One year ago today I had my breast biopsy to determine if the suspicious masses in my breast and armpit were indeed cancer. I remember walking out of the diagnostic mammogram and ultrasound in shock three weeks before. The radiologist had as good as told me I had breast cancer. I remember thinking that it couldn’t be possible. I was too young. I had no family history.

I laid on the table while a radiology resident and the attending bickered over the resident’s technique as he punctured my breast and advanced a thin catheter to tunnel to the masses. Once they were in the right spots they pushed a cored needle through the catheter and into the masses one at a time, removing tissue to send to pathology. The radiologist remarked that I hadn’t even flinched. It would be the first of such comments along this journey congratulating me on my lack of reaction to pain.

I was told years ago by someone close to me that unless I could change what hurt or saddened me, it was pointless to complain about it. My pain wasn’t worth speaking about. My sorrow should be kept to myself. Being years removed from that time in my life I’ve wondered if my silence in the face of pain, sorrow and discomfort is the legacy of those words of advice.

In the year since my biopsy I’ve been brought to my knees. I’ve cried many tears. I’ve felt the primal fear of facing my mortality. But I’ve also been humbled by the love that has been shown to me. I’ve walked a path I never could have imagined would be mine to walk. But I haven’t had to walk it alone. God has been there. My friends and family have been there. My three daughters have been there. Jeff has been there. And hope, unbowing in the face of statistics has been there.

Today I am 7 radiation treatments away from finishing another step in my treatment plan. I’ve done pretty well. I have felt fatigued as expected, but it hasn’t been as severe as chemotherapy was. I’m working on expressing when I’m tired, or sad or in pain. It’s not easy for me to do. I worry more about not being a good enough mother, or wife or friend. When I told Jeff that he said, “You have cancer! If there was ever a time in your life to rest and let everyone else take care of themselves while you take care of you, it’s now.” He gets frustrated when I don’t take that advice. I’m pretty stubborn.

Ava and I utilized her free student tickets to watch the U’s gymnastics team a few weeks back. It was super fun. I’d like to go again.

Payton and I went and saw Les Miserables. I’ve always loved the soundtrack but have never seen it in theaters. She looked so glamorous and got many compliments.

Brielle asked if she could style my hair. This was her first hairdo. She laughed and laughed.

This was her second styling. I look like Alfalfa.

Jeff and I went to Maple Grove Hot Springs. We spent three glorious hours soaking in the hot water and cold plunged in the river.

I’m grateful to be on this side of the past year. I know this isn’t over and there is more treatment to come, along with at least one more reconstructive surgery. I’ll face what is to come with that piece of hope lodged in my soul, burning bright and fierce.