2. A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Fort....

First of all, if you've never had to deal with a cancer diagnosis for yourself or anyone in your family - it may be hard to understand that people deal with this type of news in different ways.  My sharing this isn't meant to be entertaining as much as therapeutic and honest - because today, I REALLY fucked up.

My second appointment with the doctor found me laying in an MRI for a considerable time, followed by eight different biopsy specimens pulled from my tumor with what looked and sounded like a mini harpoon gun, that she aimed with the assistance of the ultrasound so she new where to strike.  I watched the whole thing.  Not an ounce of pain - very fascinating.  Dr. Maya is kind and encouraging and very respected in her field.  But....

"So, Knikki, now that the procedures are over I can tell you that it's definitely cancer.  But I don't want you to worry.  It's only Stage 2.  That's a good thing.  But we're going to have to operate soon.  I don't want you to cry about this or anything.  We're going to take care of you."

It's ONLY Stage 2, girlfriend - why are you getting emotional?  Ugh.

I stayed perky and optimistic and smiled politely while thanking her for her expertise and encouragement - using EVERY skill that my acting professors taught me until I got out to the car and could start to feel things without prying eyes seeing my pain.  And then I started driving home.

Very fast.

In the rain.

On a windy highway.

I was through the Macedonian border and back in Kosovo - nearing home when the police pulled me over.  THAT was the moment the tears decided not to wait any longer.  Within minutes the cops were hugging me, and talking about their trips to Vegas and how much they love America and how they'd pray for my health.  Bullet dodged.

I DEFINITELY slowed down after that.

Five minutes later, I got arrested on base.  Yup.  Arrested.  For real.  Handcuffs, back of the police car.  Sworn statement.  Do you want a lawyer?  The whole shebang.

I had a bottle of wine in my backpack and the car was searched coming back on to the base.

"Ma'am, do you know you're not allowed to bring this on base?"

"Yes.  I do."

So why did you do that, dumbass?

Here's the crazy thing - I LOVE my sober life here.  I think my sobriety has been one of the greatest blessings of my life - and the result of a lot of love and growth and support of my friends from Ireland.  I DON'T miss my old life.  

But I was ANGRY.  RAGING angry.  Angry at the news.  Angry at the world.  Angry that for all the good I've done to change my life around, God through this at me now.  Obviously, I'm still battling with anger.  It's definitely one of the phases.  In that moment, I wanted to throw something - I wanted to break something - break a bottle, break a glass, break a rule....  I wanted to do something to feel alive and young and not old and ridden with cancer and bad knees.

When the anesthesia wore off, and the adrenaline wore off, and I was sitting there alone handcuffed in the back seat of the police car knowing there's a good chance I'll lose my job and get expelled from the country - I kept thinking to myself....

I accept the consequences of my actions.  I did this.  I won't pretend that this didn't happen or try to make up excuses.  This is how I dealt with something horrific in that moment - and while I'm not proud of it, it doesn't define who I am as a person. But damn, if I had thought for a second beyond the anger at how this was going to make my company look....I wouldn't even have entertained the thought.

Because no matter how ANGRY I am, or how scared or frustrated or emotional - I need to make sure that during this process I'm not pushing MY pain onto others - intentionally or otherwise.

Sharing this story with you has me feeling SUPER vulnerable.  But it's real - and it's okay to admit that, yeah, I'm human and sometimes I screw up.  Usually not in this big of a way - but hey, I've never had this type of a scare before.

So tomorrow I will pick myself up.  I will clean my room.  I will take my meds.  And I'll do my best to be kind, and to do good work, and to hold it together until the results of the advanced biopsy come back next week and I know what the future holds for me and my boobs.

And when that happens, I will try to deal with whatever comes like an adult.

And if I can't - there's a kickboxing bag at the gym that will take the brunt of my wrath.