That moment. That terror-filled moment when breast cancer disrupted my comfortable, orderly life.
That moment was Wednesday, February 11, 2015, at 10:45 a.m.
I was in my musty office at work, finishing up the mornings projects so I could dash off to a business lunch. In the midst of performing one last e-mail check, I was jarred by the sound of rolling bells from my cell phone. I had selected the ringtone for its soothing resonance because I detest unexpected phone calls in the midst of my meticulously organized workdays.
I froze, rapidly pondering the consequences of ignoring the call.
When I glanced over at my phone, I realized the call was from my primary care doctors office. A shot of adrenaline spiked through my stomach.
Please God, no. I dont have time for this right now.
I picked up the phone, swiped right, and said hello as I briskly got up from my desk chair and shut my office door, then sat down to receive my sentence.
The caller was my primary care physicians nurse.
Hi, Diane. This is Marcy. Have you received the results of yesterdays breast and lymph node biopsies?
Uh, no? My heart began to gallop.
Im sorry to have to tell you the cells from both biopsies came back positive for cancer. Infiltrating ductile carcinoma, to be medically exact.
I was silent, although I felt like I was seated in an electric chair with the power abruptly switched on, jolting what felt like 2,000 volts of electricity from my core to my extremities. The reverberating shock wave catapulted me backward into a concrete wall as the aperture of my vision began to collapse. My ears filled with imaginary cotton balls as Marcys voice faded.
Do you need a minute? she asked.
Yes, I said in a whisper.
That was one of the few moments in my life when time stopped. For ten long seconds, I couldnt move, couldnt see, c