The phone call came just a week or so into the new year. When you have school-age children, the "new year" always signifies the beginning of school. Late August or early September, I cannot recall exactly, except it was during the kids' moan-and-groan period as the days of early morning alarms and nightly showers take over.
I was ill-equipped for that phone call. It should have been about the kids, or the upcoming Friday night football game or anything else friends chat about on the phone. Some people always light up your smile when you see their names on the caller ID, but my smile quickly faded when I heard the tone of my friend's voice.
"Breast cancer." Those are the only two words I vaguely recall from our conversation. One of my closest friends, his wife ... breast cancer.
I could not possibly fathom what he was going through as a father or as a husband to a wife who made him the big, huggable lovable person he was.
He would call with updates, and I would listen, never once feeling comfortable in anything I could say to him but trying my best to be encouraging, or uplifting, or at the very least, not offending. I learned a lot about my friend Eric Million. I learned a lot about courage and strength and most of all, love.
I also learned how to make that phone call when the doctor told us my wife, Kristi, had breast cancer.
Eric was absolutely equipped, and I quickly understood why I had been part of his circle during his wife Denise's battle with breast cancer. It laid the foundation for Kristi and me to begin our journey into this scary place. I will never forget the first words out of his mouth when I gave him the news: "Well, buddy, just get ready for the blessings, because they are coming."
It might sound like an odd reaction to such news, but over the next five weeks leading up to today, those words rang true. My initial reaction to Eric's call was that the world had turned upside down, but I quickly discovered that the world had turned right side up, just like he had. All of the little things Kristi and I wasted our time fretting over suddenly lost their importance and ability to gnaw at us.
We quickly found out this would be a journey that would require a really big boat to haul all our friends and loved ones from diagnosis to cure. We add new oars almost daily. One of the things we have become certain of through this is that we know we cannot change the direction of the wind, but God has given us a sail to raise and people to row to get us where we are supposed to be.
Kristi had a mammogram on March 26. Like all the ones before, it showed nothing alarming. That weekend, as we lay in bed, she nonchalantly asked me to feel a spot on the side of her breast. I didn't feel anything out of the ordinary until she rolled to her side. Immediately I felt the knot - slightly smaller than the one that developed in my throat. Since Kristi works at Erlanger hospital, I encouraged her to have it looked at when she returned to work.
Life quickly picked up its pace that week: from a wise nurse practitioner to a mammogram to a seasoned radiologist telling her he had seen over 350,000 mammograms and as her friend, he was blunt.
"I don't like the chances of this not being something bad," he told her.
Before Friday's sun had set, we knew from the biopsy my wife was positive for triple-negative breast cancer, a rare form of the disease that does not respond to targeted treatment and constitutes only an estimated 15 to 20 percent of all breast cancers. From her March mammogram to September, it had grown into a malignant tumor about 2 centimeters in diameter next to her chest wall.
Meetings with our surgeon, Dr. Alvaro Valle, and oncologist Dr. Larry Schlabach followed.
Kristi began owning her cancer.
We have just finished our third round of chemotherapy of what will be a 20-week treatment process. Then we will talk about surgical options. The goal is to shrink the tumor, make sure any seeds which might be elsewhere in her body are treated as well, and then rid Kristi of the tumor completely in what will likely be a bi-lateral mastectomy.
There is nothing easy or funny about treating breast cancer, but you would never know that hanging out in our home. With apologies to every other woman or man who has fought this disease, Kristi is the strongest, most courageous woman I have ever known.
We find humor at every turn. When it came time to cut Kristi's hair, tears flowed with laughter. From the Mohawk my son Connor cut into her scalp to my daughter Emma singing tunes from Les Miserables while Kristi did her best Ann Hathaway impression as her hair fell to the side, it was an experience we will never forget.
Kristi tells me she feels the prayers people send her way and wonders if she should be feeling as well as she does.
We have met strangers at the ball field who have battled cancer and immediately have a kinship with them. Our kids' ball teams have turned into second families. I cannot say enough about The Hustle Baseball program led by Ooltewah's Wes Caldwell. Central High School and especially my daughter's volleyball team led by Anne Brock have been the best. She put together a race team for today's Susan G. Kolmen Race for the Cure; there will be close to 50 people walking with us.
God is good and all of this was part of His plan for us. We openly embrace it.
I am thankful I have so many people by my side who love and care for Kristi - from Kristi's friends at Erlanger, to our CrossRoads Baptist family, from our own close-knit family to friends we have known a lifetime. We are excited about a future that is cancer-free, but we also know we have an outstanding prognosis because so many before us who have made breast cancer their top priority.
We know more about living than ever before. Precious minutes have replaced good days.
No husband is ever prepared for that phone call, but I know how to handle that call when I am needed for the next husband struggling to cope with his soulmate hurting by his side. I owe that much to Eric and Denise Million.
We are part of unique group of tough and loving people, and we are more determined than ever to take this opportunity of turning something bad into something good.
Pink most definitely rocks.