Ben and I before the appointment. Totally naïve to how this appointment would change our lives forever.

The next day my sister came over with my nephew to watch the girls. I met Ben at the hospital. I felt like the shell of myself all day, going through the motions. I nervously pressed the elevator button and we rose to the cancer floor of the hospital.

We walked into a room full of people with bald heads who looked like they had just escaped from a concentration camp. Ben and I looked at each other, silently reassuring each other this was all an overreaction. I got a sick feeling in my stomach. After we signed in and gave all of our necessary information, we sat down. I grabbed Ben’s hand and began to silently cry.

I didn’t want anyone to see me crying. I was ashamed that I felt sick to look at the ill people around me. I was embarrassed to admit I thought my life was too great to have cancer. My heart broke for the people in the room who looked like this was their second home, watching TV and doing puzzles together.

After waiting for what seemed like forever, we were finally called back. We made our way into an exam room filled with literature on cancer. My mind began to reel. Everything seemed so foreign and scary to me. I started to convince myself the Lord was simply giving me a preview experience of what cancer would be like so I could better understand and serve cancer patients. Surely he wouldn’t allow me to become a cancer patient.

————

As soon as the doctor came in, I burst into tears. I surprised not only Ben and the doctor, but myself. I had told myself countless times this was nothing serious, but here I was, a total mess. It wasn’t a cute, teary cry, it was a full-on snot-filled sob. “He hasn’t even introduced himself yet, Ali. Get it together!” I thought.

Due to unresolved questions about the seemingly random symptoms I’d been having lately, I’d been Googling. Per my Google search, I knew something called ‘lymphoma’ was a possibility. But, everyone knows Google always tells you it’s cancer so I wasn’t too concerned. Until now. Now that I was sitting in the cancer ward at our local hospital. It all started hitting too close to home.

“I’m sorry,” I sobbed as he sat down.

“Don’t apologize. It’s nice to meet you.” He had such a gentle disposition. It scared me even more. “He’s clearly trained to be kind to people who have something seriously wrong with them,” I thought. Within the same breath, I scolded myself and reminded myself this was all an overreaction. Throughout the appointment my mind followed this bi-polar pattern.

After a bit of small talk he began to ask me questions. I sobbed through my answers. When he was finished with his questions, he said “I’m going to go discuss this with my colleagues and then I’ll be back. Sound good?” What choice did we have? “Of course,” I said.

————

20 minutes later he came in, this time with a beautiful, smiling woman. She introduced herself as a patient liaison. She told me that what I was about to hear may be overwhelming and confusing so she was there to take notes for me that I could take home; She’d also be able to answer any questions I had in layman‘s terms.

The doctor offered me a box of tissues but I denied his offer. I’d gotten myself together during our break. He asked if he could do a physical examination to check out the abnormalities I mentioned. (A week prior in the shower, I’d noticed something alarming out of the corner of my eye as I shampooed my head- softball sized lumps under my arms. I screamed for Ben and he came running in. I showed him and saw a look on his face I’ve never seen before. He always tried to play it cool and stay calm no matter how severe a situation, but his emotions bled through his face. I knew he was as alarmed as I was. This was the moment that prompted me to see a medical professional.)

He felt my neck and then he felt my breasts. He felt under my arms, pressed on my stomach and checked my inner thighs. He asked how my eye sight was. When he was done, he sat down softly and got at eye level with me.

“Alicyn, after talking with my colleagues, I believe the symptoms you’ve been having are reflective of something called lymphoma.”

To my surprise, I didn’t cry. I looked at him and said, “I thought so. I’ve been Googling.”

And as soon as the words left my mouth, we all let out a reserved chuckle. I couldn’t believe I wasn’t sobbing. But, it was a relief to know why my body had been acting so crazy. Before I felt any panic, I felt relief. We knew what was wrong & now we could start doing something about it. Then I’d be on my way to resume life as normal. It gave me power to finally be able to research my options and work toward healing.

How hard could it be to get healthy again? After all I was young, had big plans for 2019 and I‘d never even heard of lymphoma until it popped up on my Google search. How big of a deal could it be?

The doctor began to throw out a bunch of foreign terms to me. Bone marrow biopsy, lumbar puncture, chemotherapy regimen, tissue biopsy, Port-A-Cath. The more he talked, the quicker my head spun.

Ben spoke up. “Let’s just slow down for a second. Is there anyway we can have some time to discuss what we want to do moving forward?”

“Of course,” said the doctor. “The nurse liaison will send you home with notes from today and you can give us a call on Monday with your decision.”

“Can I ask a question?”

“Of course.”

“Do you really think chemotherapy is necessary?” I tried to imagine myself with a bald head and a warrior ribbon on the back of my SUV but it all felt a little melodramatic.

He leaned in closer and softened his voice. “I believe this is stage four lymphoma. We need to move quickly. I’m afraid it has spread all throughout your body, including your brain. I believe that with chemotherapy we can fight this, but again we need to act quickly.”

“What if we don’t do anything?” I asked.

He was taken aback by my question.

“Based on how strained your breathing is, I believe that in a short amount of time it may get very difficult for you to breathe.”

“Do you think this is something that diet and exercise could change?“

“No, I don’t believe this is something you can take care of on your own.”

“So what are you saying? Just give it to me straight. I need to know all of the facts.”

He shifted in his seat and looked at me. He hesitated and then offered me the scariest words I’ve ever heard.

“Alicyn, I believe that without any chemotherapy you have three months to live. I believe that if you don’t do anything, you will suffocate to death due to pressure from the ever-growing enlarged lymph nodes pressing on your esophagus. But, I want to run more tests, schedule a few surgeries and then we can begin chemotherapy so we can avoid that.”

It felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. What was happening? This wasn’t the plan. I had two precious girls waiting for me at home that needed their mama. I had a loving husband sitting next to me who I loved more than life itself. Both of my parents were still alive. How was I going to share this news with them? I had a thriving business with amazing clients, what was I supposed to tell them?

We walked out of the room and scheduled an appointment to return on Monday. We took the elevator down to the main level. We felt like zombies. We were there physically, but our minds were spinning out of control in another dimension.

When we walked outside, we saw it had been snowing. It was the beginning of April. How could it be snowing? The snow felt like the straw that broke the camel’s back. It acted as a tangible reflection of how I was feeling about the news I’d just received. Out of control. Completely unexpected. An unwelcome guest, uncertain of how long it would stay.

To top it all off, Ben had picked up a new weekend job. And his first shift started in less than an hour. He couldn’t back out last minute with no time to find someone to replace him.

All I wanted to do was go home and cuddle with him. I wanted to go back to the old us. The us we were 30 minutes ago, before we were told I had three months to live. But I also didn’t want to make any sudden movements and give this news any credit.

My mind began to spiral again. I hated to admit it, but I didn’t want to go home to my children. It would hurt too much. How could I look at their little faces and continue to be a part of their life, knowing that the more they knew me the harder it would be for them to say goodbye to me? I needed time to stop. I needed time to process.

I said goodbye to Ben; it was so painful to leave the one person I wanted to cling tightly to and never let go of. He reassured me everything would be ok, no matter what; we’d get to the bottom of this, make a plan and do what we needed to do... together.

I headed home to my sister. How was I going to tell her? On second thought, how was I going to make it through the next eight minutes alone on the drive home?

I called my mom. I tried to be strong when I said hi, but that plan fell through immediately. She picked up the phone.

“Mom. They think I have cancer.” I sobbed.

Her reaction surprised me. My mom, being the strong, challenger she is replied with, “What?! They’re out of their minds. Ali, they misdiagnosed me with lung cancer there 10 years ago. They don’t know what they’re talking about. I don’t want you to worry about this, OK? I heard about a holistic clinic near Albany that we’ll check out & get answers from.”

“OK,” I said. “Uh yeah that sounds good.”

“Are you OK?” She asked.

“Yeah I guess, I’m just so confused and shaken up.”

“Ali, I’m so sorry. I’m on my way home from work right now. I feel like turning around and coming to give you a hug.”

“No.” I said. As strange as it sounded to tell my mom not to come give me a hug, I knew it would keep things feeling normal a bit longer. But I also knew deep down I was in denial. I didn’t want anyone to feel sorry for me or start taking drastic measures, because that would have made this nightmare a reality.

I got off the phone with my mom as I was pulling up to our townhouse. The townhouse our family loved. The townhouse I worked hard to make a home. The townhouse we were able to move into because of my thriving business. The townhouse six minutes away from our best friends. How could I have cancer? If I couldn’t work would we have to move?

I walked inside to see my sweet babies. I forced my best smile for the girls. It physically hurt to not only force myself not to cry, but instead smile. When my protective older sister asked what the doctor said, I framed it through the lens of the conversation I’d just had with our mom in the car. I told her I was fine and that obviously I didn’t have cancer.

We didn’t talk much more about it. I could almost hear our hearts beating in our chests as we fumbled about our words, trying to go about business as usual. I reminded her I had a party to go to that night and if I didn’t get going I would be late. We gave each other hugs that lasted a bit longer and were a bit sweeter than they‘d been before. She said goodbye as I packed up the girls to head to the party. Everything inside of me wanted to tell my sister to stay so we could lose it together. But I was terrified of that. I tried so hard to not let this news control me.

The girls and I hopped in the car. I choked down any attempt my body tried at crying. We were going to get to the bottom of this and resume life as usual. My mind flip-flopped back-and-forth between “this is an overreaction” and “am I going to die?” (Similar to how one’s mind may work during a nationwide quarantine)...

Quick Note: I get asked about my initial symptoms a lot. They’re all in a highlight on my Instagram profile here. Be smart and proactive friends!

April 5, 2019