June 12th was the last time I posted an update on my weight. A few days after that, I received some of the worst news I’ve ever had in my life, and stepping on the scale was the farthest thing from my mind. While running errands, I got a call from our fertility doctor and was told the reason for my constant spotting. I have cancer.
I remember pulling off the side of the road, but not much after that. The second I heard “cancer” my mind sort of went on autopilot. I vaguely remember hearing something about “survivability” and “cure rate.” The only thing I could think of was getting back home – fast.
Once home, I made it to my front door before the doctor called me back, letting me know the oncologist he told me about would see me next week. I don’t even remember him talking about an oncologist, but I said fine, sure, and we hung up.
I spent the rest of the day crying my eyes out. The news was a double whammy. Not only were our hopes of having a child via IVF dashed, but now I’m googling “survival rates” to see what my chances of living were. That weekend (yep, I got the news Friday morning) I spent most of my time vacillating between stewing in my emotions (sadness, fear, anger) and Googlepalooza. Read More