Amy's America

Tuesday morning, March 20: My phone rang. It was my doctor. “I know you didn’t expect to hear from me until later this week, but we were afraid it was going to be the worst case scenario and it is. Invasive ductal carcinoma.” “Which is…?” I ask. “Invasive breast cancer.” Oh. I was already texting with Mike. He appeared in my office and we Googled it as soon as I was off the phone.

I was in shock. But she was pretty clear: she wanted to get me in with a breast surgeon as soon as possible and would call to schedule it herself so there was no delay. I made my own calls or sent texts to those I knew would kill me if they didn’t know immediately.

Wednesday, March 21: The surgeon was initially scheduled for April 2, but my doctor was concerned that was too far. So she got one to see me the next week, March 27. But that night over dinner, Kristen made me promise to get at least a second opinion at Dana Farber, where her brother Greg was treated and where they have a special program for young women with breast cancer. Of course Beth Israel is great, but it never hurts to get a second opinion, especially at the world-renowned cancer institute.

Thursday, March 22: By 10 a.m. Kristen had an appointment for me with a team of doctors at Dana Farber. The soonest available was April 4, which concerned me a bit since my doctor had thought April 2 was too late. But I called and talked to the patient coordinator at Dana Farber anyway. She understood my concern, but also warned me not to rush into anything and that it should be fine to have a second opinion then. I asked to be put on a waiting list and she assured me she already had my name plastered on her computer, but asked me not to get my hopes up as they never get cancellations. “I understand,” I said. After all, I certainly wouldn’t cancel that appointment!

It was less than an hour later that my phone rang again. “I know you didn’t expect to hear from me – I didn’t expect to call you – but we just had a cancellation for this Tuesday. And it is with the director of breast surgery, among others.” Done. Thank you, Kristen! Now it was just waiting five more days.

I told people. As one person put it: it makes sense, I’m a communicator. I wanted people at work to know why I wasn’t going to be there off and on for a while (although I didn’t know when or for how long, just that it would be lots of doctors’ appointments, then surgery, recovery and then possibly chemo and/or radiation). And I wanted my family and friends to know what was happening – I didn’t want anyone hearing it through the grapevine, if I could help it. And I wanted them to see and hear that I was fine. Really. I can beat this.

I think that has been my biggest coping mechanism to date: telling people and assuring them I will be fine, no matter how bad it turns out to be. If I promise that, then it has to be. I do not break promises, and I don’t make ones I don’t believe I can keep. I know I may not have real control over this, but I do believe all of the positive thinking, prayers, good vibes and, most of all, love emanating from everyone I know must be more powerful than some stupid cancer!