Long Walk Part of Cure

Mr. Bon and I met with the surgeon today.

In some ways it was a non-event.

Kind of like going to the grocery store without a shopping list.

Sometimes, although you know you're going to the market to get groceries, you don't know exactly what you'll be putting in your cupboards when you get home. True, there's a good chance you'll pull food stuffs out of the bag, but you might also get surprised and find a magazine, or I don't know, say a bottle of wine . Sure it is great to have the groceries (and the treats), but it's really nothing to write home about.

In hindsight, I suppose I could have predicted that our visit with the doctor would be as predictable as that sack of groceries and only reveal much of what we already knew: a) I have breast cancer and b) I must have said cancer surgically removed.

Somehow I expected more. Just a little bit of happy, you know? Like the Fran's Almond bar that will, from time to time, mysteriously appear in the bottom of my grocery tote.

Though she had no bad news, the doc had no candy bars, bottles of wine or even a pony.

The facts remain the same as I learned in the phone call with her last Friday: all diagnostics came back with conclusive evidence that the cancer is isolated to the left breast. For certain, there is one smallish mass (apparently we don't say tumor any more) and two suspicious, even smaller, shadows. Not an awful case, but enough of the bad stuff to require a full mastectomy.

"With the diagnostic results being so positive, do you think I'll need chemo?"

Just asking.
Doing my part to provide her the opportunity to whip out that pretty little pony, is all.

"Well. We can't determine your treatment plan until we get the pathology report from the nodes we'll remove in surgery."

Not bad news really, but not exactly good news either. Certainly not definitive and definitely not compelling blog fodder. Just more waiting.

More patience required.

More long walk on path. Or maybe it's: more walk on long path.

The point is, I don't know for sure.

What I do know is come this Monday around 1:30 on the main campus of Seattle's oldest hospital, I'll be going head to head with cancer and getting my titty whacked.

See that cancer? I can laugh about it. And guess what else cancer? I'm ready, more than ready to take you down and put you out.