Oh My.

“Oh my.”

That just about sums up my first official day in Cancer World. I am exhausted and overwhelmed and quite sure that I will never be able to make the proper decisions about any of this. So much information to consider! So many scary words! And pictures! And descriptions! And appointments! And procedures! And outcomes! And complexities! And side effects!

It’s. Just. Too. Much.

When Steve and I left this morning (at 7:30 am) I was freshly showered, freshly made up, and freshly rested. And besides, some friends had given me a wonderful gift that brought a big smile to my face. I was feeling relatively perky and even positive enough to ham it up a little for the camera.

At 5:30 this evening? With the chocolate exchanged for a cancer book? Not so much.

Is that a pitiful face, or what?

On the bright side, I was incredibly blessed, encouraged, and happy-fied by all of the messages left for me—here and on Facebook. I am overwhelmed (in a good way, this time) with the support I feel flooding in from all over everywhere.

I’m a bit too discombobulated to go into a lot of detail tonight but I will say that on Wednesday, I am scheduled for an MRI. At least 20% of all early stage diagnoses are proved wrong when an MRI is done. (Meaning those cancers are actually worse than originally diagnosed.) Especially, since I’ve had so much “weirdness” going on for so many years, they want to be absolutely sure of what they’re dealing with before going into surgery.

Next Tuesday, Steve and I will make the 4 1/2 hour round trip back to Greenville (it will be the fifth trip by one or both of us) to get the MRI results, meet again with the breast surgeon and plastic surgeon (we met with both of them already today) and come up with a plan of treatment.

Tonight my brain is mush and the only treatment worth considering is a “rescue dose” of chocolate. And then a large application of a warm, soft bed. And then a prescription for at least ten hours of sleep. Followed by a brief dip into the waters of denial before I delve into all the books, brochures and information I’ve been given and hope that my brain will turn out a coherent thought.

Before I close, Steve, Sarah, Nathan and I want to thank you for your prayers, love, and virtual hugs. I have read every comment that has come in. Some I’ve cried over, some I’ve laughed over. And every single one has been appreciated more than you could ever know.

I’ll be back tomorrow . . .