It's still sinking in: I have an oncologist. I have been to his office twice, and it is an ominous feeling. The staff go about their business like any other medical practice, but I can't shake the idea that death is hanging from the ceiling. I look at the other patients and feel 'sorry' that they are here, too. I feel like they are doing the same. I have driven by this office hundreds of times, and never pictured myself walking through the doors.
Even with the "least bad" breast cancer diagnosis, and being given the choice not to do radiation at this time, I know I could be back with worse news in my future. It's like that door is open, and I am always at risk now. That said, I'm not dwelling on it, or living my life any differently.
When I came home from my second surgery, the hospital gave me a pink bag of goodies. A heart shaped pillow, obviously hand sewn was included. It is just the right size to fit under my arm and take the pressure off my incision. It is also just the right size for hugging when I sleep. That simple pillow has given me great comfort on this newest journey.
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