But Doctor...I'm a lover not a fighter.

Turns out that I didn't imagine that Dr. D and I had a bond. She did want to be my hero, and I knew as soon as she sat down with my folder yesterday why she never called. I get why she waited to tell me the results of the surgical biopsies in person. I get it and not only do I forgive her, I love her for it. I love her for placing the report in my lap and immediately hugging me. I love her for sighing "Oh Anna." I wanted her to be my hero, too.

When she removed my breasts, Dr. D took six lymph nodes. The report placed in my lap yesterday just as clear as day read that 5 of the 6 were benign, but one single node, one traitor of a node, tested positive for metastatic carcinoma, and "metastatic" is a word I never ever wanted to see. It means I still have cancer. It means they didn't get it all, and now that there is this little piece that got away, I have to engage in chemical warfare with my body. Now that this spooky stuff has invaded my lymphatic system, Dr. D so sweetly told me that she can't cut it out. I am now placing my trust in the next hero, an oncologist, who will develop the chemotherapy cocktail to save my life.

Because of my denial then anger then tears, I was immediately led into a small room after the news. They fetched Ken from the waiting room and a social worker. The social worker was a cancer survivor and she worked her magic, a magic that only someone who has been through it can do. She explained how chemo will work, how I may be nauseous but they have medicine to help, how I will definitely be tired but could work part-time, how my hair would go, how it won't be forever and the hair grows back. She showed us photos of herself in various wigs, some cheap, some not. She looked great by the way. She explained that I probably wanted to get my hair cut pixie style short pretty soon, get accustomed to seeing myself differently, and then, yes, I would want to buzz it eventually. She told me where to shop for wigs and gave me brochures for support groups. I left her with hope but still in a fog. I left in a hope fog.

I won't lie. Last night was tough, but today, I am okay. It isn't bravery that gets me through this crap. It isn't inspiration or even my faith (forgive me, God). I tell you what gets me laughing in the face of this disease...two boys, ages 10 and 12, and a man that vowed to love me in sickness and in health. We have a great family. I am not even joking. You'll be jealous when I describe how happy we are, how we get the best of everything without even trying, and damn if I am going to spoil that for them. To see them smile is all the ammunition I need to fight. I might wear a big, bright pink Britney Spears style wig during this. I just might do that, but please don't say I am brave. Don't comment how positive I am because sometimes I am not. What I am is a good damn mom. I am, and I am a pretty big partier. I have no intention of letting cancer rain on my parade. Watch me come out of this with better boobs, skinnier and an awesome wig collection...and no cancer. I know that's what will happen because things just work out for me like that. Don't be a hater.

I meet with my oncologist a week from Monday. Bring it. Meanwhile, I still have these damn drains.