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The day I don't want .... or do I?

Tomorrow is a paradox. A day I don't want to happen. I day I do want to happen. A day I wish never had to happen. A day that has to happen.

To say I have been anxiety ridden would be an understatement. I had a couple good weeks there. Work and life kept me busy and the doctor appointments had trailed off as we prepared. Then, they ramped back up. Then, work came to an end.

That day was harder than I imagined; actually, I didn't imagine it and perhaps that's what made it so hard. I decided not to keep it from the staff I supervise and people I work with regularly. I decided that HIPPA may prevent folks from asking, but in the end, why would women not share this? Why would I not want someone else to hear this story? Why would I not want the opportunity to say, yeah, it's happening and you know what, it's all because I got a mammogram. I will forever advocate for that test, for as long as I live, for as long as I can share. My livelihood is telling stories, having people share their stories. So many say, "I'm doing this to help someone else." I get it now. I know the feeling. I emailed the staff that I would be out, and included the fact I didn't mind sharing with them why, and I ended the email with a reminder that they should get a mammogram, have their mothers, sisters, wives, friends, get a mammogram.

Then, late in the afternoon, I headed to a doctor's appointment. I stood up at my desk, people were waiting to hug me, send me off, tell me they're thinking about me, praying for me. A middle aged married man offered me strength, a young girl in her 20's show shared her mother's story of survival, a man in his 30's who barely comes out from behind his computer wanted to say good luck, a grumpy old Navy veteran who's bark is worse than his bite insisted on a hug,  reporters who've all told this story before gave me their well wishes.

I logged off, straightened up, collected my lunchbox and purse, and headed down the tiled hall. I passed the control room, the employees nodded; I passed the studio, the anchor waved; I passed Master Control, they waved me off. Then I turned the corner, and it was just me and the hallway and by the time I hit the second set of double doors, the tears were falling. The love and support were overwhelming. The reason I was leaving was overwhelming. The panic set in.

The panic has stayed with me for days. The anxiety of surgery, the nervousness of what's about to happen, the fear of why.

But then, a calm (helped somewhat by Xanax, I admit); a calm that the cancer will be gone; a calm that the "other side" I so desperately try to see is finally where I'll be.

Tomorrow is a paradox. A day I don't want to happen. A day I do want to happen. A day that has to happen. A day that gets me to the other side. And the other side is freedom, is life, is the future.

Yes, I do want tomorrow to happen. I want to get to that other side, and this, this day that I don't want to happen is all I have to get me there.


  1. Can't wait to read your post after you kick cancer's ass for good! You, your family and your doctor are in our prayers. Dave Price

  2. Your are in my prayers too. Like my cousin Erin said, you'll kick its butt! Don't mess with Missouri girls.

  3. Praying for you Richelle. You got this. Can't wait to read how you're recovery is on the other side. Loves from home.

  4. Really looking forward to reading your triumphant story of reaching the other side! You've been such an inspiration throughout this difficult process!

  5. Tears a'roll'in. You did it! You made it thru!!!


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