Hurry Up and Wait

The doggy birthday party was in full swinging-tail, and as I gazed out at the verdant field full of happy families and literal rainbows, I thought I might gag. How fucking idyllic. I might have cancer, you assholes, and y’all are just enjoying the day like you have not a care. What must it be like to live so wholesomely? To have your family all in one beautiful place as you continue to birth new members of the community? To have love swaddling you in a protected, magical landscape where there’s plenty of water and sunshine and everything grows and thrives? I gaped as I thought to myself “I would give anything to have this security”.

Turns out I did have cancer. But the plot twist? We were in the mountains of North Carolina about a month before Hurricane Helene, and none of us were safe.

On August 23, 2024, I was told by a lovely, young technician that the Radiology doctor, after reviewing my ultrasound, was recommending I do a biopsy on a mass in my right breast. I told her that would be kind of inconvenient, what with my schedule. I had a cute little September/early-October all planned out: Ben and I would take a road trip to North Carolina for our 10 year anniversary, we’d drive back, and then I’d scoot up to Vancouver to work on an indie road-trip movie.

“So, is like, a month and a half from now, ok?”, I asked.

To her credit, she barely blinked. Stone-faced but warm, she said, “let me check with the doctor”.

As I lay on the lab bed, waiting, my mind ran through the statistics that my friend Amy had given me over the phone the day before: 98% of masses turn out to be nothing to worry about (this is absolutely not the number they gave me, but I remember the number was very high and comforting). Still… 2% isn’t nothing.

The tech came back into the room, but she was followed by the doctor. His gleaming bald head looked clean and inviting, and as I type this I’m wondering if maybe that was a sign?? Huh.

Anyway. He looked me dead in the eyes and said, “A month and a half is too long. We need to get this done quickly. There is something suspicious.”

Ben and I were able to take our road trip because the date I was offered for my biopsy - Sept 9 - was the exact and only day that I had scheduled to be home between travel. But waiting is a special kind of hell, even for those of us with a lot of practice (actors), and while we drove, and camped, and hung out with amazing friends, and swam at the beach with our dog, I quietly (sometimes) descended into madness. “Suspicious” is vague, sure, but it ain’t good. And my breasts were sore. They used to get sore often, and they were lumpy in some places if you really squished them, but up until that point I was told all of it was normal. We all know the anxiety spiral, but it’s hard to explain how physically real your biggest fears can feel when you’re presented with the possibility of cancer.

Desperate for the comfort of answers, I turned to Dr Google, and that hack told me I was going to die. But I only 50% believed him, and so it became an either-or situation for me. Either I had the most aggressive type of cancer there is, or I had no cancer at all. My mind would swing between these two possibilities like a possessed pendulum, because it had nothing else to latch onto. Our mind’s crave order and answers and just because there are none, doesn’t mean they’ll stop searching.

But then an unexpected thing happened: I was diagnosed with something in the middle of the two extremes I had constructed for myself. This was genuinely not a possibility I had considered.

I believe in intuition, and I know I have some good instincts, but it’s really hard to listen to them properly when you’re overcome with fear. Cancer is fucking terrifying. I’m not saying my intuition has never worked throughout this process, there were times when I knew exactly what was up. For example, after reconstruction surgery, a corner of my left expander was protruding from my chest. It found it horrifying, and very difficult to not imagine the thing breaking free from my body like Alien. But the surgeon and nurses did their best to assure me that a “knuckle” was normal for someone of my size, and that it would round out as we started filling the expander with saline. I did not believe them, but I made myself try. Turns out that particular knuckle was a problem - a big problem - and we had to delay my second round of chemo so I could go into surgery to remove the thing before it removed itself.

But, it has also been hard to parse my intuition from my anxiety-fantasies. When to trust others, when to advocate for yourself, when to speak up, when to be quiet and wait: these are some of the big questions of life in general, but they become compounded and urgent with a cancer diagnosis. Like a horror movie, cancer is a chance to investigate the human spirit under extreme circumstances. I still don’t recommend it, but at least there’s that. And I must say that I’m getting better at it. Better at recognizing when I’m grasping for answers that don’t exist yet. Better at pulling myself out of the loop and into the present. I’m not saying I don’t grasp, I’m just saying I recognize it more often.

Like now, with chemotherapy, for instance. I have to unclench and release control everyday, or I’ll suffer needlessly. Chemo means I don’t know what body I’ll be waking up to. I don’t know what is not going to work today, or what is going to ache, or ooze or mutiny. Sometimes, I can look at all this with a sense of curiosity, and investigate it as part of the human experience. But other times, it’s hard to watch. I know intellectually that it is for the greater good of the system, but golly. Feels like I’ve gone to war. I’ll remind myself that I’m close to the end of chemo and that most likely my body will repair itself, but then I remember that I will be done with this battle and onto the next one in which there will be more unknowns.

The coming Anti-hormone therapy might be an absolute breeze. Forcing myself into menopause a decade early doesn’t have to be all bad. But it could be. It might be excruciating. Some women absolutely hate it, and some feel nothing. I’m hearing stories all the time of other peoples’ experiences and each time I hear something there is a little part of my brain that wants to latch on and say “see! This is how it’ll be.” But I know that little brain-part is just doing it’s little brain-job of trying to identify patterns in the environment for the sake of my survival. Unfortunately, as my oncologist informed me, you can hear a hundred cancer stories and literally two might be like yours. The variables in life are infinite. Not that hearing about other people’s experience isn’t helpful, it’s just not very often helpful in specific, logistical ways. I know I just have to take it day by day. Wait until my chemo is done, and my body has healed enough from that to do some more testing, and then - with my intuition coupled with the advice of trusted experts - I will make the best decision I can for myself.

No one expects to get cancer, just like none of my friends at that wholesome dog party expected their homes to be destroyed by a hurricane. Security is an illusion. But thankfully it is also true that not every surprise is painful. If you had told me eight months ago that soon I’d be shaving my head, I’d a told you to take a hike. I mean, look at how pretty my hair was!!

But I have been pleasantly surprised with the experience of losing my hair. It feels freeing in a way I couldn’t have expected. And I’m stoked to be able to play with wigs, which is something I’ve always wanted to do. You just don’t know until you’re there.

I hope this doesn’t sound like I’m advocating for avoiding things that make you uncomfortable. What I’m trying to say is that rumination on things you can’t control only creates more suffering in your day. But we absolutely should seek information when it’s useful. People. Please. DO YOUR CANCER SCREENINGS!! The biggest reason that I will be ok despite having breast cancer at 41 is because my primary care doctor demands a woman start doing mammograms as soon as she turns 40. I had no symptoms at all, and expected nothing, but catching it early saved my life (thank you forever Dr Bianchi).

I’ve been wrong a lot. I was wrong about the diagnosis. I was wrong to assume that nothing could disturb the serenity of Banner Elk, NC. I’ve been right about some things too, but what does it matter if you’re only guessing? Each new stage of treatment has come with new questions that are often left dangling for weeks before they’re answered. One day I asked my therapist how to know the difference between intuition and imagination. She told me that intuition is not based in fear. It is a deep, calm knowing. This feels true in my bones, and like the goal of my life is to be able to recognize the difference. To know when I know something, but also that when I don’t know it’s ok. Because the answers will come when they’re damn good and ready.

INTUITION

Truth

Is a well struck chord

My body sings

In key

Clicks into place

Vibration

In the space

between my cells

That space

I can only feel

This way

That I forget

Exists

Until truth

Plucks the strings