Tuesday was the day. The much-anticipated day.

For the past few months, I’ve followed doctors’ orders. On a medical trial for the purpose of eliminating the need for breast cancer surgery, I’ve taken the endocrine therapy intended to shrink my small malignant tumor, and I’ve waited. On Tuesday, a slew of tests and appointments awaited: an ultrasound, a CT scan, an MRI, blood withdrawals, a COVID examination, and a visit with the radiation oncologist.

Sure enough, the real-time sonographic imaging measured a 20% decrease in the volume of my irregular hypoechoic mass with indistinct margins. The medicine that I’ve hated for blocking my hormones has finally done me a favor. It shrunk my tiny tumor, which means no surgery for me. Why can’t I say that with a little extra enthusiasm? This is such great news. Oh wait, my hormones. Going, going, gone. I wonder if I will ever feel like myself again.

For now, I stay the course with the medicine. I tell myself no feeling is final…words have power…God has my back. On Wednesday, I start my radiation, five rounds, every other day. The end. Over and done. And then I wait. Again. I let it all happen and just keep going.

3 For everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven: ² a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; ³ a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; ⁴ a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; ⁵ a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; ⁶ a time to seek, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; ⁷ a time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; ⁸ a time to love, and a time to hate; a time for war, and a time for peace. 

Ecclesiastes 3: 1-8