A year ago, I was waiting to hear if I had breast cancer after having biopsies in both breasts two days earlier. I was lucky. My cells were normal, if unusual in a woman under 40 years old.
It was a terrifying 2.5 days of anticipation. I cried. A lot. I was also, thanks to a recommendation from my sister, who took care of me, that I get a serious pain killer, asleep for much of it.
I made a lot of phone calls when my sister wasn't sitting with me. I cried to my friends around the country, scared that after having an unbearably stressful end of a job I lived and breathed, I was in for something much worse.
I was lucky. My sister made sure I understood what the doctor told me before the biopsies, carted me home, and bought me lunch. She slept over, in case I needed anything. A wonderful friend brought me food, so I didn't have to cook. Another friend sent a care package from California. Yet another friend, from Boston, sent chocolate and a teddy bear.
I was surrounded by love and caring. I knew that no matter what, I was going to be okay.
I was lucky. I am lucky.
This year on October 17, I drove to Knoxville, in awe at the spectacle of autumn, spent the day with my mom at the University of Tennessee's farmers' market and McClung Museum, had dinner with she and my dad at one of my favorite restaurants, and had a surprisingly good blind first date. I say surprisingly, not because of him, or the childhood friend who set us up, but because of my legendarily bad dating history.
I hope that next year, as I approach the last of my every-six-month mammogram check-ups, that I am able to enjoy the fall colors, eat a fresh-picked apple, and spend the day with people I love.
Oh, and if you haven't done a breast exam in a while, don't be scared if you find something new; take a deep breath, call your doctor and get checked. Wishing everyone clear mammograms and strong support systems.
