The Bomb

April 25, 2019 at 10:15 a.m., I was at my desk and my Doctor rang my phone to give me the results of my biopsy.  I answered while quickly heading into an empty office for privacy.  I closed the door and sat at the desk, bracing myself for whatever result she would give me. 

I heard her say, “Karen, you have Breast Cancer", then I went deaf.   

I sat in stunned silence. Listening to my doctor but not able to actually hear her. I imagine people who survive an actual bomb explosion, deaf, stunned, wandering around with blank expressions.  Cancer is a bomb that suddenly, violently, changed my life.

In those initial moments it was just me and the aftermath of my personal bomb.  I was in another dimension where I am aware of the bomb but everyone else outside the door of that office is walking around unaware.  Time stopped for me though I was aware of the blur of the rest of the world moving around me.  I don’t know if I sat there for 5 minutes or an hour.

People handle traumatic events in many ways.  Some panic, some cry, some scream, but for me I was quietly operating in survival mode.   I needed to retreat and process this information in private and avoid a public breakdown.  I handed a note to a co-worker who knew I was waiting on results that said "It's cancer, I can't talk and I'm going home". I drove home and sat in silence with my beloved doberman Xander (who sadly passed away after helping me through chemo and surgery, but that's a story for another day).  As the shock wore off I felt true fear at a depth I hadn’t previously known.  I didn’t call my husband.  I just waited for him to come home.  I could protect him from this bomb a little longer, at least until he walked through the front door and I needed some time to prepare myself to tell him.

I did call my friend, Paula, who was waiting for the news.  Paula is the strongest person I know when it comes to dealing with life bombs.  She had been through her own tragedy a couple of years prior when her sister died unexpectedly.  She understands what it’s like to be stunned and still keep functioning.  I did NOT call my parents, my sister or anyone else that afternoon.  I wasn’t equipped at that moment to deliver bad news to my family. I didn’t have enough information to answer the questions they would have.  In that moment, I knew my friend’s strength would help me get through the afternoon, but I didn't have the energy or focus to tell my family.

I remember my husband coming home that afternoon but I have very little memory of telling him I have cancer.  I was traumatized already and it was equally traumatizing to set off a bomb in his life. I had so little information at that point, I was scheduled to meet with my doctor the next day for more details.