It's Cancer.

It's Cancer.

What? I don't understand. Did you just say it's cancer? That's not possible. Can you please recheck the biopsy to make sure it's mine? Fuck. I don't understand. What about the baby?

A little bit of history: When my son Miles was six months old, I started the campaign for baby number two. My husband thought I was crazy and told me that we could discuss more babies when Miles was one. When Miles was ten months old, my campaign was going well, and I knew that Boris would vote yes to starting to try for another child. I had gotten pregnant so quickly with Miles, that I had missed my yearly mammogram. My mother is a breast-cancer survivor of 25 years. Since she was diagnosed with stage III breast cancer at the age of 34, I have been seeing a breast specialist and having yearly mammograms since I was 30 (I'm now 34). In May 2008, I went to have a mammogram and bi-yearly breast examination so that I could get the green light for more kids. My mammogram and exam were normal. I was pregnant one week later.

This pregnancy was similar to my first. I felt fine except for some nausea, but nothing too serious. About nine weeks into the pregnancy, I experienced some very light bleeding. Terrified, I went to my o.b, Maria Ottavi, immediately. She did an ultra-sound and assured me that everything was fine and the baby looked perfect. A few days later that same week, Boris and I were watching T.V. when I felt some discomfort in my left breast. I felt a small, hard lump. I made Boris feel the lump, too. Although he felt it, he said that it was probably a clogged milk duct or something pregnancy related and I should just relax. Jokingly, I told a few of my friends that I was being tested because now that the bleeding had stopped, I had found a lump in my breast. They shared Boris' cavalier view that it was nothing. Ignoring them all, I called my breast doctor, Kristi Funk (I know, I know, there's much to write on her name alone, but she's rad, so I'll leave it alone), the following day and had an appointment for the following morning. Several of my friends patronizingly told me that it was a good thing I was seeing the doctor to make me feel better that the lump was nothing. No need for drama they said. And even though I was scared, I believed them because despite the lump and despite my family history, there was no way it could really be cancer.

Boris didn't come with me to the doctor's office the morning of my appointment. It was Friday, August 15. He was so sure it was nothing, why should he miss work? Dr. Funk came into the exam room and exclaimed that I was a baby-making machine. I showed her the lump and she did an ultra-sound. Reassuringly, she told me that although she saw a mass, it wasn't jagged the way that cancer was and the shadowing wasn't typical for cancer. Nonetheless, given my family history, she wanted to be safe and biopsy the mass. She assured me the biopsy wasn't painful and joked that it was nothing compared to an epidural. For some reason I assumed I would get the biopsy results immediately. When Dr. Funk told me I'd get the results on Monday, I burst into tears. Monday seemed like an eternity. The nurse told me that I would have to schedule an appointment to get my results. Dr. Funk was booked until 4:30. 4:30? Ugh. I pleaded with the nurse to squeeze me in earlier in the day. She said the biopsy results wouldn't be back until 2:30 on Monday. I told her that I was waiting to find out if I had cancer and 2:30 was better than 4:30 so could she please see what she could do. No dice.

On August 18, at 4:30 I promptly arrived at Dr. Funk's office. I should have known that the result was bad because if it wasn't, surely someone would have just left me a message saying the biopsy came back negative. But I was thinking positively. I should have known the result was bad when I was lead to the "comfort room" at the Breast Center, but I still didn't get it. I had been so upset after Friday's appointment, that Boris was meeting me to hear the results. As usual, he was late.

After a few minutes of waiting, Dr. Funk opened the door and sat down beside me on the couch. "It's cancer." she said. "What? I don't understand. Did you just say it's cancer? That's not possible. Can you please recheck the biopsy to make sure it's mine. What? Fuck. I don't understand. What about the baby?" I said. She started talking but all of the air had left the room and I couldn't understand anything she was saying. I just blankly stared at her. "Let me call my husband," I said. "He's supposed to be here." "Boris." I snipped. "Where are you?" He said "I'm ten minutes away. Sorry, I left late and there's terrible traffic." "Well," I said, "I have cancer so fucking hurry up." Silence. "I'll be there as fast as I can," he said. I hung up.

Dr. Funk asked if I wanted a few minutes to myself to make some calls and she could answer all of my questions when Boris arrived. She said she was impressed with how collected I was. I was in shock, not collected. She left the room and I broke down. I called my parents. My Dad answered the phone and I was crying so hard I could barely speak. "Dad." I sobbed. "Dad. I have cancer." He was oddly calm. He asked a few questions which I can't remember and reassured me that I was going to get the best possible care and was going to be fine like my Mom.

Boris finally arrived and we had a long discussion with Dr. Funk about my options. Unfortunately, we still didn't have the full biopsy results so a lot was going to depend on the type of tumor I had and whether the cancer had spread. Dr. Funk was confident that I had caught this early so all the scenarios we went through assumed that the cancer hadn't spread. She was assuming that because of my Mom, I was a BRCA1 carrier and urged me to get tested immediately (the irony is that she had been pushing me to get tested for over a year and I refused because 1) I wasn't going to get a prophylactic mastectomy even if I was a carrier and 2) I was afraid I'd never get health insurance again). She said that if I was to remain pregnant, I should have a lumpectomy and lymph node dissection (removal of the entire first level of lymph nodes in the armpit) as soon as I was in my second trimester (2 weeks away). If I was to terminate my pregnancy, I should have a battery of scans and tests to determine whether the cancer had spread. The dye used for several of the scans, including the test to determine which lymph nodes to remove, wasn't safe during pregnancy. We asked a zillion questions. I can't remember any of them.

We left with our heads spinning and 39808579009883 unanswered questions. I was to start meeting with oncologists as soon as possible.