We don't know much at this point. The biopsy finding was duct cell carcinoma. There doesn't appear to be any evidence of it being invasive. We are hopeful that we have caught it early. Like the mantra my oncologist told me: early diagnosis, excellent prognosis. We have an appointment with a breast surgeon on Thursday to get her read on the reports, and a game plan.
I do not like my Mum having to go through this cancer crap. I was tested for the gene and it was negative. There was no need for this. If the statistics are that one in eight women get breast cancer, then surely I should have been able to cover my own Mum. Cancer is a bitch.
This is my blog, not hers, so I'll not presume to make it be that. I will update as I find it proper to do so while respecting my Mum's own dealing with it all.
Please keep her in your prayers.
And sorry for the tone of this post. It is a heavy blow to me. I am not even done with my own treatment and just wish I was already done so I would feel stronger to be stronger for my Mum.
That said, I have this at my core that I want to be clear is at the core of even a difficult post like this:
Remember, [my] Message is not about [myself]; [I'm] proclaiming Jesus Christ, the Master. All [I] am is [a messenger], [an] errand runner from Jesus. It started when God said, "Light up the darkness!" and [my life] filled up with light as [I] saw and understood God in the face of Christ, all bright and beautiful.If you only look at [me] you might well miss the brightness. [I] carry this precious Message around in the unadorned [clay pot] of [my] ordinary [life]. That's to prevent anyone from confusing God's incomparable power with [me]. As it is, there's not much chance of that. You know yourselves that [I'm] not much to look at. [I've] been surrounded and battered by troubles, but [I'm] not demoralized; [I'm] not sure what to do, but [I] know that God knows what to do; [I've] been spiritually terrorized, but God hasn't left [my] side; [I've] been thrown down, but [I] haven't been broken.(From The Message, 2 Corinthians 4:5-9, with the pronoun personalized from we to me.)




Here is the ominous blue sign that means turn left to the chemo cocktail lounge. I think the interior decorator made a good decision to have the sign match the blue recliners so we with mushy chemo brains don't accidentally drive past the oncologist office. It's also good advertising, in my mind, to have CARE highlighted, because honestly, the oncology part makes you want to apply a little pressure to the gas peddle, but then you see the word CARE, and you remember there are really nice nurses in there who you wouldn't mind saying hello to. Even if it is over a chemo cocktail. One last word on the sign, the word EXIT, is also a nice touch. I mean, I like Hotel California as much as the next person, but it really made me appreciate exit signs. Especially at the chemo cocktail lounge.