If you haven’t seen, I wrote a pre-diagnosis post explaining all of my health symptoms leading up to my diagnosis day and the bone marrow biopsy. Check it out if you’re looking for more context and backstory.
I received my bone marrow biopsy on August 23, 2021.
Two days later, on August 25, 2021, I received my diagnosis. This is my story.
My mother and I arrived at the appointment early, as I was eager, anxious, and ready to get it over with. Little did I know, this would be just the beginning. The nurse called us in; we walked down the hallway and into the exam room, and I sat myself on the exam table. The doctor walked in, sat down on the stool, and immediately began the conversation. In a manner of shock, Dr. P looked at me and said, “Well, you have myelodysplastic syndrome (MDS).” She said this as if she was processing it herself. I looked at her expressionlessly and said “Okay…” because I hadn’t heard of it before. I swallowed the lump in my throat to prepare for the information.
As she was talking to me, she received a call from one of the laboratory hematologists who was currently looking at the sample under the microscope. I heard Dr. P explaining on the phone, “She’s 29, a teacher, just had a baby…” indicating the unusual nature of someone in my life-stage receiving this diagnosis. But again, I had no concept or understanding about MDS. These moments for me felt like a cinematic scene playing in my mind. After she hung up, she sat back down on the stool and explained what it all meant. I held my breath, hoping it wasn't that serious as she continued, “... you’ll need radiation, chemotherapy, a bone marrow transplant…” I knew all about chemotherapy. But radiation and a bone marrow transplant sounded much worse. Just hearing the word "transplant"--images of organ transplants flashed before my eyes. But a bone marrow transplant left me uneasy. Admittedly, I had never heard of it.
The tears welled, my heart pounded, the lump in my throat remained. I couldn’t breathe. I looked at my mom and saw her eyes well. I could tell she had read about it. Was it cancer?
I was so confused. I’m sure Dr. P explained in those moments that it was blood cancer, but something about receiving a serious health diagnosis alters your ability to comprehend. Words drip out of your ears and all you can really feel is the rock forming in your gut. At the end of the visit, I walked out of that building with my mother’s arms cradled around me, crying. Through the parking lot you’d hear my cries, “Is this cancer? Am I going to be okay? Am I going to lose my hair? What does this mean?” The reality of death was pushed to the forefront of my mind. Would this thing–that I apparently now have–be my end? What about Emiliana? Would I really only be a mother for a short time? And my husband, Nate. These are the cold, hard thoughts that instantly hit you. And these are the thoughts that change you.
We got to the car and cried. I Googled the diagnosis right away because I couldn’t fully hear the pronunciation through Dr. P’s accent. In doing so, I saw the words “pre-leukemia” and was struck with more confusion. I put down my phone and cried into my knees. My mom called my dad quickly and I called my husband. Nate left his work right away, and my mom and I drove home.
The remainder of the day consisted of tears, hugs, prayers, and confusion. Dr. P had given us the contact information for a couple specialists, and we managed to get an appointment with an oncologist the next day. And so the journey, as they say, began.
So I Danced
Sometimes you have to choose joy in life. This photo was from my sweet friend's wedding a few days after my diagnosis. I remember feeling the importance of enjoying that evening. I remember the sense of looming change in the air and I remember the need to try and savor the present–to dance, to eat, to look in to my husband's eyes, to just simply take in the moments of life that are presented to you. I've always been the type of person that loves dancing at weddings. At this wedding in particular, it was difficult to dance with the anemia, but it was everything in those moments.