The diagnosis

Never trust a doctor that is pale ... they have bad news. When I woke up from a routine incisional biopsy on Monday ... I found it strange that Jeff and the doctor were both there hovering over me. I wasn't supposed to get the results until after a vacation to Indiana ... sometime in early March I'd stumble back into his office. Or ... so I thought. He says its cancer. It looked worst than he expected and he sent it off for a pathology test right away but it was positive for cancer -- negative for me, I guess. He threw out lots of big words that I don't fully comprehend due to the pain medicine. I'm not sure I'll ever understand them. He talks about hair loss and breast loss and reconstruction. Its hard to swallow.

So, we spend Tuesday with a friend of mine that I never spend enough time with ... she's a ten year survivor and comes prepared with funny movies, kleenex, books on cancer, Scripture, prayers and a wealth of information and experience that you don't stumble across every day. I'm confident there is a reason that God has chosen me for this ... I just don't see the bigger picture yet. I don't think this will kill me ... it will make my life a living hell for the next year. I can't imagine explaining to my daughter Grace that I could be bald by summer.

Silly things go through my head ... like contact our family photographer and get those beach photos we've always wanted, thank God I have a current will and life insurance, what about planting more bulbs this spring if I'm going to be home more often, wonder where I can get a good hat that I can wear to work and not look so freakish, how will a swimsuit or a running shirt every fit me the same again.

We start telling friends and family ... that's a tough pill. It's going easier than I expected though and I usually cry before I tell someone so that when I get there, I'm fine. I can be strong. I have a hard head and a stronger spine. I slowly adapt to the fact that I will need help ... lots of it.

Wed. we go for an MRI. Nothing exciting there. Stick your boobs into two small shoe box size squares and lay still for 30 minutes with your hands spread over your head like Superman. Now, I'm a hero ... ha.

Our next big milestone is Fri. when all the doctors will review my files and test results and make some recommendations. I won't be in the room. They'll get with me on Tues. at 2:00. I need to find a sitter. Meanwhile, I've got calls into UNC's cancer center. And, the NYC Marathon lottery opens at 11:00 today. I'm signing up. I'll beat this and I need something to look forward to in November. Today, I'm confident I'll be a survivor.