Practicing Medicine

Last night, the stark revelation had come crashing down upon me like a relentless tide. The diagnosis was delivered through the impersonal platform of my MyChart account. The words stared back at me from the glowing smart phone screen, stark and unyielding, yet somehow incomprehensible. Breast cancer. The mere utterance of those two words sent shockwaves through the very core of my being, leaving me reeling in disbelief and grappling with a stream of conflicting emotions.

Despite the turmoil raging within me, duty called, and I found myself at an employer sponsored recruiting event donning the mask of composure and professionalism that society demanded. I made the conscious decision to go to work, despite the heavy weight of a newfound reality pressing down upon my shoulders. It was a decision born out of necessity rather than desire, a deliberate attempt to maintain a semblance of normalcy in the face of overwhelming uncertainty.

As I went about my day, the news of my breast cancer diagnosis loomed large in the recesses of my mind, casting a shadow over every interaction and task. Like a duck gliding smoothly across the surface of a pond, I projected an outward facade of calm and control, all the while concealing the frantic flurry of thoughts and emotions churning beneath the surface. Each smile, each conversation, was a carefully choreographed performance, a desperate attempt to shield others from the rage within.

At 1:46 p.m., my gynecologist’s call shattered the fragile illusion of togetherness I had painstakingly constructed. His words, delivered with clinical detachment, confirmed what I already knew. He provided me with the specifics of the cancer that the pathology report did not provide. I tested positive for estrogen and progesterone-negative breast cancer. I asked, “what does that mean?” My mind racing with a barrage of unanswered questions and unspoken fears. The reality of my diagnosis hit me with a force that left me breathless. Although I work in healthcare, being on this side of the spectrum was foreign to me. This diagnosis of Cancer caused all previously learned knowledge to escape my thoughts. I was not able to process any information as an expert and instantly became a novice to this situation. I asked him about the next steps, and I was told to contact the breast surgeon. His office assistant would provide me with the contact information.

In that moment, as I grappled with the seriousness of what lay ahead, I felt a profound sense of isolation, a gnawing uncertainty that threatened to engulf me whole. With each passing second, the ground beneath me seemed to shift, leaving me teetering on the cliff of an unknown abyss. Questions flooded my mind, each one more daunting than the last, yet answers remained elusive and out of reach. I had to wait for the expert to explain my diagnosis, my options, my prognosis and ultimately how this would alter my life.

I had questions. What was the plan? What did this diagnosis mean for my future, for my family? Was this the beginning of the end, or merely a bump along the road of life? Amidst the chaos of conflicting emotions, one thing remained painfully clear: I was standing at the threshold of a journey that would either overcome me or I would overcome it.