Jen + Cancer, Chapter Two

I don't remember the five days from that point until my surgery very well, but I do remember that I was more excited to be done with school for the semester than I was worried about the lump. I had gotten straight A's, which felt like a major achievement, and I just wanted to relax.
I decided not to tell my mom what was going on, but I (reluctantly) told my dad. My thinking was that my mom would be too worried, and in my mind, there was nothing to worry about. The lump would come out, it would be a cyst as my surgeon suspected, and I would keep on keepin' on. My dad was always so lost in his own world that he would probably forget I told him anything within ten minutes.
I was wrong, on both counts. My dad said that he and my stepmother would be there for the surgery. I was grateful, but still sure there was no need to take time off to be there for something so minor.
It's weird how well I remember that I wasn't worried. But why should I have been? I had no risk factors. I was only 35, I had no family history, I didn't smoke, and I had never taken birth control pills. I was reasonably healthy, although I definitely could have been exercising more (read: at all).
Bill and Hunter came with me. I was iffy on Hunter being there, but his mind was made up, and it secretly thrilled me that he wanted to be there.
Or he wanted to miss school.
Regardless, he was there.
The surgery part didn't scare me. I had no concerns of complications, and I was already getting used to blood draws and their corresponding needles.
I got prepped, then wheeled away to take my long nap. That is when I discovered the best part of surgery: the warm blankets. Oh my gosh, imagine pulling a warm, soft blanket out of the dryer. Then imagine someone else draping you with it just so, in order to ensure your comfort. So awesome.
The anesthesiologist introduced himself to me, and that's the last thing I remembered.
I woke up back in my little hospital room. Bill was there, and Hunter, and my dad and stepmom, and the surgeon. I think they were all there when I woke up. I know for sure they were all there when he told me.
If you've read my previous post about my husband and me, you may recall that I said there have only been a couple of times that I've heard news that made the world around me disappear and white noise fill my head. This was the other one.
"We got it out," he began, "and it was cancer."
The movie 50/50 did a very good job of portraying what that white noise was like, by the way. That's all I have to say about that.
Always articulate, I took the news in and spoke.
"OK."
He kept talking, with the occasional pause, which prompted me to say "OK" each time.
Turns out he was giving me important information in that talk. I got none of it.
In my mind, all he said was that he got it all. Sure, it was a setback, but he said he got it ALL, and that was that. Good thing we caught it early!
The parts I missed was that there would be another surgery, soon. An exploratory surgery, to check and see if it had spread to my lymph nodes.
When I realized that this was to happen the next week, on December 29, I was very, very grouchy.