Holy shit. Reading about cancer, and breast cancer, and breast cancer in young women is not helping me. It makes me realize that for young people the prognosis is not fantastic (often because it is caught late). God, I was a happier sick person when I thought it was more straightforward. Apparently, so I’ve read and heard, somewhere around 90% of breast cancer caught early is fixable. Only problem is that for young women like myself there is no yearly screening, and often times a lump is passed off as a cyst.
That is my bright side; I found the bump, had it checked, had the biopsy and am in the treatment stream — all within three weeks. I have hope that next Wednesday when I go for my consultation they won’t slip me any news about spreading or advanced stages. But that doesn’t mean I’m not scared, because last Monday I had also hoped for good news . . . and we know how that turned out.
But a little bit of ignorance isn’t always a bad thing. Just knowing I need to fight is enough. Realizing I could die is more discouraging than motivating.
And on that note, I’m going to watch an episode of Lost.
“Oh television, you sweet mind-numbing box of nothingness, where would I be without you?”