I wake up early on Friday despite having been up late and call the radiologist.
Yes, the friendly voice tells me. Yes, you have cancer. Well, they actually say “invasive ductal carcinoma”.
“Imagine that your milk ducts are like grapes,” she says. “Think about where the stem is, the cancer is starting to leave the grape and move into that stem part.”
Cancer. The same cancer my bff of 34 years had. Has. We are in Minneapolis to celebrate her- she’s just had a double mastectomy but it didn’t actually get all the cancer. We are all celebrating but I don’t know who of the group knows- it’s not actually all gone. She begins radiation after we all split ways in a few days.
How do she and I keep having these similar, traumatic life events?! It’s terrible and also wonderful in a really awful way. We have always had each other to rely on through our experiences because, well, we each have the other who truly, fully, deeply understands. If I have to go through hell at least my bff is there with me, taking each step beside me.
I am blank. I don’t know how to process it. I don’t tell anyone. We are there to celebrate my friend’s journey as she’s been going through this- am I really going to be the person at the baby shower who’s like “Guess what, I’m pregnant TOOOOO!” ?? I don’t want that. And I don’t want what I imagine will be pitying faces, shocked, staring into my face- blank.