Hooray, I have breast cancer!

That isn't sarcasm, it's the utter truth. I'm thrilled to pieces to have breast cancer.

Early morning in the oncologist office. More paperwork and despite my efforts to be at least neutral, I griped again, "Why do I have to keep telling you people the same things over and over!" I later had to apologize to the "cancer concierge" (yes, it's a thing) when she explained that Dr. N's group is not part of the Parkview system. "Ah! Now I get it!"

So we visited with the cancer concierge (I actually just like saying that out loud), and I was basically calm and feeling hopeful (despite what my blood pressure later revealed, yikes!). Then the nurse came to get me. She called my name and I stood up and asked, "Does my family..." "YES, they come!" After so many positive experiences with caring healthcare workers, I finally ran into a crankpot. She is older, wears a waist-length salt-and-pepper braid, and looks like she could beat Bob in arm wrestling. She got me on the scale. I tried to make her smile, "Do you take off 5 pounds for clothes?" "NO," scribbling on her clipboard. Then an aside, "You don't need 5 pounds off anyway!" Not even a smirk. Tough crowd.

She did soften a bit while asking me history questions, but it was mostly all business. At the end I asked her her name. She reached up to her chest and said "Hilda." She realized she wasn't wearing her name tag. Finally Hilda laughed, fished it out of her pocket, and put it on. For whatever reason she seemed embarrassed. I just said, "Well, there you go. Thank you so much, Hilda." Later Bob called her Broom Hilda. I just think she was trying to move fast. It seemed like there were quite a few people there today.

Bob, Sue, and I then just prayed while we waited. I watched the door, waiting for God to show up. And he did. I fell in love with Dr. N the second he popped into the room. He is a fit, well-dressed Indian man with dark hair and a white streak in the front. He is grinny, animated and very friendly which put me right at ease. I thought, "No matter what he says, no matter what, it will be okay."

He explained several things about my particular brand of cancer. It's very, very rare, like 1% rare. It didn't form in the places breast cancer forms and doesn't act like breast cancer acts. And the cells change (Bob later said, go figure a comic book movie lover like you would have "shape shifter" cancer cells). So while I'm listening, fascinated, Bob and Sue are sitting on the other side of the room thinking "HURRY UP and tell us!"

Finally he said it. "The PET scan was clear." There is no cancer anywhere else in my body besides my breast. Sue gasped, Bob teared up, and I said, "Thanks be to God," and thought of everyone who is praying for me and the simple, undeniable power of talking to God.

He and another oncologist he's collaborating with agreed: mastectomy first, and then chemo, and maybe something else because this is so not breast-cancer-ish.

So when Dr. N came back to say goodbye and let me know that Dr. D's office would be calling me today to set up the surgery, I was just overcome with gratitude. God sent Dr. N to me. And in a strange kind of not-Polly moment, I said, "I feel like giving you a hug."  And I did, and told him prayers were being answered.

Fast forward to this afternoon: Call from Dr. D's office, order for EKG and blood work, got that done at Parkview Huntington, and tomorrow morning a call with the nurse with all the details and what to expect.

If you're still reading, thank you. If you've been reading, thank you. Share if you feel like it. People keep telling me how brave I am, how positive I am. I don't feel brave or positive. I just feel like if I don't capture these feelings in this moment, I'll regret it later on.

My main hope and prayer is that if some little something I write about can help someone get closer to God, that's way better than anything selfish I could ever get out of this little exercise.

So celebrate my cancer with me, will ya? God is doing stuff, and I can't wait for what's next.