Happy Valentine's Days, you have Cancer

When I used to think about cancer, which wasn’t very often until this past week, I always thought about what I saw on TV. People in an ER getting diagnosed and starting treatment right away, or a couple sitting in a doctor’s office, plush leather chairs, degrees hanging on the wall, and a white haired doctor sitting on the other side of the desk sympathetically telling someone they have cancer. Maybe some people get that experience, mine hasn’t even been close.
I had my appointment with an oncologist two weeks ago. I was extremely nervous, yet the doctor put me completely at ease. She decided to order one test, but told me that she was “95% percent sure I didn’t have cancer. I didn’t think about the 5%. On the way to the car my husband and I high fived and headed home. I didn’t even tell my kids about the appointment.
Fast forward to Valentine’s Day, I was in my car with my husband. We were running some errands, pretending it was a date, and then my phone rang. It was the oncologist. “Do you have a few minutes to talk?” she asked. I really didn’t think much of it, I figured everything was fine and I could mark one more thing off my list of what was causing me to feel so sick all the time. “Your test results came back and you have cancer. Leukemia.” I don’t remember much more of the conversation. I was in shock. I do remember my husband pulling the car over while I threw up and he cried while trying to reassure me.
This past week has been a blur. I woke up on Thursday thinking it was a dream,until I remembered I have a bone marrow biopsy this week. I called my parents and told them; the news spread like wildfire. Friday I turned my phone on silent, dodging calls. It wasn’t that I was ungrateful for the outpouring of support, I am still processing and overwhelmed. I just wanted some time to think, I wanted a few days where life still felt somewhat normal. Of course nothing will be normal anymore, not for sometime.  
I gave myself this weekend to grieve my old life. I laid on the couch and binged watched Love is Blind. My husband bought me a TV for our bedroom for Valentine’s Day. That way, when treatment starts, I can rest in bed and watch TV. I bought expensive bedding, sheets, and pillows, in an attempt to make the bed as comfortable as possible. My daughter went into caretaker mode, cleaning, doing laundry, and helping her Dad cook dinner. I hate that for her, she should have been with friends. Even though I know this will affect all of our lives, I hate that it will affect my childrens’ lives and my husbands.  
Now it is the beginning of a new week. The house is quiet this morning. My husband is back to work and my kids are at school. I’ve fed the cats, planned dinner, and here in a little bit I will clean the house. Tomorrow is my bone marrow biopsy and I want all the housework done so nobody feels obligated to do anything. I’m sure there will be plenty of time for them to feel obligated in the near future.
I’m sorry if this just sounds like ramblings and not a story. It’s not a story, it's a way to try and process my emotions. To get ready for the biggest fight of my life. I needed to write this to end my pity party and become a fighter. I need to find my sense of humor again, which is slowly coming back. After all, I was able to laugh last night when my oldest said,”At least it’s not syphilis. That would be an awkward conversation between you and Dad.”