12x9

That's the number in millimeters my lung nodule now is: 12'9.
It grew from 5'3 mm in November, nearly tripling in size.

I was in tears in the stall of a middle school bathroom as my pulmonologist said the words, ''I'm very concerned''. Another teacher came in and watched my class for twenty minutes so I could pull myself together. And the rest of the day ensued, with students sitting there oblivious to my plight, ignoring my requests to quiet down, to stay on task, one even asking me to walk over and hand back her work because she was ''too tired''.

And all I could think, all I could honestly think, was how much I wanted to be with my own baby.
How I could be standing there with breast cancer in my lung and die prematurely and should be spending every precious moment with my toddler who was in day care, so maybe, he might have some memory of me. And instead I with my students, working under an administration who replace me in two days if I dropped dead.

I felt ashamed of myself in that moment. I felt like a terrible mother. I felt like a terrible teacher for even thinking such things.

I just...felt terrible. Inadequate and not good enough in every aspect of my life.

My biopsy soon followed. And I made the mistake of underestimating the pain element entirely.

They began by assigning me to a curtained-off bed. Hospital booties in my favorite color...that's a good sign, right?

Before long I was in the procedure room,
being rolled onto my tummy and a bit on my side so they could inject the needles through my ribcage. I could feel the needles rub up against my bones.

Then they gave me a mask to wear which administered the twilight sedation. I tried to get lost in the contents of the room and out of my own head for a while as they took the biopsies. I could hear ''punch, punch, punch''.

By the time I was back in my ''room'', I was already feeling the pain. They gave me some morphine which helped enormously, as one may imagine.

I was home after some monitoring and an x-ray, to ensure that my lung wasn't at risk of collapse.

Luckily once I got home I was able to rest, and had a lovely far-away friend keep me company as the pain waxed and waned.

The next few days left me sore, and I couldn't exert my lungs in any way, so I had to make sure I didn't raise my voice or lift anything over five pounds.

The worst part was the waiting. I was terrified about the results.

When I was expecting the call to come in for the results I contacted the office.
Evidently my doctor had left at 2 o'clock and only a doctor could release the results.

I said that I needed his colleague to contact me THAT DAY with my results.
The old me would have said, ''Gee, if it's not too much trouble, could someone PLEASE call me today, if they have a moment?''

But, cancer tends to make one more assertive. And I was getting my results that day.

It wasn't until 6:45 p.m. that I got the call.

''Aytpical cells likely caused by severe inflammation.''

''So, it's not cancer?'', I asked, cautiously. Crossing my fingers. Literally.

''No, it's not cancer'', he replied.

''So, it's not malignant?''.

''No''.

''So, it's definitely benign? You are positive?''.

''Yes''.

''What caused it then? MY lung nodule?''.

He laughed. ''You're guess is as good as mine.''

I was shaking. I felt so sick to my stomach, I could barely move. Soon I was in bed, trembling. I was so relieved. It was almost unbelievable. It was as if I had just dodged a bullet. Cheated death. That really was what it felt like...like I had just cheated death.

I re-evaluated everything all over again, just as I had done before the last time I cheated death.

It was difficult, to be back in the same position almost exactly two years later. Total deju-vu.

The experience reminded me that cancer is the ultimate mind game.