Winter 2021: Everyone else got fucking covid and I got fucking cancer

Seriously, what the fuck.

Winter 2021: Everyone else got fucking covid and I got fucking cancer. Seriously, what the fuck.

I was scratching my under-boob when I found it in November. The stupid lump. What the fuck is that I thought. I turned to my husband, feel this I said. What the fuck is that he said. Call the doctor he said. I have an appointment in 2 weeks to follow up with the endometriosis bullshit I tell him. I’ll ask her to feel this when I’m there. I tell my best friend. She says she had a lump too. Got hers checked. It was fine. Some people have lumpy boobs. This is different I think. I try not to interact with the stupid lump for the next two weeks.

I’m not even 39 yet. I go to the doctor for my check up and stupid lump check. I make my husband come with me. I don’t want to be alone. I hate being alone at the doctor. I don’t hear anything they say and then everyone wants to know what they say. I go into my appointment. Your husband has to stay in the waiting room the nurse tells us. Um, coooool. Covid can kiss my ass. The doctor comes in. She brings her student doctor with her. What covid I think as she asks me how I’m doing. I want my husband in here with me I say. Why she asks. Because I want him in here. That’s why. She continues the following up about the endometriosis. I answer, but punctuate my sentences with can my husband come in. I don’t even fucking want to get into an argument with her I just need to get my way. Haven’t I been told I need to advocate for myself at the doctor? I say to the student doctor, I want my husband in here, please go get him. I am not going to continue to be steamrolled. She looks to the doctor, why do you need him in here the doctor asks me again. Because I want him here, I say as I make aggressive direct eye contact with her.

My husband comes in. Hey. We talk about birth control to control the pain, to control the hormones, to control my life. We finish up. I tell her I’m meeting with a surgeon soon to discuss treatment options. Then I mention the stupid fucking lump. I ask if she’ll check it. I don’t even wait for her to leave the room or let her give me a paper shirt, opening in the front. I undress from the waist up. I lay down. I put my arm over my head, she finds the stupid fucking lump. You need a mammogram, a diagnostic mammogram. And an unltrasound. Schedule the appointment. You’re young, it’s nothing.

I don’t cry until we’re downstairs and out on the street. A mammogram a stupid lump what the actual fuck. I’m 38. What the fuck. I ask my husband to call. He agrees. He can see the fear. He makes the appointment. It’s in 6 weeks.

I go to my mammogram, I go to the ultrasound. My aunt waits in the waiting room for me. Covid hasn’t gone wild yet. But why are so many people inside. What the fuck is happening. They tell me I need a biopsy. They tell me to call my doctor so that she can write the order but they’ll make an appointment without it. I wait a long time for someone to come help me make an appointment. Her next available, December 23, does that work? That’s in three weeks. What the fuck. That’s the day we leave for vacation. That’s Christmas. Oh, does that day not work for you, the next appointment after that is let me see, January. I’ll be here December 23 I say. Fuck.

I call the doctor. She answers the phone. Hi she says, the phones ringing off the hook, I had to answer. Hi, they said I need a biopsy, you have to write the order and send it in. Ok, she says, I’m sure it’s nothing, you’re young. Um, thanks, I say and hang up. What the actual fuck is happening.

The next few weeks happen. I know it’s cancer. Of course it’s cancer. A letter comes in the mail. Your breasts are dense. That doesn’t mean you have cancer, but it means you have a higher chance of having cancer. Super. I know it’s cancer. No one will say that or let me say that but in my head I know. When my left boob itches or causes me to think anything about it, my brain thinks, don’t worry, soon enough it won’t be there, your breast.

The biopsy happens. It’s trauma. I am in shock. I am in pain. I am scared. It is scary. It is December 23. Call your doctor on Tuesday my sweet ultrasound friend says. It takes a few days but by Tuesday afternoon they should have your results. Ok, Tuesday, get to Tuesday.

I call the doctor on Tuesday afternoon. We don’t have your results. The doctor is on vacation until Monday. The doctor is on vacation until Monday. Of course she is. Ok. Sounds awesome. Covid is out of control. Super. How is she going to tell me I have cancer? Will she call me? Will I call her? What will she say? Hey can you come to my office? Do you tell someone they have cancer over the phone? Who tells you that you have cancer if your doctor is on vacation? I call the doctor’s office on Wednesday morning. Have my results come in? Oh yes, the nurse says, hold on, yes they’re here but the doctor is on vacation. I know, I say. My husband is in the room with me. Someone needs to give us the results he tells the nurse. Let me call the doctor the nurse tells us. She’ll tell us what to do. I’ll call you back. So, I think, this is how this goes down, huh? We take our kid to watch a movie with the our family. My aunt’s house. His auntie is there. Others. They have a special date. My husband says, I’m running to the office, call me if you need me. I say, what? You’re doing what? I’ll be gone an hour, the nurse will probably call later. Um, ok, I say. I have no power. I am scared. I know everyone is going to know what I know. I have cancer. Fuck. The nurse calls. Hi, she says, the doctor doesn’t have good cell service on vacation. She says I should tell you your results. Is your husband with you? No, I say, but now I am sure I have cancer so I know I need to find a chair for when the words come out of her mouth. She starts to say it. I’m almost at the chair. My aunt and my friend who is more like a cousin are next to me. I have cancer the nurse tells me. I have breast cancer. Stupid. Fucking. Lump. Fuck. This is fucking happening.