What were you doing one year ago today?

For me, September 9, 2009 began like most mornings. I woke up at 6am, raced to get to work on time, and spent the morning juggling the demands of multiple clients and candidates. After an engaging lunch with one of my current consultants, I navigated through the Vancouver traffic to get to the Cancer Agency in time for my 2pm appointment.

Once there, I gave myself a pretty inspiring pep talk (yes, I can lay it on thick when I need to) while I changed into a hospital gown. Then, I painted on my bravest face and took my position in the Ultrasound room. My Filipino technician greeted me warmly and quickly talked me through the upcoming biopsy. I lay back as she located the ‘lump’ that she had first spotted a month before. I asked her how big it was as I watched it on the screen beside me. She guessed. Maybe 0.6CM?

Wow, that’s tiny. There is no way they would operate on such a small tumor. That would be overkill. I told myself that the doctors would send me on my way and tell me to check back with them in six months.

Sure, Terri – the doctors are going to leave the tumor until it gets really big and spreads all over your body. They would rather wait and interrupt your life when it’s more convenient for you to have cancer. But, I couldn’t absorb the magnitude of what the little green blob meant. So I did what many of us would do: I told myself lies.

The door opened and the small room filled with people.  The doctor draped me in blue sheets, pulled on her gloves with a snap, sterilized my left breast with yellow iodine, and organized all of her tools. Her counterparts introduced themselves as residents and politely asked to stay for the procedure. What could I say? No? Go learn at someone else’s expense? I did what was appropriate and nodded.

As my doctor fired a staple gun style needle through my stubborn breast tissue, I tried to remove myself mentally from the room. I didn’t want to think about the six sets of eyes staring at my exposed chest.

To complicate matters, one of those sets of eyes belonged to a cute male resident with tanned skin and shaggy blond hair. I couldn’t help myself. I stole a glance at his left hand and didn’t see a wedding ring. I wondered if he was single. Before I could get any further in my “maybe a hot doctor will fall in love with me fantasy”, my voice of reason rudely interrupted. Seriously Terri. Get a grip! You are a medical demonstration.

I refocused and my brave face slipped a little. My arms burned as I pushed them further behind my head and my chest ached from the doctor’s unrelenting pressure. Thankfully, she had used local anesthetic to freeze my breast. After multiple attempts to pierce through my dense tissue (apparently “dense” is not an asset), she put me out of my misery and said that she hoped she had a viable sample.

I slid off the table and out to the change room. I ignored the blood on my gown as I crumpled it into a ball and threw it into the laundry bin. If I didn’t pay attention, maybe I could pretend this wasn’t happening.

The results of that biopsy were benign, but ultimately inconclusive. Out of an overabundance of caution, an MRI biopsy was scheduled for Oct 22nd. If you have read the last few entries, you know how that biopsy turned out. I thank God every day for Dr W’s caution. Who knows where I would be without it…

As I sit here staring out the window at the traffic on 4th Avenue, I can’t help but reflect on the surreal nature of the past year. I wonder where I will be a year from now. Of one thing I am certain, I will be in a place far, far away from cancer!

Where will you be?