A routine mammogram. A follow up mammogram. A biopsy. One phone call.

Don’t worry about sounding professional. Sound like you. There are over 1.5 billion websites out there, but your story is what’s going to separate this one from the rest. If you read the words back and don’t hear your own voice in your head, that’s a good sign you still have more work to do.

365 days. My medical oncologist. My medical oncologist PA. My surgical oncologist. My surgical oncologist PA. My plastic surgeon. My plastic surgeon PA. My OBGYN. My therapist. 45 doctors appointments. A single mastectomy with lymph node removal. A mastectomy of my other breast with reconstruction of both. A reconstruction revision of both breasts with liposuction to retrieve necessary fat tissue. 

This small 2 x 4 rug is where I was 365 days ago at this very moment. Fetal position. Sobbing as if no one else could hear me. Begging. Pleading with Jesus. Please let the Drs be wrong. Let this be a bad dream. Please don’t make me tell my husband goodbye. Please don’t take me away from my son. Please God, I am not ready to die. What if it is in my lymph nodes. What if it’s spread to other places in my body. I literally can not die, Lord Jesus please. It was the most gut wrenching, physically painful, fearful cry I had every experienced. My entire body shook. This body that I no longer knew. This body that let me down. This body that was trying to kill me. 

That night, I let it all out. By myself. Then I collected myself, cooked dinner for my boys, watched a show with my son in the recliner with me and silently let tears flow. He never knew I shed a tear. 

Then again on repeat. This 2 x 4 rug became my safe place. It would catch my tears. Listen to my bargaining with Jesus. Kept my complete anger with God a secret for me. Was a soft area that cushioned my violent sobs. 

This 2 x 4 rug also comforted me. Heard my pep talks to myself. Kept my secrets of how I didn’t know how to be strong. Heard my constant prayers asking Jesus to give me strength to be Wife, Mom, Daughter, Warrior. 

This 2 x4 rug witnessed redemption the day that I sat up, wiped my tears, fixed my ponytail, looked in the mirror and said to the girl looking at me…I will not die. I will not leave my husband. I will not have to tell my son goodbye. It will not spread. It will not define me. It will not defeat me. I will survive. Yes, I will lose my breasts. But I will not lose myself. 

Today, I am I am not celebrating the day I was diagnosed with Breast Cancer, I am celebrating the day that I decided I would beat Breast Cancer. I may have not fully believed my declaration but I knew this was no surprise to God and God had me. 

Today, I celebrate not having a single sip of alcohol for 365 days. Was I an alcoholic, no. Did I drink to mask hard days or when I needed to relax, absolutely. Do I consider it a miracle I was able to quit drinking completely after the Dr simply said, it’s best not to partake in alcohol, heck yes!! That was the first of MANY miracles.

Today I’ll simply say:: This past year was my hardest, scariest, most physically painful, most trying, most freeing, most telling, most beautifully heartbreaking, most wonderfully challenging, year of my life. I am still not done. Once you have cancer, you’re never fully done. I’ll be going to follow ups year after year, I’ll be taking a hormone suppressant daily for the next 5-10 years. I pray that one day my breasts will have feeling again. I pray that the nightmares one day stop. But I am the most joy-filled, most thankful, healthiest and happiest I’ve ever been in my entire life. And there is one reason for that. 

God. He saw me on that 2 x 4 rug. He met me there. My lowest point. He met me there. Every day. He meets me where I am.  

My son never once saw me on my 2 x4 rug. But some days he finds himself there and says, “Momma, this spot is so cozy.”

Yes, my baby, it is. That’s where God meets you.