Putting Red-Lining on Hold for Probable Cancer

Talk about a post I never saw coming. Day thirty-four of hiking all of the trails in the whites came and went, but while I’ve been hiking as much as possible, six out of the last eight days, an underlying health condition has been sitting heavily on my mind. Last week, my husband was doing what they do, feeling my breast, when he said he felt something. I brushed it off, felt what he felt, and just assumed that it was probably nothing. But I knew it was something. I never ever thought it was cancer. Nobody in my family has cancer, I don’t have any first-hand experience with it, and I just assumed that whatever this was, it was nothing to worry about. But I was worrying, so I made an appointment to see my doctor, assuming that they would say that what I felt was normal. 

I almost walked out before seeing the nurse practitioner Monday morning after waiting for the usual longer than expected in the waiting room. I felt silly sitting there, kept telling myself it was nothing, and that they would think I was dumb for even coming in. But the nurse came and got me and I am so beyond thankful I didn’t get up and leave. She confirmed yes it was something, and when I started crying she said that she would get me in to get a mammogram and an ultrasound, stat. 

I spent all of Monday afternoon and early evening having two mammograms and an ultrasound. I knew when they came to get me for an additional mammo that it was not nothing. When the technician asked if I had someone with me, a spouse perhaps, that it was probably not good news. The ultrasound took what felt like forever, and every time I looked up at the monitor and saw the dark black blob on the screen, I wanted to scream, “Enough! You have enough pictures of it! Just tell me!” The radiologist was horrible. That’s what she was. Her compassion didn’t exist, her ability to deliver devastating news with sympathy and understanding was nonexistent, and she definitely wasn’t going to sugar coat it.

Yes, she suspected cancer, was all I can really remember about the conversation she had with me. I was weeping alone in front of two women who didn’t seem to know what to do. I sobbed, can I at least have my husband in here, and the nurse went and got him from the waiting room. The radiologist disappeared and I hope I don’t ever see her again. 

I never ever wanted to get cancer. I’ve secretly thought in my head, my whole life, that if there was one thing I couldn’t handle, it would be cancer. I would look at women who were diagnosed with it, and thought that they were the strongest people I knew to take on cancer. Like it was some choice they made. I can assure you, I did not make this choice, and I never ever saw this coming. I wanted nothing more than to scream it away, this probable diagnosis, last night as I sat there sobbing with my husband. But I can’t sob it away. I can’t avoid it or pretend it’s not there. 

As the night wore on, we sat with a very kind woman who will be my surgeon. We talked much more extensively about the results of the mammograms and ultrasound. Most of what she said was and is still a blur to me, but two things remain in the forefront: a BI-RAD5 means a 95% chance it’s cancer and from what they can tell, it has not spread to my lymph nodes. Tomorrow morning, I will have a biopsy to more than likely confirm that I have breast cancer. 

I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours in a haze. I sobbed, I accepted the probable diagnosis, and now I am formulating a new plan. Regardless of whether or not it’s cancer, I’m having surgery to remove the growth. If it is cancer, I have to accept that my health is going to be impacted, that I have more than just surgery in my very near future. But for now, I continue to remind myself that it hasn’t moved to my lymph nodes, meaning it is contained to my breast. 

I’m processing this by assuming the worst, that it is cancer, and accepting that even if it isn’t I am going to have to put my redlining goal on hold, once again. I’m sharing this with the public because writing helps me process my feelings. I’ve already emailed UNH and let them know what is going on. They are willing to work with me to be remote-only in the fall if I choose to remain full-time, or I can defer and start in the spring or next fall. I’m beyond thankful for these options. In the meantime, I have to try to live as normal of a life as I can, despite the fact that I don’t want to do much but sit here and watch TV. 

Once again, I’m watching my goal of redlining all of The Whites in a set amount of time (originally a year, transitioned to 13 months 5 days) disappear. I’m currently at 18% redlined since June 19, 2020. It doesn’t sound like much, but it took a lot of work to get to that number. My overall total for redlining, in general, sits at 45%. I’ve learned so much in the last 58 days. I look back at all of the things I’ve done, all of the plans I’ve had to adjust, and there is a lot that I know I could do differently to hike these trails faster, if I did them all over again.

So what do I do? Regardless of whether I start over or not, I still have graduate school which will impact my ability to redline these trails as fast as possible. Even if I restart again next spring, I will be doing so knowing that I have college to work around so setting an FKT is skewed because I’m not able to give this my all, like my fellow FKT hopeful is doing right now. Is this even an FKT or is it just a goal I want to accomplish in a set amount of time? Is it even fair to put in my time, when I finish given the circumstances under which I’m attempting this goal? 

There are many, many women out there much more capable of setting a true FKT redlining The Whites. Perhaps this is just my arbitrary goal that I set for myself and putting in for it, is not necessary. I still want to know every trail in The Whites, I want to become White Mountain expert, and I want to share my journey, the good and the bad, with other people. 

Sharing this whole journey with people helps me. Being honest about what’s going on, being a real person in a world where that is rare, is something I feel very strongly about. I don’t know if it’s cancer officially yet, but this growth is going to end my redlining journey for 2020. So, what do I do now? I keep on hiking. As much as I can, for as long as I can. I can promise one thing: this isn’t the end of my journey, I will start over redlining The Whites from 0%, for a third time, more than likely next May. 

I will leave those who read this with one final thought. Something that sat like a lead weight in my chest all day yesterday as I watched the likelihood of cancer increase. Being alive is a blessing. Every single day that I am alive, every moment I can take breath into my lungs, is a gift that I am unworthy of getting. When I beat cancer, when I recover fully from this setback, I will step into those mountains unafraid, which is something I’ve never been able to say. I can assure each and every one of you, those who message me asking how I can hike solo and not be afraid, that there is nothing out in those woods that is as scary as cancer. There is nothing out there that I cannot face now, fearless, after facing down the thing I never wanted to get, the one thing that has always terrified me. Life is a blessing. Health is a blessing. Strength of body and mind is a blessing. You don’t realize how blessed you are with these simple things until you are at risk of losing them. This is only the beginning for me. It’s just one more mountain and I’ve gotten really good at climbing.