The Medical Reality - Learning a New Language

When your brain is still processing "cancer" but you're expected to make life-altering decisions

Insights for Empowerment

The phone call on April 5th was devastating. But what came next was overwhelming in a completely different way.

Within days, I was sitting in medical offices trying to absorb information that sounded like a foreign language. My brain was still trying to process “I have cancer,” and suddenly I was expected to understand pathology reports, receptor statuses, and treatment protocols.

I needed to make decisions about my body. Fast. Life-altering decisions that couldn’t wait until I felt ready.

Because here’s the thing about cancer: it doesn’t wait for you to catch up emotionally before demanding action.

The New Vocabulary

Estrogen receptor positive. ER+. Both breasts.

The doctor explained it to me, but honestly? I heard the words without fully understanding what they meant. My cancer cells had receptors for estrogen, which meant my body’s own hormones had been feeding the cancer. It also meant hormone therapy would be part of my treatment plan.

Bilateral diagnosis. Both breasts affected, but with two different types of cancer.

Invasive Papillary Carcinoma on the right. Invasive Ductal Carcinoma on the left. I had to learn not just that I had cancer, but that I had two different cancers.

The medical team used terms like “favorable prognosis” and “caught early” and “highly treatable.” Those words should have been comforting. And in some ways, they were. But they didn’t erase the word cancer. They didn’t stop the fear.

Information Overload

Suddenly I was researching things I never wanted to know about. Mastectomy versus lumpectomy. Reconstruction options. Recovery timelines. Survival rates. Recurrence statistics.

I read medical articles until my eyes blurred. I joined online support groups and read hundreds of stories from other women. Some stories gave me hope. Others terrified me.

The internet is both a blessing and a curse when you’re newly diagnosed. You need information, but you can also drown in it. Every search led to ten more questions. Every answer came with exceptions and variables.

The Impossible Timeline

Here’s what nobody tells you: cancer diagnosis comes with a countdown clock you didn’t ask for.

The doctors need to know your decision. Surgery needs to be scheduled. Treatment plans need to be made. Insurance authorizations need to be submitted. Your calendar fills up with appointments you never wanted to have.

Between April 5th when I got the diagnosis and June 14th when my surgery was scheduled, I was living with cancer in my body. Knowing it was there. Waiting. Preparing. Telling people. Trying to stay strong. Trying to make the right decisions.

Every day felt too long and too short at the same time.

The Weight of Choice

Lumpectomy or mastectomy? Keep my breasts with ongoing surveillance, or remove them entirely?

The doctors presented the options. They gave me statistics. They told me both were valid choices. But ultimately, the decision was mine.

And that weight? That responsibility? It’s heavy.

Because what if I choose wrong? What if the cancer comes back? What if I’m too aggressive? What if I’m not aggressive enough?

I knew what I wanted. Deep down, I already knew. But knowing doesn’t make the choice easy. It doesn’t erase the grief of what you’re about to lose.

What I Learned in Those Waiting Weeks

You can’t make sense of cancer before you make decisions about it. Sometimes you have to act before you feel ready. That’s just the reality.

Second opinions matter. If something doesn’t sit right with you, ask more questions. This is your body. Your life.

Write everything down. Your brain is in survival mode. You won’t remember half of what the doctors tell you. Take notes. Record appointments if you can. Bring someone with you to listen.

Trust your gut. Medical professionals give you information, but you know your body and your life. Factor that into your decision-making.

Conclusion

The medical reality of cancer is this: you become a student of a subject you never wanted to study. You learn terms you wish you didn’t need to know. You make decisions about your body while your heart is still breaking over the diagnosis.

It’s exhausting. It’s overwhelming. And it’s okay to feel that way.

If you’re in this phase right now, trying to absorb medical information while still reeling from the diagnosis, give yourself grace. You don’t have to understand everything immediately. You don’t have to make perfect decisions. You just have to take the next step.

One appointment. One question. One decision. One day at a time.

That’s all any of us can do.

Encouraging Nuggets

Scripture for Today: “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.” – Proverbs 3:5-6

Affirmation: I don’t have to understand everything to make the right choice. I trust my instincts, my medical team, and God’s guidance.

Practical Tips for the Medical Phase:

• Bring a notebook to every appointment and write down questions beforehand

• Ask your doctor to explain anything you don’t understand, even if you feel like you’re asking too many questions

• Request copies of all your medical records and test results

• Consider bringing someone to appointments who can take notes while you focus on listening

• Don’t Google symptoms at 2am (trust me on this one)

Questions to Ask Your Medical Team:

• What type of cancer do I have and what does that mean for treatment?

• What are ALL my treatment options, not just the most common?

• What’s the timeline for making decisions?

• Can I get a second opinion?

• What happens if I do nothing? (Sometimes you need to hear this to understand urgency)

Remember: The medical jargon will start to make sense eventually. The decisions that feel impossible right now will become clearer. You’re learning a language you never wanted to speak, but you’re learning it. And that’s enough for today.