December 13, 2019, I prepared for my biopsy appointment – surprisingly calm. Like always, I spent some time in Bible study and meditation, and ironically or not, my favorite verse popped up. “These things I’ve spoken to you so that in Me, you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But be of good cheer. I have overcome the world.” John 16:33. This is important because of the Greek meaning of the word “overcome”. In the context, it’s the verb form of a Greek word implying a “battle”. It means “to conquer, prevail, to carry off in victory”. When you’re wired with a theology like mine, there are no accidents – and this certainly spoke to me early that morning as I prepared to walk into a battle. I felt a certainty of what was about to happen, and that I would win the battle – indeed, that it was already won.
*****
Another cold room, this one very brightly lit, at the Duke Cancer Center. Let me interject and say how lucky, fortunate, blessed – pick a word – I feel to have this facility within a short drive of my house. The medical staff are at the top of their game, and I knew I was in capable hands. I won’t go into gory detail about the procedure itself. Suffice to say, it is was awkward and vulnerable, but not painful. My mass was so tiny it had to be pinpointed with diagnostic mammography, and the needle biopsy had to be done simultaneously with the mammogram. It’s a pretty precise procedure, and I had to be perfectly still, quiet and calm. I’m not good at any of those. Before I left, my surgeon encouraged me by reiterating how small the lump was and that even a worst case diagnosis was very treatable. She told me the technician who screened my original mammogram was to be commended, and that a less capable screener would have missed it. I left feeling confident. The nurse assisting my surgeon walked me back to the waiting area where my husband sat, and told me when to expect a call. She said that I should make plans to have someone with me, and if I was alone, to wait and call back when I had someone with me. She knew.
The next several days were spent trying to stay busy. I was working on a quilt for my grandgirl, and I made a point of keeping my hands and my mind occupied. The mind is a powerful thing. It can be a tool for good, or a weapon of destruction. Christmas seemed too joyful a thing in the midst of the battle I was preparing for, and I couldn’t shake the fear this might be my last one. Ludicrous as I knew that to be, I felt my mind turning inward on itself. I tried hard to keep my mind centered and calm, and I spent as much time with my grandbaby as I could. She was the one person who kept me totally in the present, and in the moment was where I needed to be. When I wasn’t with her, I was working on her quilt. The days crept by – and Tuesday finally came.
*****
When the call came, it was my surgical oncologist – not a nurse. She was bright and cheerful, to the point I thought for a millisecond that it might be good news. Maybe this was a terrible rumor, and I was fine. See you next year for your mammogram, have a nice life. But that wasn’t to be. It was cancer. No pathology yet, but what she could tell me was I had grade 1 invasive ductile breast cancer. We scheduled a face to face meeting for that Friday – less than a week before Christmas – to review the pathology and discuss my upcoming surgery and treatment. I hung up the phone and was so weirdly, otherworldly relieved. At least I knew what I had and a plan was in motion. Stepping forward, going into battle. I was ready.