After my trip to the emergency room on May 23 with a broken clavical, I thought I was finished with doctors for a while.

My shoulder hurt, my arm was in a sling, and I figured the next several weeks would simply be about healing.  And learning to write with my right hand… I’m left handed!  And that’s a story in itself!

Then my primary care provider called….

The CT scan they had done in the emergency room had shown a mass on the upper part of my left lung.

Just like that, life changed again…

I was told I would be referred to a pulmonologist. That sounded simple enough,  but it turned into three of the longest weeks I can remember.

I called the doctor’s office three or four times a day trying to get the referral moving. Every day felt like another day of wondering.

Finally, on June 12, I met with the pulmonologist…

He looked over the scans and recommended a biopsy.  There wasn’t much to do except schedule it and wait.

While I was waiting, my mind stayed busy.

I started making plans—not because I wanted to believe it was cancer,
but because I wanted to be prepared if it was.

I thought about getting a wig if I lost my hair.

I wondered if my coworkers could help cover for me on days I didn’t feel well… that’s silly, of course they would!

I started changing little things I could control, like giving up Cokes… my “morning coffee”.  And everything else that has sugar in it.

Known fact is that cancer feeds on sugar!

Planning gave me something to do while I waited…

The biopsy was scheduled for June 17.

No food…No water…Nothing to drink for at least twelve hours beforehand.

That part wasn’t much fun, but honestly, the hardest part came afterward.

“We should have the results in a few days…” (Those may be the longest five words a doctor ever says.)

Every time the phone rang, my heart jumped.  It went everywhere I went, and never more than 3 feet away from me.

When it wasn’t the doctor,  I felt relieved… and disappointed… all at the same time.

I prayed.

I tried to stay positive.

I reminded myself that worrying wouldn’t change the outcome.

But if I’m being completely honest, waiting was harder than I expected.

Then, on June 22, the phone finally rang…

It was the doctor, and the biopsy showed cancer.

I don’t remember much after hearing those words…

I hung up the phone and  completely fell apart.

I cried.

Really cried.

The first people I called were the kids, Tasha and Tony.

There aren’t many words for a moment like that.

As a parent, you never want to make that phone call.

After the tears finally slowed down, I remember sitting there talking to myself.

“Okay, Cheryl.”

“The pity party is over.”

“This isn’t what I wanted.”

“But this is where I am.”

“I’ll deal with it.”

“I’ll keep moving forward.”

“And most importantly…

God has this.

I don’t know what the road ahead looks like.

I don’t know what treatments I’ll have.

I don’t know how many hard days are coming.

But I do know this:

I’ve made it through difficult chapters before.

With God’s help, I’ll make it through this one too.

One day at a time.