A Lump in My Throat
It all started with a lump. In early March, I noticed a lump about the size of a gumball above my left clavicle. So, I did what any self-respecting 24-year-old would do and basically ignored it. I mentioned it to a couple friends and family members and went on with my life. Thankfully, my mom is a doctor and she thought it might be a good idea to get it checked out. So, I casually scheduled an appointment with a new doctor in the middle of a pandemic (oh, did I mention there's a plague?). What happened next triggered a chain of events that led me where I am now, sitting in my living room, listening to the Wicked soundtrack and writing a blog about my shiny-new cancer diagnosis.
I'm not a renowned blogger, so I'm sure that everyone reading this is either a friend, family member or acquaintance of mine. If I haven't told you directly, please don't take it personally. I've been slowly sharing my news over the last couple of weeks with close friends and family, with the hope that it would trickle into my extended network. If my Cancer diagnosis comes as a shock to you, you're definitely not alone. I was shocked too. With the exception of hypochondriacs, most young, healthy people don't lie awake worrying that they might come down with a case of Hodgkin's Lymphoma. Before I read the phrase, “constellation of findings most consistent with lymphoma" on my cat scan report, I didn't worry about it either.
Grappling with that sentence over the next few days would come and go in waves, hitting me in spells of hysteria and frank contemplative calm; In slow tears falling down my face as I drafted a work email and empty stares at my bedroom ceiling. Sometimes, it came as dismissal or optimism and other times in sharp unwelcome pangs, like the thought that my 25th birthday may be the last I have the privilege of celebrating. It came with the guilt of telling my loved ones and feeling their pain sting harder than mine, and in a deep slow sadness washing over me, full of uncertainty.
I felt fear too, but I am starting to be less afraid. I am not sure why I feel brave sometimes, but it is a feeling that has been with me since the early stages of my diagnosis, and I feel it growing all the time.
In a matter of weeks, a disease that I was barely aware of has become the center of my reality, bringing with it a slew of emotions, decisions, and countless phone calls with doctor's offices. It has been a lot to juggle, especially in the midst of COVID-19 and all of its ominous repercussions. Some days I manage pretty well, and other days I remember that I have absolutely no idea how to juggle and I just got thrown a flaming bowling pin.
It definitely hasn’t been easy, but through it all, I am trying my best to remain positive as I navigate the twists and turns of my journey. One thing that surprises me is that I don't really feel like I've been dealt an unfair hand. I know that cancer is something that no one wants to hear that they have, but for some reason I just feel like everything will be okay and I will be stronger for it in the end.
Getting my post-procedure snack after my ct-guided needle core biopsy.
