Cancerversary

Alright, cue the trumpets and roll out the red carpet, I was officially diagnosed one year today! What, there's no confetti? Well there should be!

You're automatically a survivor the day you're diagnosed. I often have people question that. But the truth is, everyday that's exactly what we're doing -surviving! Beating the odds at all costs deserves a pat on the back. As a survivor you can't help but think in terms of dates and time. You naturally cling onto memories and instill them in your mind. I bet if you ask anyone of us, we would say the same thing, the day we were diagnosed is a significant one. That moment that our lives changed forever.

Everyone always asks what runs through your mind when you're told you have Cancer. I think everyone experiences different emotions, some in stages, or all at once. I've always said that you automatically go into "survivor mode." That your mind can only handle so much information at once. I know I certainly couldn't.

I was working a split shift that day when I received the call. I was asked to come in at 4pm for the results. I remember asking if I would be okay to come back to work my night shift. The nurse hesitantly said I would be alright to return (yeah, ok!) giving me a false sense of hope. I remember turning to my boss and literally saying "if it's Cancer, I won't be back, but don't cover my shift just yet." Again, that sarcastic defence mechanism was in full force. Mom was leaving for a conference out of town that afternoon but thought it would be best if she joined me. Like I said before, neither of us wanted to believe it was Cancer. But I think deep down, given our history, we both knew there was a chance. I often talk about gut feelings and how you should trust your instincts. No matter how hard I tried to deny the possibility, I think a part of me just knew.

I barely knew the medical professional that gave me the results. I had just recently switched to a Nurse Practitioner who had sent me for testing. I certainly didn't envy her position that day as Mom and I sat down. There was no small talk, no discussion of weather, we all knew why we were there that day. It's always easier to rip the Band-Aid quick, spit it out, get it over with.

As soon as we sat down she told me the results had come back positive. Mom gasped, I froze. We sat there for a short while as she explained what the next steps would be (I didn't hear a word). It was minutes later, which felt like hours, that I finally spoke. "So I have Cancer?" I said it the same way you would ask if someone would like fries with that. That's when Mom started to cry and said "I never wanted to hear you say that." All of a sudden it became much more real but I needed my Doctor to literally say the words, "yes, you have Breast Cancer."

I don't remember much from the appointment that day. It felt like hours, but I can't imagine it lasted much more than 15 minutes. Turns out, it doesn't take long to have your whole world turn upside down. Moments like that happen in an instant. I know I never cried, never really felt much of anything. I instinctively went numb. Like I said before, you instantly go into "survivor mode." All I could retain was "what is the next step?" In my case it was an appointment with my Surgeon the next day. At least things were progressing quickly. Is that a good thing? Or is it an indicator of the severity of the disease? Either way, I was consumed by questions and knew I would get my answers soon.

I automatically became proactive. I needed to keep my mind busy and begin the process of letting everyone know, family first. I had to call work and let them know there was no way I would be returning, I didn't have to explain myself. The evening became phone calls and visits to anyone that I could get a hold of, all in a particular order. While the diagnoses was very new and scary, there were a few things I was sure of. One, people needed to hear it from me. And two, no matter what journey lay ahead of me I would need all of their support. There was no time to digest the news, I didn't want to. It felt like every person I told made me feel better. It made it real, but it also reassured me I could do it.

While every survivor clearly remembers the moment they were diagnosed. I assure you the other thing they can't forget is the expression on their loved ones faces. I won't get into the details of how people react to such news. The way people cope is better dealt with another day. But I'll tell you this, being told I had Cancer that day wasn't the hardest part. It was having to come home and tell my husband, see the pain on my fathers face and watch my best friends cry. It was trying to reassure everyone that I would be okay when in fact I had no idea.

I felt a huge sense of relief after everyone had been told. I had done everything I could for the time being. It would be a couple days later I would make my news public and announce it to the Facebook world. For now, I needed to wrap my head around it. I never do anything half ass, I move quickly and get things done. I had been so busy running around telling everyone that I hadn't taken any time for myself. I knew that was the most important.

I went to one of my favourite spots, a beach close to home. I sat in the car and just stared out into the horizon. It was a beautiful sunset that night that bounced along the Bay. I remember thinking that sunset was for me. How poetic it was that I sat and reflected on my life as the sun reflected on the water. It was harder to be by myself at that point. I didn't have to explain information or pretend I was going to be okay. As I sat in my car, music down low, I had only myself to console. I finally allowed myself to cry.

I had no idea what the next year would bring. But I knew that nothing would ever be the same. That in that moment my life had changed forever. I drove away feeling renewed, ready. In a short few hours I had experienced every step of the grieving process. I had gone from denial, anger, depression and everything in between, to finally stumble upon the final stage, acceptance. I was officially a Cancer survivor, day one -complete. I could never anticipate the challenges that lay ahead of me, but I knew I was ready. That with the help of my friends and family, I could do it.

365 days later and I'm continuing to celebrate. Not only my Cancerversary, but each and everyday. We're going out for dinner to commemorate the occasion. It's not every day you beat another year of Cancer. I look forward to many more in the future. But for now, I'll take that damn confetti please!