DIAGNOSIS
Unfortunately, you don't just find out you have cancer overnight. It took about two weeks from first mammogram to final diagnosis.
On March 5, I actually forgot about my mammogram until my mom texted me that afternoon asking if I had the results from the day before. There was already so much on my plate that the last thing I thought of was my own health, hence almost cancelling it to begin with. I just took for granted that my previous five screenings were clear and couldn’t imagine anything would be wrong at this point in time – that would be impossible and honestly laughable! So when I nonchalantly logged in my Penn Medicine portal while chitchatting with colleagues, I was overcome with shock when I saw “ABNORMAL” and “recall patient.” It felt like a ton of bricks on my chest. A feeling I was accustomed to as of recently. I called David and my cousin Annie, who is a nurse, looking for some assurance that this was just a blip but also felt certain this couldn't be a mistake.
That night, I had already planned to have two girlfriends over my apartment - it was their first time over since we moved and one of the first times I was seeing them since my dad passed. I felt silly telling them what was going on. Was this a sick joke? I didn't want more attention around me (more like sympathy) but I was relieved to tell them and thankful later that I have their support through the whole process.
Before I went to bed, I examined my breasts and it was the first time I felt the lump.
I did not reveal the full scenario to my mom until the morning of the follow-up mammogram and ultrasound, a week later. “Dense breasts” is a typical issue for some women (including me and my mom) so I leveraged that and just adjusted the truth. I said they had an issue with the images and I needed to go back in as a precaution. In my mind, I was still considered healthy and my mom was, and still is, my #1 priority – taking care of her is my second, if not first, job. We were still mourning my dad and trying to wrap our heads around what things like a short certificate are and how to get it. If taking care of her meant giving her peace of mind to sleep five more nights without knowing the whole truth, that’s what I was going to do.
But the jig was up and there we were – David, my mom and I – starting to get some answers, in that consult room you never want to be brought to. There was a mass in my left breast at 12 o’clock that was about 1 – 1.4 centimeters in size that needed a biopsy.
While we all wanted to cry and scream and yell, we did what we do best – went to a Steven Starr restaurant in Rittenhouse Square, ate decadently (David may have ordered a fried chicken for lunch) and drank delicious cocktails.
To say I was anxious to get the biopsy scheduled was an understatement. Luckily, the hospital called while we were driving back to my parent’s house in Warrington and I was able to schedule my biopsy two days later on that Thursday.
I'll never forget getting back to New York that night and David telling me he wished my dad were there that day so he could have kept a stiffer upper lip.
On Wednesday night, I left NYC for Warrington and barely slept a wink. Laying in my childhood bedroom, I felt shooting pains in my left breast and the lump was getting bigger and bigger. Or was it just in my head? Did you ever have one of those moments were you think you forget how to swallow? I started to panic and was scared to fall asleep. Not totally sure if or when I fell asleep but I guess it didn't help that I had Leaving Neverland on in the background.
The procedure was not as unpleasant as I expected but I think I was just pleased to be one step closer to getting the final answer. After being respectfully poked and prodded by an unbelievable caring team of nurses, the kind radiologist told me that she would do everything she could to get my results by the following day. The biopsy made the lump feel double in size which just heightened my anxiety and my fears... but really I already knew.
My mom and I talked about my dad on the car ride home and what he would do if he was here. How the old Michael Dougherty always had the answer. We had to start referencing the old and the new because it was pre-stroke and post-stroke Michael/dad. I honestly don't know how she held it together during that conversation. She was driving and I was crying. The old Michael was so graceful during his battle and I just wanted to find a way to channel that.
On March 15, I turned my iPhone ringer on at the office, which my mother knows I never do because I find it obnoxious and end up missing phone calls and playing phone tag which she hates. I guess you can say I grew up! But I couldn’t risk the chance of missing the phone call. I was a basket case. Damn you, robocalls who spiked my nerves three times that day. I barely made it until 3pm when I bought a CBD infused seltzer (LOL) in hopes to calm my nerves when the phone finally rang.
The radiologist who performed the biopsy called me personally and told me she had been refreshing her results all day. I grabbed a notebook and sat in my team’s sample closet, listening and writing the notes – “next steps,” “breast surgeon,” “don’t know markers yet,” “Tuesday,” “3rd floor, right side.” She asked me if I had any questions and I looked at the top of my notes – “BREAST CANCER.” I actually wrote that down. Before I could hang up, the tears rolled by my face.
As much as I was prepared and managed my own expectations (hello, BRCA1!), it was impossible to prepare myself for that feeling of absolute helplessness. It’s not that I was scared of dying – that didn’t and still hasn’t crossed my mind. It’s not an option.
You could say it was a similar feeling to when I knew my dad was dying – I felt that I was too young to live the rest of my life without him, missing major milestones – getting married, having kids, buying a house, etc. All of those same moments flashed before my eyes and felt so far away from where I stood. My life could potentially stall.
However, that’s not the case.
That evening, we cried and then we started our fight. While I was breaking the news to my mom, David was on the phone with Memorial Sloan Kettering maneuvering to get the soonest appointment possible. I got back in touch with my fertility doctor, a nutritionist and contacted everyone we knew in the medical field to get into MSK even earlier.
While we answered phone calls up until around 9pm that night, we still managed to semi-celebrate David’s 34th birthday with an order from his favorite pizza place, Nicoletta. And there was nothing stopping us from our weekly 9:30am SoulCycle Survivor class the next morning.
And since then, so much has happened and it feels crazy and surreal at times. We had a consult at Penn where I learned I was triple negative and would need chemo after surgery, secured an earlier appointment at MSK, met with the best surgeons, went to an engagement party, bachelorette party, birthday party, started this blog, opened a short-term disability leave claim, started an IVF cycle and scheduled my surgery at MSK for April 17.
So my life isn't going to stall, it's just going to be different. And different is ok; it can actually be good.