The bracelet.

Being diagnosed with Cancer is a strange thing.  Even if your ok with the news… informing people is like inviting people to an early funeral.  And… how do you really bring up the subject? Hey… how are you doing? I’m great. You? Umm…

All I could really get out a couple of times was… “I got the Cancer!” I mean really Nikki, that’s what you say? I know, I know but it’s just not a topic that sounds good anyway it comes out.


I think the hardest part about being diagnosed is the immediate mode that happens of you turning into a patient. When you first check into the clinic they print you out a wristband, which when you are seven and stayed the night in the ER and got a cast it’s cool to show your friends the next day at school. But… when your 35 and diagnosed with cervical cancer it’s so not cool. Maybe it’s the first reality that you are going to be a daily patient for a while. The next sequence of questions they ask you also sparks up some creative conversation. Have you told your work that you will be needing some time off? Do you have insurance? Do you have a strong family & friends support system? These are just a couple of the many and they are all valid questions.

Have you told your work that you will need time off? Yes. I spoke to myself.

Do you have insurance? Vic… do we have insurance? Yes. Yes we do.

Do you have a strong family & friends support system? Yes. Yes I do, but I guess that means I have to tell them what’s going on first.

Coles Notes: The “C” word.

Cancer.  The “C” word. Some people call it “The Big C”.  I call it… what the fuck… ‘sigh’.
can·cer
ˈkansər/
noun
  1. the disease caused by an uncontrolled division of abnormal cells in a part of the body.

Nothing really prepares you for a phone call from Princess Margaret Hospital.  It was a rainy day in July – Vic was away at an event and Charlotte had just shoved 4 peas up her nose and I couldn’t get them out and my family doctor wanted me to bring her in.  Not that big of deal really – she had put peas up her nose before… but the mix of possibly being diagnosed with Cancer and your 18month old having peas stuck up your nose is … let’s say a bit of a cluster fuck.

The phone call I got was on July 17th and it went something like this…

PMH Receptionist: “Hello… my name is Sally from Princess Margaret Hospital, your Doctor1 has referred you to an Oncologist and your appointment is Monday morning at 8:00am. Do you have a pen handy?”

Me: “Umm… so I guess that means that my biopsy results aren’t so great?”

PMH Receptionist: “…. (long pause followed by even longer silence) – so you haven’t spoken to your doctor?”

Me: “Nope.”

PMH Receptionist: “I’ll have to call you back.” -hang up without saying goodbye.

Me: WTF??!!

The fact that it was a friday afternoon and the woman on the phone said that my appointment was on Monday at 8:00am was alarming.  Terrifying actually.   I assumed that it wasn’t great news… but to be left hanging, home alone with two babies on a rainy day was not ideal.  All I could think was… I can’t FUCKING believe that Charlotte has 4 fucking peas stuck up her nose! OMG!!!! WTF?  Do I have cancer?  Jesus!! Fuck. fuck… Fuck.

After many calls back and forth to the hospital and the clinic where I got my biopsy done I got a call back from my doctor.

Doctor 1: “I’m sorry, I gather you have figured out by now you have cervical cancer – I’m sorry that PMH called you before I got a chance to, I’ve been trying to get you in right away and they got to you first.”

Me: “I figured it wasn’t a good sign with the lady from PMH didn’t ask if I wanted a PMH Lotto Ticket. So what happens next?”

Doctor 1: “We send you to see PMH to see Doctor2 and they will send you for an MRI, CT Scan & blood work and then wait for more results.”

Me: Overwhelmed.