The following Tuesday, December 6, I headed to the hospital to go under the knife – okay, the needle. I’d originally been scheduled for the procedure two days later but Jessica saw the angst and fear in my face when I’d heard the original date. She was an angel and found a place to squeeze me in the schedule a bit earlier. That didn’t make the thought any more pleasant, but it was nice to know that I’d be able to get answers more quickly.

Dr. Patrick and Jessica were my team for the procedure and honestly, it really wasn’t that bad. There was a little sting when they injected me with the local anesthetic and after that, it just felt like some pushing and pulling. The long, pointy needle? Yeah, it made a very loud clicking noise when the doctor was taking a sample of the tissue, so I was more than thankful that he said there’d be a countdown when he was getting ready to take some tissue. That’s all I’d need – jump when I shouldn’t, get a weird jab and cause more problems, but that’d be just my luck.

Fortunately, everything went quickly and I was in and out of the imaging suite in less than an hour. I was assured they’d send the samples to the lab and they’d start looking for answers. I should know something in a couple of days but for the time being, it was just a waiting game. And if you know me, you know that waiting isn’t something I’m super keen on. Yes, patience is a virtue – just as I tried to instill in my headstrong daughter for years – but I’m not the best at taking my own advice.

So I waited. I logged into my patient portal every couple of hours to see if the pathology report was back, knowing full well that it wasn’t going to happen the same day. I felt so helpless, just waiting to find out if there was something in my body that was actively rebelling against me that searching for answers was the only bit of control I had.

I convinced my daughter to go do some shopping with me that evening and made a run to Kansas City and hit Nebraska Furniture Mart. I just wanted to get out of town, to run away and think of something, anything other than what might be going on inside. Brian told me to spend money to my heart’s content – as long as I didn’t bankrupt us in the process – I think hoping that somehow it would keep me occupied. I didn’t buy the washer and dryer of my dreams, but I did help Rachel order a new kitchen table and chairs. We looked at Christmas presents, kitchens that definitely would’ve sent us in to bankruptcy, and then headed to the casino for a little bit of an escape. While we didn’t win the jackpot, it was a great time and got me out of my head for a bit. Hell, we even drove over to Hen House just so Rachel could buy the cheesecake she’d had her eye on since Thanksgiving, but that’s a whole other story.

Tuesday turned into Wednesday and I still didn’t have any answers, but I knew reality was going to set in. I was on the phone with my sister just before noon when I opened my portal again and there it was. The pathology report was back.

“Oh, shit,” I said. “The report is there.”

“Well, open it,” she said. “What does it say?”

I clicked on the report and as it opened, I read the words that would change my life one way or the other.

Left breast, 2:00 position, 9.0 cm from the nipple, ultrasound guided percutaneous needle core biopsies: Invasive Nottingham Grade 2 moderately differentiated ductal carcinoma measuring up to 9 mm.

I’m no scientist and I don’t have a medical degree, but I do know that word – carcinoma – that’s bad. That means cancer. I told my sister that I thought what I was reading wasn’t good and that I was going to wait to hear from the doctor to be sure, but I knew. My heart sunk into my stomach, my worst fears realized.

The phone rang that afternoon. I answered and heard the voice Dr. Jennifer Hawasli on the other end, the breast surgeon with Lawrence Breast Specialists. She was as kind and gentle as she could’ve been but I won’t ever forget what she said to me.

“Autumn, it’s not the result that we hoped for. I’m so sorry to say it, but you’ve got breast cancer.”