#1 Diagnosis Day
Your white blood cell count is much higher than expected. How are you feeling right now? And that is the sentence that reshaped my world in an instance!
One sunny spring day in 2022, I went for an ordinary routine blood test (to check my iron levels) and less than 2 hours later, my doctor was on the phone, checking how I was feeling.
Until the call, I was feeling fine; suddenly I’m a bit shaken; nervous that I've been called so quickly?!
My doctor was on speaker phone as I drove my three young boys back from town to our rural sanctuary. They were all listening in and I tried to stay calm, but my fists were sweaty holding onto the steering wheel.
"I need you to come in asap; are you free tomorrow?"
Breathe Kylie, breathe. But my brain is screaming: Do high white blood cells mean Cancer?!!!
In that first phone call, I remember doing two things. First, I sensibly asked what my high white blood cell count was AND I tried not to panic. Focus on the routine - get home, feed the kids, bath, bed... google/call mum.
My medical history includes degenerated and prolapsing discs in my lower back so, later that evening, when all was quiet and after a bit of delve into google, I had self-diagnosed the problem as inflammation, or possibly arthritis and felt much better. I did see that a high white blood cell count could be an indicator for cancer but this primarily occurred in men in their 80's, which wasn't me. “I'm 40 and female, so definitely not my demographic” I consoled myself.
I also called my mother, who is a nurse, and she reassured me not to worry - my doctor is doing their job, hang on until the appointment before I jumped to any conclusions. I called a couple of friends to juggle my plans and children to fit in my impromptu doctors visit. I go to sleep. Little did I know but that was going to be my last sleep oblivious to my new condition. I slept well...
D-DAY
The next day, less than 24hrs after my blood test, I sit in the waiting room considering the knee pains I've been feeling and wondering if I'll find out the cause of them. I'm also massaging the weird lumps under my chin and beside my ears and wondering if my lymph nodes are fighting an infection? Or if they fight inflammation? I'm fit, I eat well, I'm young... I am well. I am not mentally prepared for the impending diagnosis at all!
My doctor gives me space to outline what I have googled overnight and my inaccurate self diagnosis before gently suggesting it is likely to be cancer, a blood cancer. I don't hear him. There is no way cancer gets diagnosed from a blood test. I'm looking for a diagnosis plan; I'm waiting for him to outline other tests we'll do; I'm expecting a process of elimination - landing at something far more manageable. He tells me he'll speak to the hematologist later today and call me back with a confirmed diagnosis.
No plan, no more diagnostics, no process of elimination... I don't compute any of it and walk out of his office stunned and in a haze of complete confusion. This was unexpected and I am reeling.
And you know where I end up? The library. I'm too scared to go home. “What do I tell my husband Anton? What do I tell the kids? How is this even possible?” So I wander aimlessly around aisles of books trying to find comfort in the wealth of stories, journeys, knowledge and expression bound in each one. Inside, my soul is screaming. Outwardly, I'm a zombie in human clothes. And I took 3 books off the shelf: two on hiking in NZ and one called "What I learnt from falling" - I figure I'm falling too and might need to learn something! And then I go home...
... and sit in my driveway, acutely aware this is a moment I will remember forever. The feeling of dismay knowing, that when I walk into my house, my husband is going to ask "How'd that go?" and I'm going to have to tell him I have cancer. And I don't even believe it yet. And I don't want it. And I don't want to tell him. And when I do, our lives are going to be changed forever. And I am stuck in the drivers seat of my car. And I don't want to get out. But I know I have to. But I can't.
And then Anton comes out of the front door and looks at me. He can tell something is up. I breathed in deeply. The next words out of my mouth will be some of the hardest I feel like I'll ever have to say: "He said I have leukemia."
We hug. We cry.
Courage, Love and Legacy
Diagnosis day is not a day any of us would choose for ourselves or our loved ones.
But you know what? It takes courage to take the next breath after diagnosis. It takes courage to step out of the doctors clinic and into an uncertain future. It takes courage to head home and tell family. It takes courage to cry and acknowledge the pain of this new reality. It all takes courage.
So if this is your D-Day and you're on the hunt for help to get through this. Take courage, there are others who have gone before you and others who will go after you. And we're there for each other.
Our courage comes from the love in our lives. Other people who care about us; who we care about. So snuggle up with someone who loves you and take comfort in their strength today. You had courage to find this page and you will have the courage to face tomorrow when it dawns.
Those first few days…
If you’ve been newly diagnosed and are searching for encouragement and perspective in your own first few days, you may find my other posts helpful a they share stories and insights from my first week or so with cancer, both the challenges and breakthroughs I experienced…
