The diagnosis

(Left: Karen Lee, my nurse practitioner)

July 15th, 2008 was my husband's 49th birthday. It was also the day that my Group Health doctor had made an appointment to give me the results of my breast biopsy. Instead, her office staff called me the day before to tell me that my doctor was OUT on July 15th and that she would see me on July 16th.

To say that I was freaking out a little is an understatement. I had valiantly (or so I thought) endured living through a FRIDAY, SATURDAY, SUNDAY, MONDAY, and TUESDAY trying to distract myself and keep from going insane while wondering if I actually had breast cancer. Asking me to wait ONE MORE DAY seemed to be the cruelest of ironies. There was nothing I could do, however. The doctor was OUT.

So I called the Breast Care Center and asked if they could also send the biopsy results to my nurse practitioner, the one who referred me for the original mammogram. The one who I've known for 20 years and who takes the time to treat me like a real person with real concerns.

I called my nurse practitioner and told her that my Group Health appointment was postponed another day, but that my biopsy results were probably already back.I'm sure she could hear the barely-contained anxiety in my voice. She very sympathetically agreed to call me as soon as she received the results and asked whether I wanted to get them over the phone or in her office. I told her that I preferred to hear about them face to face. (Besides, all of my mental rehearsing took place in an office :~) )

I received a call from her receptionist the morning of July 15th that the results were in and could I meet with her at 2:00 p.m.? I called my husband and asked him to meet me at her office.

From what I learned later, my husband didn't expect to hear the news we received. He was optimistic that the lesion was benign. I, on the other hand, had a bad feeling about it. Not entirely. I still hoped for good news. But the unexplained breast pain I'd experienced a few months before kept nagging at me.

At 2:00 p.m., my husband and I sat down with my nurse practitioner. I believe her first words were, "There's not an easy way to tell you this" and I began to cry. I guess I already knew, but now the nightmare scenario that I had imagined was playing out for real.

My husband grabbed my hand and held it. His face looked completely blank. I think he was mostly concerned with being there for me.

She went on to encourage me by saying that the good news was that it was very small (less than 1 centimeter) and caught early. I also remember her saying that it was "highly curable." In the days to come, I held on to those words.

She was very thorough and prepared. She handed us print-outs detailing the type of tumor and explaining the grade. She spent over an hour with us.

She mentioned that the surgeon might be able to just do a lumpectomy and radiation, but of course, the surgeon and oncologists would decide the best course of treatment.

With tears in her eyes, she told me that she cared about me and that she would also be praying for me. Even though I was stunned, saddened, and scared, I felt bolstered by the optimism and encouragement that she shared.