And so it begins

Today I was diagnosed with breast cancer. Infilltrating ductal carcinoma. I got the news from my doctor this morning while I was sitting in the middle of an executive meeting. With the words "There's cancer in there" a flood of emotions overtook me, many of which brought me crashing back to 1981 when my parents entered my room and said "You have cancer, but it's curable." The reaction was the same as well ... disbelief, fear, sadness, anger ... Yet the similarities ended there. The first time, I was 17 years old and selfish. I only had myself to worry about. I felt immortal and figured it was just another one of those things to get through. Mom shuttled me from doctor to doctor, I drove myself to radiation treatment. I stayed in college and flew home every three weeks for my chemo injection. I was cured.

More than 26 years later I'm happily married with three gorgeous daughters. The stakes are now very, very high and I'm now more worried about the people I love than about myself.

Bill is shell shocked. He hasn't been through this before though in our nearly 20 years together he's aware of the realities. We told the girls tonight. Rosie, 6, ran away in tears when she heard the words "This is about mommy." Tess, 9, after joking about the dreaded "family meeting," immediately said "You don't have cancer, do you?" When I responded "I can't say no, honey" she burst into tears and jumped into my arms. She said "Promise you'll be OK" over and over and was unwilling to accept any other outcome. Sofia, 10, was very stoic ... obviously just processing everything she had just heard. Unable to cry and mad at herself because of it. My parents were initially shocked but kicked right into their supportive, optimistic selves. While I was talking to my parents Sofie and Tess went upstairs to call their friends ... not to tell them, but to share that they were sad. Everyone had trouble getting to sleep. It's 3 a.m. and I still can't sleep.

Though the years have passed, the ironies are the same. Cancer doesn't hurt. I don't feel sick. Yet the treatment I'm facing will make me feel awful.

Tomorrow we see the surgeon. It's the next step. From here it's probably surgery, then radiation and chemotherapy. Lots of questions ... a very long list. My best friend Jen came over as soon as she heard the news and helped me make my list. The big question we all have is "what is my prognosis?" While I'm optimistic based on what I know today, the next few weeks will be dedicated to finding a definitive answer to that question.