Round 1 Recap

[Click! Please remain seated and keep all arms and legs inside the vehicle.] 

One down. But not without more than a few twists and turns. So I'll tell my tale, but you may want to buckle up. 

6:30am - I wake up as the sun begins pouring in my room. It feels like the first day of the rest of my life.

7:00am - After a decaf and a quick breakfast I jump in the shower (aka "ground zero" where I first discovered my lump) and decide this is a morning for dancing. Beyonce sings straight to my heart with "Countdown" and I imagine I'm one of her sexy backup dancers trying desperately to remember all the moves I'd seen so many times in her video - Damn, I think, I still got it. 

8:00am - I ditch my original plan for overblown 80's throwback eye makeup (an idea for cheering myself up) because I've run out of time amidst ensuring I've packed everything for my big day and there's no WAY I'm not taking my girls to the bus stop. Not TODAY, Cancer. 

8:10am - We miss the bus stop by one minute. Pivot number one for the day. Maybe that'll be the last? Ha.

9:00am - Both girls are cheerfully delivered to their respective schools with a kiss and a smile. Shine bright, my stars. The world is right. 

9:30am - We arrive at the breast cancer center for my first appointment of the day, a wig fitting in anticipation of my imminent hair loss (T minus two-ish weeks, but who's counting). My appointment is postponed when my phone rings and it's time for what I specifically requested from my care team - one final go/no go call to discuss with my surgical oncologist that beginning with chemotherapy, not surgery, is still the right answer with the best possible outcomes. Her tone of voice says everything I need to hear. Chemotherapy it is. In an instant I make peace with it one last time. Now it's time to wig-out. 

11:30am - Fun's over and $h!t's about to get real. I register and kick the day off with a proper poke in the arm from a beautiful, perky insta-BFF kinda nurse. I thank her for her career choice. The writing on the wall reads "life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass, it's about learning to dance in the rain". I smile remembering all the times I'd led that party train. 

12:00pm - I meet with my medical oncologist and promise her I'll be her easiest, best patient. The one she will relish between all of her much more serious and depressing cases. I convince myself part of my job is making hers feel worth it. I got you, girl. Let's do this. 

12:30pm - I meet someone referred to as my chemo nurse, a motherly type with kind eyes and a heart-wrenching story of her own mother being recently diagnosed with stage 3 breast cancer that she herself would be administering. I'm reminded things could be so much worse. I get tucked into a super posh private room, the sunshine pours in on me again and I receive an unexpected gift of a beautiful, handmade, brightly-colored quilt courtesy of the Stitching Sisters, a non-profit devoted to uplifting the spirits of girls like me. I'm nearly overwhelmed with gratitude that people like this should exist.    

1:30pm - I am administered my pre-meds, a cocktail of steroids, anti-nausea and antihistamines to prepare my body for the drugs it's about to receive. D.A.R.E. to keep a kid off drugs. Welp, I had a good run... 

2:00pm - I'm DRUNK. As I explain to my husband and nurse, I'm Girls, it's been a wild night. I should call it level drunk. This quickly turns into I knew I shouldn't have had that last tequila shot, then finally Where's the bed? I'm DONE. I could barely. keep. my. eyes. open. Nighty night. 

2:30pm - I generally come-to. The big moment has arrived. My nurse's tone changes slightly and I know we're getting down to business. She explains she's beginning with my first drug which has only a 10% chance of inducing an allergic reaction and she will be monitoring my response closely. I'm a glass half-full girl with a healthy respect for statistics. I'm not scared. I fill the next 7 minutes with chit-chat, more than conscious of the fact that I'm trying to distract myself from the seriousness of the situation. I look back and forth in full storyteller mode between my nurse and husband.

2:37pm - I'm mid-sentence and I feel my face turn hot. I turn to look to my nurse. "Leah. You're gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay." she repeats without hesitation. Her eerie calm is almost worse than watching a flight attendant strap into a jump seat on a turbulent plane ride. The heat in my face travels to my chest and I turn to my husband and scream inside Help me honey! Make it stop! and my eyes and his well with tears. He's on his feet. He grabs my hand like he did when I pushed our babies out. His cheek is to mine and our tears blend together along the right side of my face. I'm dying. This is it. This is how it ends. I squeeze his hand as if it has some kind of magic power it can transfer and save me. The room fills with more nurses than I can count.

2:40pm -  My color begins to return to a normal shade of olive vs. marinara. And I finally lose the battle of holding back tears in front of others. My confidence is shattered and all I can think is how I used to love being in the minority - top of the class, leadership team, cheer captain - but not this time. Not this 10%. Within this group, things just got more complicated, less easy. And I just broke my doctor's promise. 

2:45pm - The care team has reconvened to discuss my case and the best data they've got to make a call on next steps. Pivot number two. We decide to go at it again because the evidence-based science says the odds are in my favor that the response was just the initial whoa, you're not welcome here. It's a betting game and I'm at their mercy. Again, I trust the science. 

3:00pm - After a few minutes to calm down, we're ready to get back to it. The nurse explains we'll half-time the drip so I can tolerate it better. And the fighter in me imagines standing back up from a near TKO... I'm down, but not out, you weak POS, Cancer. If that's the best you've got, I've got better. 

5:00pm - We're done for the day. I get my arms back and I'm no longer tethered to anyone or anything. 

8:00pm - After a kiss from and dinner with my mother, daily routine of how was school conversations with my girls, and more than a few what just happened today glances back and forth with my husband, I'm ready to shut it down.

8:30pm - I curl up with our two girls on a stuffed buddy-covered twin bed. We listen to my mother read a bedtime story about Coco Chanel and her love of fashion. For a moment I'm a child, dreaming of growing up to become a strong woman. And I hope my girls are paying attention.