The Word I Didn’t Want But Desperately Needed

January 1, 2019

I tried to be poetic about it. Tried to meet 2019 with grace and gratitude. But what really happened was me sobbing into my sweatshirt surrounded by my people screaming, “I DON’T WANT TO DO 2019!”
So yeah… real graceful.

Instead of Resolutions, Try an Intention

I spent all of November and December hunting for my word of the year. It’s a tradition—less about resolutions, more about soul intentions. Words scribbled in my journal:
Fearless. Kindness. Fierce.
Previous years brought Restore, Connection, Freedom, Let Go. I even considered Maui or Palm Tree… because fleeing sounded ideal. But, alas, cancer doesn’t give a damn about geography. It packs light and follows.

So instead of sand and sunscreen, I rang in the New Year bruised and bandaged. I had two more biopsies yesterday morning, and this was my wake-up call:
No more waiting. No more running. Time to square my shoulders.
So my word for 2019 is:

Resilience
re·sil·ience
/ri-ˈzil-yən(t)s/
noun
The capacity to recover quickly from difficulties; toughness.

Let me be clear—I did not choose this word. It chose me. But here we are.

Yesterday’s appointment at Overlake was long—8:00 AM to 11:30 AM—but I’m practically a professional at this point. My breast center bag is packed with all the essentials: reindeer slippers, healing blanket, woo-woo stones, headphones, and a side of gallows humor. I no longer freak out about needles or ceiling tiles. This is my normal now.

Steve can’t come in, so we text nonstop. I update him on the procedure and we spend way too long discussing where to get a cheeseburger post-biopsy. (Because priorities.) Pops came to sit with him. I think he secretly enjoys being my backup entourage.

We feared they wouldn’t be able to see the new masses with ultrasound and would need an MRI-guided biopsy. But—small victory—they spotted two of the three and got six solid samples. I now have two new internal “jewelry” pieces: a wing and a barbell marker. I’ve decided this means there’s a badass angel guarding my boob. The radiologist wasn’t sure what to do with that logic, but I stand by it.

The initial report? “Suspicious for malignancy.” But weirdly, I’m grateful. This gives clarity. Direction. Decisions I wouldn’t want to make are now being made for me. The total tumor load is around 7 cm now. Which means:

• Mastectomy
• Reconstruction
• Chemotherapy
• Maybe no radiation (hallelujah!)

We’ve got to get it out. It’s aggressive, but it’s still contained. No lymph node involvement yet. That’s the grace.

Tomorrow we meet with the genetic counselor and, hopefully, get final biopsy results. After that, we get a few quiet days. A pause. A staycation. Just me and Steve and the Cedar River. Anniversary #2 in reindeer slippers and all.

Next week? The real planning begins.

We don’t always choose our word of the year. Sometimes it picks us. Sometimes it body-slams us in a hospital gown and whispers, Get up, girl. We’ve got work to do.

Letter to Self

Dear Me,
You didn’t want this word. But you are this word.
Resilience is not about never crying. It’s about sobbing into a friend’s lap and still showing up the next morning. With bruises. With prayers. With reindeer slippers. You are doing it. One scan, one laugh, one cheeseburger at a time.
I love you. I see your strength.
Don’t stop now.
Love,
Me