June 6, 2011
The appointment with the thoracic surgeon was rough. Emotionally, this was the toughest day I’ve had since this journey started. You could say, it finally sunk in. Everything the doctor said was pretty much what we already knew, but coming from him, it really hit hard.
After the appointment, my dad wanted to get some coffee and talk. We reflected on how we got here and discussed the next steps. How I went from a seemingly healthy 34 year old to having an emergency biopsy, all within the matter of two weeks. I don’t remember much of what we talked about. I would say a few words to keep the conversation going, but really, all I could think about was how crazy this was. My mind would drift as I wished I could be somewhere else – someone else. CT scans, needles, lung drainings and biopsies. This is my reality.
I was exhausted. I got home from the doctor’s and went straight to my room and passed out. I was so drained from the whole day. I woke up from my nap and sent an email to my coworkers. Up until this point, I had been going to work every day throughout all this drama. The deadlines, timelines and late nights would have to wait. I wasn’t going to be returning to work this week.
Erica consoled me that night and told me we were going to be ok. She hugged me, but I couldn’t hug her back. I just slumped in her arms and cried. She wanted to know how I felt. I told her the only thing on my mind, “This is such a fucking bummer”.