The journey ... and the first reactions

We left at 3am Friday and began our chaotic journey-- cab to the fast train, fast train to Seoul, bus from Seoul to Incheon, plane from Incheon to Chicago, then from Chicago to Ottawa, then from Ottawa to Halifax, then a drive from Halifax to Cape Breton. Although the whole trip was hectic and tiring, the worst part was sitting on the 12 hour flight from Incheon, SK to Chicago, USA. Although flying on a 747 aircraft equipped with seat computers, movies, music, and games, I could do nothing but think. It was excruciating. All I could think was that cancer was spreading through my body. I kept feeling the lump to see if it got any bigger. I went to the bathroom every hour to check on it. Mike watched movies, slept, and read like most normal people would do on a 12 hour flight, but I could do none of the above. Think. Think. Think. Crazy thoughts about my own death plagued me. I faught back the tears.

We were met in Halifax by my mom and dad, who came from Cape Breton to pick us up, and my cousin and friend Lindsey, who lives nearby. Everyone was excited to see me, but I was just tired at this point... understandable after my 2nd 2-day travel expedition in the run of a month. I was finally able to sleep for the 5 hour drive home.

We arrived home Saturday at around 2am. The remainder of the weekend would bring with it endless phonecalls, visits, and emails from friends, family, and other concerned people. It was great to hear from everyone and to know I had so much support. I was kept occupied and was encouraged by everyone to remain positive. Everyone assured me that I would be fine. As great as it is to hear this, I know that we are all only people and no one knows for sure how I will be. But nonetheless, in times like these you need to hear these things, no matter how true they may be.

At first, I didn't like the idea of being around many people. I started to get sick of telling people about my situation. I was sick of seeing that look on peoples' faces, that look of sympathy or of not knowing what to say. I just wanted people to treated me normal--afterall, I felt normal. I felt no different than I did a month, a year, or 5 years before. Except for the fact that people were telling me I had cancer. Everything was surreal at this time (and still is). Is it me that everyone is talking about?

A word of advise, though: When someone is diagnosed with cancer it does not mean they will die. I know that this is the first thing that people think of when they think of cancer. It is true that people die of cancer and it can be a deadly disease, but there is definitely a world of hope! 3/4 of people with breast cancer are still alive years down the road. I've been told of endless people living right now that had breast cancer 5, 10, 20 years ago. So please, don't look at me like you think I am a walking dead person. Look at me as someone who is going through a really rough time, who needs a lot of support and encouragement, and who is strong, brave, and hopeful of better times to come. Look at me as someone who has to overcome one of the toughest battles life may throw at someone. Look at me as someone who will be a much stronger, tougher, and more beautiful person who is ready to overcome all of life's minor battles to come, when she overcomes this disease. I don't want people to say "I don't know what to say," or "I feel so sorry for you," or to give me that look of nervousness. I want people to try their best to be confident in me, to give me hope, to tell me stories of inspiration, to keep me happy, and to be positive about my situation.