4. Who Says You Can't Have Fro-Yo Before a Biopsy?

When I was a kid, for special occasions (or simply because I begged and am a total nuisance when I nag), my father would bring me home a medium, chocolate and vanilla swirled frozen yogurt with rainbow sprinkles and gummy bears on top from Penguins Frozen Yogurt in La Mesa. (La Mesa folks, you know the one I'm talking about, right by what used to be AlphaBeta and next to Togos.) My only variation to this order would be the random time I'd ask for the gummy bears to be in a cup on the side so they wouldn't freeze. (I was a picky, picky eater from an early age, I admit it.)

In my teenage years when I could drive, I'd head down to University Avenue to the Yogurt Mill (I think that was the name of the place) with my little sister in-tow and order my favorite fro-yo (mentioned above). On average, I'd say Cheryl and I were there 2-3 nights a week. It was our little escape from the house and daily stress. It was our sister time. And quite honestly, fro-yo is a comfort food and has a valued existence in my life. 

So, it should come as no surprise that as I headed back to the radiology center for my biopsy that afternoon, fro-yo was needed. These days, it's a Costco swirled yogurt cup (huge serving I might add), perfect consistency and flavor and all for the bargain price of a buck-forty-six (tax included). Craig, who for years has been my other best friend, mentor and protector, was my escort for both appointments that day and every other appointment since that day. He knows me well enough to know when we need to do a Costco drive-by. He insists on honking the horn three times every time I approach the car as if to alert the entire parking lot that hey, the car is over here. It was funny the first few times he did it, but the 1,325 since then, well, not quite as funny.

I wasn't really scared, anxious or concerned as we drove back to Woodland from Sacramento (about a 15 minute drive). I was enjoying my fro-yo. But as I sat in the passenger seat of my Pilot and glanced over at Craig, his eyes were red and a single tear ran down his cheek. 

"Are you crying? Why are you crying?" I asked of him. "Is it because I might have cancer?" He nodded ever so slightly. 

I've never really been accused of being a sappy, emotional person. I don't often cry (my friend Amy thinks I must not truly have a pulse since I didn't cry when I watched Terms of Endearment). I don't dwell on negatives and instead consider myself rather optimistic about life in general. The way I see it, every single person on this planet has crappy things to deal with on a daily basis. Life can be difficult, tremendously difficult for some. But it can also be amazing, enlightening, adventurous, opportunistic and educational. I tend to focus on how I react to a situation as opposed to simply over-analyzing the negatives of trials placed in my path. If life throws a ball at me (think dodge-ball analogy), I'm going to catch it and throw it right back but with a little more positive spin on it. (I do not, for the record, throw like a girl. I may fight like one, but I dare anyone to accuse me of throwing like one.)

As I scooped every last drop of my fro-yo from my cup and we approached the freeway exit en route to the clinic, I asked my driver this: "Why NOT me? I mean, really, they say one out of every eight women will have to deal with breast cancer. I'd much rather be the one in eight than have any of my sisters or friends with kids have to deal with this. I'm single, have no kids, have a flexible job and I can fight this. Besides, we don't even know for sure it is cancer. And if it is, well, hell, we'll fight it and move on." (Take THAT, negativity!)

"It's just so sad to think about," he answered back. "You're so young." True enough. I'd give him that. 

Yogurt cup empty and tears dried and wiped away, we parked the car and headed inside. June 4th was the date I knew I had cancer and it would only be a matter of time before it was official. But that's not really what I remember most about that day. For that day was when I realized this cancer journey wasn't going to be about me and me alone. It was, in fact, going to be a journey on which I traveled with my family, friends and strangers alike. And honestly, it was more trying on all of them than it was for me. I would learn over the next few months how much this cancer diagnosis would impact those around me, those who loved me. I would watch them cry and worry. But I swear, I must have had the best angels watching over my soul, for I didn't cry or worry. (Okay, I did cry once or twice, but from pain, not worry. We'll get to that later.) 

I was fine. I was content. I was good. I had my fro-yo.