A Year Ago Yesterday

A year ago yesterday, my life changed forever.

I didn’t know it a year ago when I walked through the doors of that doctor’s office.

At that time, I thought it was just another routine appointment. No big deal. My mammogram and ultrasound had already given me the all-clear.

I was meeting a new doctor, slightly nervous not because I had anything to be ashamed of, but let’s be honest, a gynecologist appointment is never exactly pleasant.

We chatted for a few minutes. I shared my history. No major gynecological issues. A fibroadenoma removed back in 2005. I showed her my imaging results. Everything looked “fine.”

And then she got to work.

It was her hands, not the images, that found the lump a year ago that the imaging had missed.

That was the moment everything changed.

At the time, I didn’t know how much.

I just knew I needed another ultrasound.

I walked out of that office a year ago thinking this was probably nothing. Just an extra step.

Little did I know that at that appointment, my body had already entered the fight.

Today, a year later, I walked back into that same office.

Same doctor.

But this time with new girls.

Girls that look and feel different.

Girls that are cancer-free.

I sat in the waiting room, wearing my pink sweater and my socks… very intentionally chosen.

One sock said, “Dear cancer.”
The other said, “You picked the wrong bitch.”

My heart rate was elevated, not because I was scared. I know I’m cancer-free. But because I was overwhelmed.

Sad. Thankful. Angry. All at the same time.

A year ago, I assumed this would be just like any other yearly appointment.

Instead, today I was seeing the doctor who saved my life for the first time since everything happened.

Even this morning, as I was getting ready for my appointment, I jotted down a few thoughts.

Then more while sitting in the waiting room.

And when I got to my car afterward, I knew I couldn’t just drive off.

I had to finish processing before I could move on with my day.

When the nurse asked me to update my medical history, I got emotional just saying it out loud.

The diagnosis. The surgeries. The medications that are now part of my daily routine.

And then, the doctor walked in, and I burst into tears.

I looked at her through tear-filled eyes and said, “You saved my life.”

She got teary-eyed herself. She hugged me.

It was her. Her hands. Her time. Her attention.

If I had waited another year, relying solely on imaging, this could have been a very different story.

On the right side, the cancer was already invasive. On the left side, there was cancer too.

Thankfully, it hadn’t reached my lymph nodes, but if we had waited? Who knows what treatment would have been needed? Who knows how different things could have been?

I told her I’d written about this. That her name is all over my Substack. That I tell everyone to go see her. That she’s the reason I’m here.

Then I handed her a Fight Club Member bracelet.

I’ve given those bracelets to so many people throughout this journey, but she was the very first Fight Club member.

And somehow, the last to receive one.

I wanted to give it to her in person. I wanted her to see me. To know what her care made possible.

She said this is why she does what she does. All the training. All the long hours. Moments like this.

We laughed. We talked. She told me the girls looked great. I told her the “cherries on top” are coming on March 6, before the one-year anniversary of my official diagnosis on March 28.

Afterward, I sat in my car trying to make sense of how much can change in a year.

A year ago, I walked in assuming I was fine.

Today, I walked out knowing I’m Cancer-free!

Grateful.
Angry.
Emotional.
Strong.

Still standing.

Because cancer definitely messed with the wrong bitch.

And I put up one hell of a fight.