I keep remembering I have cancer...

I wake up in the mornings, stir, turn over, ready to doze back off and then, I remember. It’s like a bad joke. A really bad joke. I don’t feel like I think people with cancer should feel. I can barely say it out loud. “I have cancer.” What the hell. It’s that revelation that gets me out of bed each morning. Cancer was never anything I was remotely worried about… I don’t pretend that any of my feelings on this matter are new, only to me. I’m sure every person in the world that has had cancer felt/feels the exact same way when they got out of bed every morning. Then I realize what is to come. I think, “I don’t feel that bad.” I’m tired, I have a little trouble breathing from time to time, I have a little bit of sharp pain from time to time - none of these feelings are new to me - except for precisely where I have the pain. And there’s my left breast. It’s swollen, lumpy, and has a red, feverish patch that has ominously grown throughout the coronavirus narrative. I think about it, and then I think, is this what dying feels like? Because, essentially, I guess I am. So, that’s where the doctors come in, to save my life from my own breast. My mother and I sit, masked, in a new doctor’s office yesterday. Funny how I’ll never really know what those people look like in real life. She walks in, very nice, we don’t shake hands. She examines me, tells me the results, and walks me, step by step, through what is to come. When she gets done she says, “Do you have any questions?” Dude. How could I even have a single question after the onslaught of what is to come? She talks about the size of the tumor - It’s in a lymph node. Due to the redness, too, it’s stage 3. Crap. I know that's not the worst, but it's not great. Tests - Scans… See if it’s spread… A port put in… Wait, I know someone who had a port - it didn’t go so well… Chemo first… Chemo first??? (Due to the aggressive nature of this cancer.) I would have an aggressive type, can’t half ass it… Surgery - a mastectomy. Full. She mentioned something about reconstruction- no thanks. I don’t want another boob, like, ever. Radiation - fantastic - it’s getting better and better. Then, 5-10 years of hormone blocker. Talk about chin hairs… Does that mean I'm going to be okay? I didn't ask that. I didn't want to know the answer. Then she asks me if I have questions… How in the world was I supposed to ask questions? All I could think about is how haunting this must be for my mother. Sitting in the corner, diligently taking notes. I actually heard her gasp at one point. I look over to see if she’s okay. Of course she’s not, but she’s trooping onward. She asks a question. Pretty sure it was the one I had expected to ask when I got in there. Doesn’t matter much now. I'm just reeling from all the stuff that little lady wrote on the whiteboard. The doctor says we will get this process started. Can we not start this moment?? Get this out of me! Mama asks to stay in the room for a bit. I have to apologize to her. I’m truly sorry for all this. For this experience. For the cancer. That I have breasts. For what I should have done earlier. Or something. I don’t even know. I’m just sorry. We embrace and cry for a bit. Then she says we need to plan out what we are going to say. I work on a blanket text to send to everyone - one that I don’t have to repeat. She writes down the words I’m saying out loud. She asks me if we need to go somewhere before we go downstairs and tell the loved ones sitting anxiously outside. I said, “Would you want to go somewhere before you heard what is going on?” She agreed we should just go down and do it. We make our way, somehow, to the elevator. We are alone, coming down from the fifth floor and I turn to her. I know this is a moment we will never forget. The elevator ride down to tell the family. And, so it begins. Just like that, I become the one that people are saying, “I heard” or “Have you heard?” They shake their heads. I’m hearing from people I haven’t heard from in years. And, sadly, some I even have to ask who it is. I’m trying to keep all the thoughts at bay. I’ve only known people who have died from cancer. Those are the ONLY ones I can think of. A few random survivors come to mind, but all the people I’ve been close to…. UGH. So, there you have it. I didn’t think I felt that bad. But, I know I’m about to. The treatment will make me feel horrible, I know. And, it’s going to be a LONG one. But, I pray it will save my life. I’d like to stick around a bit longer. Healthy. Ready to go. Lesson learned. Relationships salvaged. Everyone softened. Wiser. Better than I’ve ever been before. Don’t y’all worry. I’m going to fight like hell. Everything I’ve ever been stubborn about in my whole life - this is where all my powers are going. Let’s just get it started so it can end. I love you all. Thank you so VERY much for your prayers, your kind words, your help. It means the world to me and my family.