Round 1: In the beginning.

So, I had my first chemo/immunotherapy treatment yesterday morning (01/19/15). It all went smoothly, and I was fortunate to have an incredible support team at my side: my husband, both of my parents, and my older sister (my #1 cheerleader who was diagnosed with sarcoma on her 25th birthday, but has luckily been cancer-free since then...fingers-crossed).

Up until this point, people have commented on how impressed they were with me because I seemed so level-headed about this whole ordeal. I'm not an emotional person to begin with, so it was easy to essentially adopt a pretty calm demeanor when publicly explaining my diagnosis. And I kept up with my daily routine of taking the kids to school and going to work and doing chores around the house and running errands on the weekends.

The truth is, I have been in denial about my cancer.

I basically had the attitude that if I busied myself with work and kids and home stuff, then I wouldn't have to think about the fact that I was sick and probably dying. Not only that, I fooled myself into thinking that I was totally okay, that all of this cancer talk was for someone other than myself, that I just happened to be very closely involved with this poor cancer patient's story.

But the day before my first chemo treatment session, I had a total meltdown. Because I realized that once chemo started, it would mean without a doubt that I, indeed, had cancer. And there was no going back. And I hated that so much. I hated that I had no control over this experience. I don't deny that I'm a controlling person by nature, very neurotic and obsessive-compulsive. But it's like someone made a deal with the devil on my behalf without my consent, and I didn't even get some selfishly irresponsible request in return, like ever-lasting life or fame and fortune. I had all sorts of plans for the future - who doesn't? - and it was like watching these plans disappear in a puff of smoke,

I couldn't wait to take my daughter on college tours, even though we both know she is going to Princeton anyway (like her father and aunt before her), because that has been her dream since she was 3-years old. I couldn't wait to hear all about her studies in chemistry and how she's developing the latest breakthroughs in perfume creation, because she has always wanted to be a chemist and make love potions for a living since pre-K. I couldn't wait to meet the one with whom she planned to spend the rest of her life and give him SUCH a hard time, because no one is good enough for my daughter.  I couldn't wait to watch my daughter act like a total bridezilla on her wedding day (like her mother before her) and then totally put her in her place, because I'm her mother and mother knows best. I couldn't wait to be in the delivery room with her and try to convince her to let me name the my first grandchild, because that's something I'm really good at doing and she knows it.

I couldn't wait to help my son develop his love of music and then be totally disappointed when he tells me he has decided to forgo college in place of a music career (no matter how much I try to convince him otherwise). I couldn't wait to watch him become a famous musician and be so proud of him (and probably brag about it) for not giving into the easy temptation of adopting low standards, because he's had the raw talent since he was only 2. I couldn't wait to learn about all of the charities and scholarships to which he planned to donate his time and money, because he always had such a kind, gentle spirit. I couldn't wait to try to convince him again that perhaps college was still an option if he ever decided to take a break and he would consider it, because I'm his mother and mother knows best. I couldn't wait to see how he tries to fumble through growing up and becoming responsible enough to maybe marry and have kids, because he spent so much time comfortably in his sister's shadow.

I couldn't wait to celebrate 10 years of marriage this July with the man I have grown to love after all this time together. I couldn't wait to fail to convince my husband not to splurge on a new self-driving Telsa, because I know how much he reveres Elon Musk and he has always dreamed of owning a self-driving electric car that didn't look as conspicuous as some of the other options out there. I couldn't wait to grow old with him and celebrate having an empty house (for once), until the kids come back with their dirty laundry. I couldn't wait to use our new-found free time to maybe adopt a greyhound or a dachshund and watch Broadway shows and travel across the globe and be totally cantankerous about youths today. I couldn't wait to think back on the many, many decades and think to myself: what a lucky woman I am to have had such a full, prosperous life.

And now with this cancer diagnosis, I can't help but think to myself: man, life is so not fair. I mean, let's face it, five years might be great when considering the life expectancy of stage 4 breast cancer from ten years ago (about six months), but five years is still not a long time. I have so much left to give, I have barely made a dent in my to-do list, and I am devastated at the thought of leaving my husband and kids behind prematurely.

But I guess there's no point in dwelling in the negative. To look back on the past and wonder what could have been. What is important now is the future. And only to say, as the French would, "Aux armes, citoyens / Formez vos bataillons / Marchons, marchons !" To arms! To battle! Let's march!