April 5, 2024 - The Phone Call

When three words changed everything: "You have cancer"

Insights for Empowerment

Friday, April 5, 2024.

I was on the phone when I heard the words. “You have breast cancer.”

My knees buckled. I literally dropped to the floor, gripping the phone like somehow holding it tighter could change what I’d just heard. The air felt thin. My heart pounded so loudly I was certain the doctor could hear it through the phone.

Breast cancer. Not just one breast. Both breasts.

Invasive Papillary Cancer in my right breast. Invasive Ductal Carcinoma in my left.

I had survived teenage motherhood. I’d escaped domestic violence. I had walked through financial devastation and rebuilt my life piece by piece, becoming a woman I was proud of. But nothing prepared me for this moment.

When Your Body Reacts Before Your Mind Can Process

Here’s what nobody tells you about the moment you hear those words: your body knows before your brain catches up.

My legs couldn’t hold me. My chest tightened. I couldn’t catch my breath no matter how deeply I inhaled. The walls felt like they were closing in. Time became strange. Minutes stretched into hours, yet somehow the entire conversation passed in what felt like seconds.

This wasn’t just emotional pain. It was physical. My body was responding to a threat it couldn’t see or fight.

The Questions That Won’t Stop

The moment the call ended, the avalanche began.

How long have I had this? Why didn’t I catch it sooner? Am I going to die? What about my grandchildren? Will I see them grow up? What about my husband? My son?

The fear isn’t just about dying. It’s about all the life you might miss. All the moments you haven’t lived yet. All the people who need you. All the dreams still unfulfilled. It’s about suddenly seeing your mortality in sharp, terrifying focus.

What They Don’t Prepare You For

The isolation is immediate. Even if someone is sitting right next to you, you feel utterly alone. Because no one else is inside your body facing what you’re facing.

Your body becomes a stranger. The body that carried you through life suddenly feels like it betrayed you. Like you can’t trust it anymore.

Time stops making sense. You’re frozen in that moment and catapulted into an uncertain future at the same time.

The word “cancer” echoes. Even after the call ends, you keep hearing it. Over and over. Like your brain is trying to make it real by repeating it.

The First Truth I Had to Accept

Cancer doesn’t care about your plans. It doesn’t care that you finally found peace after years of struggle. It doesn’t care that you were just starting to enjoy life.

But here’s what I learned in that devastating moment on the floor: a diagnosis is information. Terrifying, life-altering, world-shattering information, yes. But it’s not the end of my story.

It was the beginning of a battle I didn’t choose. But it was also the beginning of discovering strength I didn’t know I had.

Conclusion

If you’re reading this as someone who just received a cancer diagnosis, if you’re still on the floor, still in shock, still trying to breathe, I need you to hear me.

It’s okay to fall apart right now.

It’s okay to drop to your knees. It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to feel like your world just ended. It’s okay to be terrified.

But when you’re ready (even if it takes hours, days, or weeks), I need you to remember something: you are stronger than this moment. The diagnosis is devastating, but you are not defeated. You are scared, but you are not alone. Your world shifted, but it didn’t end.

April 5th changed my life. But I’m still here. Still breathing. Still fighting. Still living.

And you will be too.

Encouraging Nuggets

Scripture for Today: “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” – Psalm 34:18

Affirmation: I am devastated, but I am not defeated. I am scared, but I am not alone. I am changed, but I am not broken.

If You Just Got the Call:

• Breathe. Before anything else, just breathe.

• Let yourself feel it. Don’t try to be strong yet. Feel the devastation.

• Call someone. Don’t sit with this alone if you don’t have to.

• You don’t have to make decisions today. The diagnosis isn’t going anywhere. Take time to process.

What Helped Me in That First Hour: Getting off the floor and moving to the couch — a small step, but a small victory. Calling my husband and allowing someone else to carry part of the weight. Walking next door to my mother’s house to share the diagnosis with her and my sister. Praying, even when the words would not come. Reminding myself that a diagnosis is not a death sentence. Believe it or not, the Lord made that truth clear to me right after I heard the news. Even in the midst of not knowing what to do, I held tightly to what the Lord had spoken.

Remember: The phone call was the worst moment. But it was just a moment. Not the end of your story. Just the beginning of a new chapter. One you didn’t ask for, but one you’re strong enough to write.