Oh shit! I've been chosen.

BC: me before cancer but I thought an IV so fitting. 

In the movies when a doctor gives a character a prognosis, he's usually very clear;

"You have cancer."

Character breaks down crying and the doctor goes through an understandable list of what's to come.
At the end of the lists, of what's to come we all know, ultimately, the character is going to die, pass away, whatever term makes the general public feel at ease with the reality of mortality.

In one scene the character is crying, in the next their in a chemo room, bald, skinny, and wasting away and in the next it's a head stone and their family members. -fuck the show/movie I'm describing is morbid- In a funnier or more uplifting show, the scary chemo person the character becomes, gains weight,buys a wig and goes back to "normal". They wear the pink ribbon, they run marathons and they proceed to triumphantly celebrate "kicking cancers ass."

I have that ill fated disease. It did not go anything like what's mentioned above. It was more like;

Doc: "it's malignant"
Me: "what does that mean?"
Doc: "its spread"
Me: ....
Doc: "do you understand?"
Me: ....

The three marks are not silence, it's me whaling, its not my life flashing before my eyes -that shit didn't happen for me- instead it's me thinking WHAT THE ENTIRE FUCK?!

I'm thirty three, I'm recuperating from a shitty break up, extensive surgery but in this moment, all that means nothing!
I'm thirty three, I never wanted children but now it ain't even an option.
I'm thirty three and the fucking walls are closing in on me.

Doc: "You have to get Chemo therapy and then we'll monitor you."
Me: "what does that mean?"
Doc: (Now looking at me with sad eyes)
Me: if you were in my shoes would you be scared?
Doc: "you're a smart girl (really?) I'm not going to lie, yes...
Me: ....

This is how it went. the funny thing about it all is, the aforementioned movie scenario played in my head, I saw myself wasting away after chemo, I imagined my family running marathons in my memory, I died in that room, in that moment, it all ended for me.

or so I thought...

Doc # 2, the dreaded oncologist: (more bad news) -why go into detail. Once you get the news you have cancer, it's all bad news.

Me: "Will my hair fall out?"
Doc # 2: yes
Doc # 2: We'll give you all the paperwork on the side effects.

Don't read the fucking paperwork! I hope you never find yourself in my situation because you have to read the paperwork. The paperwork feels scarier than my fucking diagnosis.
My fingernails can fall off?! How the fuck does that even happen, seriously?! Numbness, loss of appetite, the shits, the non shits, fuck, can I just live with this cancer? Can me and this son of bitch just become friends and share this body? I don't want to walk around hairless with no finger nails looking like a black version of that fucking character from the movie Powder!

I email my doctor at 2am;

I don't think I want to do Chemo. I've been reading the paperwork. I understand my prognosis (Total fucking lie) but I'm having second thoughts. This is all happening to fast (why am I talking to this man like he's a bf) I haven't had the time to take it all in. Thank you. 

what the fuck am I thanking this asshole for? Of course I don't sleep all night waiting for his response. We're officially in a relationship

10am Docs response:

I need to call you. What's your number?

Welcome to my new world. I've decided to write about this experience. Why? Because a few short weeks into this journey, I've learned there are stigma's about this disease. No, you can't catch it by contact, you fuck. A few weeks into this process, funny things have happened, no, cancer does not take away your sense of humor. A few weeks into this, I've learned so much yet still know so little. I'm still me but not really, I've got balls, I got sass and I have a arsenal of strength that is fucking magical and I ain't got the shits, I still got my fingernails and I'm not bald headed! (technically)