Counting Breaths

August 19th 2013, breathing stopped. Or so it felt.  And for 3 months, I've consciously had to tell myself, breathe in, breathe out.  I counted them.  Afraid if I didn't, they would stop.

It didn't happen all of a sudden.  The physician assistant's words. She left a message for me to call her back.  It's never a good thing when they ask you to call back.  I was chasing preschooling A in and out of inflatable tunnels at one of those indoor play places when I stopped to listen to the message.  Little did I know the dark tunnel I myself was about to be hurdled into.

Preschooling A down for an afternoon nap and me sitting on my bed. Return phone call.

Your lab results came back from the mole we removed. It's melanoma.

Okay.

You'll need to meet with a surgeon.

Okay.

They'll most likely take a lymph node.

Okay.

All I said was okay.  I didn't even know what melanoma was. So I said okay.  It's okay, right? All okay.  I hung up.

And googled.

A few swift key strokes, "melanoma" and wikipedia returns this "Melanoma is less common than other skin cancers. However, it is much more dangerous if it is not found early. It causes the majority (75%) of deaths related to ..."

Without even clicking, it's scary. With clicking, I'm certain I'll be dead in two weeks.  Cancer.  Cancer is NOT okay. That's when the breathing stopped.  I cried for a long time just sitting by myself.  I don't know how I made it downstairs, but I stood in the doorway of Husband R's office and sobbed.  Was I breathing then?  I can't be sure.  R will tell you I was.

I collapsed. It's cancer I blurted out.  Did we pray?  We probably prayed. I don't really remember what happened after that.

Days that felt like thousands of years passed and I waited for the hospital to call. I tried getting more information from the dermatologists office.  I couldn't.  I researched and waited.  They called on Thursday.  Scheduled me for a consult the following week.  The patient coordinator told me it's stage one.  I was at the mall eating Chick-Fil-A in the food court when that call came in. I was with my babies and my sweet friend. I filled her in and sighed.  It's funny how you remember.

I told my family...my friends...my church.  Prayers began to flood the heavens.  You prayed for me. I laced my tennis shoes and coped and ran a lot. And prayed for myself.  My mom reassured me this isn't the way I'm going to go.  I kept thinking about preschooling A growing up without her mom.

"Time to put your big girl panties on and get your 'nomer removed." Sister's words.  She's funny sometimes.

Surgery happened.  A 6 inch scar behind my knee and a 3 inch scar in my groin. A week missed of work and sleeping on an air mattress because I couldn't climb the stairs. It wasn't awful.  I have a good husband, an amazing mother in law, a small group who lays hands and prays, friends who cook unbelievably well and a sister who hires cleaning ladies.

But nothing prepared me for the next set of results.  Husband R and I were driving the forty five minutes to meet with my surgeon, to get the results from the lymph nodes they removed.  We spent the drive planning what we would do that evening to celebrate the good news.

But then it wasn't good.  And it was your melanoma has spread to your lymph node.  You'll need more surgery and then to meet with a medical oncologist.  I cried again and had to count my breaths.  My surgeon told me something about not being totally sure and needing to speak with her colleagues, the tumor board.  Remind me never to belong to anything referred to as the tumor board.

A lot of God happened after that.  Things I promise you will come in following posts. Things I am still processing and forming into words and being overwhelmed by. What I need you to know now.  At this second.  Is that I'm okay, actually okay.  But you'll have to come back and read why.