. I had expressed my desire to work through fertility preservation first. Did this mean somehow without scans Dr. Paul knew my cancer was advanced and I needed to start chemo ASAP? No. No it didn’t mean that, it simply meant the doctors and nurses hadn’t communicated well. But we didn’t know that. It was on this day that I had my biggest break down to date. Luckily my mom was with me, she worked with Dr. Paul’s office as I lay on the floor in a puddle. Apparently, his office had sent a referral to a fertility doctor nearby but his staff (and us) were unaware.

We met with Dr. K the next day at her Denver office. I thought I had no hope, I was starting chemo on Friday. Dr. K was the most incredible, sun shinny, optimistic person ever. She specializes in fertility preservation for breast cancer patients and I think God sent me right to her. My mom and sister were with me and as Dr. K discussed the process, tears of joy welled up in all of our eyes. They whisked me back for an ultrasound and it was determined I could probably start the process Friday. Y’all need to understand I had kissed my fertility goodbye the day before, this was light and hope and something good in the middle of incredible darkness for me. Dr. K said the process would take 10-14 days…and money. Dr. K hugged us all, she is a big hugger and we left smiling. I called Cade as soon as we got outside. He was as excited as I was and we decided then and there we were doing this no matter what. Dr. K’s office was really supportive and they got us in touch with two programs that paid for the bulk of the medicine I would need during the process. The Heartbeat program through Walgreens and LiveStrong foundation were instrumental in making our fertility journey possible. We are so grateful for the kind people who fund these programs, and I sincerely hope we will be able to give back to these foundations one day.

Please know if you’re going through cancer treatment and something doesn’t feel right, speak up. For me, it was fertility preservation for you it might be something else. It’s easy to look at doctors the way we looked at our parents when we were children—but it shouldn’t be that way. Not asking questions or standing up for yourself is dangerous. I’m so grateful for my mom who was able to be strong, ask questions and fight for me when I couldn’t. I’m also grateful for everyone who didn’t send me into exile while I was hormonal and stressed taking three shots a day (and I don’t mean the fun kind), while also trying to make important decisions regarding my cancer treatment. As someone who hates needles, I’m also strangely appreciative of my aunt Rhonda, who I’m pretty sure gave me close to one million shots by the time this was all over. Thank you, Rhonda and Doug for opening your home to me, for loving me and most importantly for not bruising my stomach too much as you stabbed me three times a day. It was fun; I hope I never have to do it again.