Invasive ductal carcinoma is, they tell me, the most common form of breast cancer and, it turns out, the form with which I was recently diagnosed.

I found the monster myself, after experiencing sharp pain. The pain was one reason I didn’t think it was cancer. There is no history of breast cancer in my family – though there is an extensive history of other types of cancer on my mother’s side.

But the lump didn’t fit any of the criteria I’ve always read indicates cancer, so I waited a month to see if whatever it was would go away or develop into an obvious infection. It did neither, so I went to the doctor.

Most of the doctors to whome I was referred that day – in an unusual rush of activity for the HMO I’ve been part of all my life – agreed that it was not likely cancer, but took several tests, just in case.

The biopsy confirmed a cancer diagnosis.

Getting that news was a surreal experience. It came by phone, while I was in the middle of a meeting, making it impossible to yell out “NO!” like I really wanted to, and equally impossible to pay adequate attention to the rest of the meeting.

I’m not sure how I got through it, actually. I don’t remember anything that happened or was said that night after the moment the doctor told me over my cell phone that I have cancer.

The following day was even worse, as the truth of the matter sunk in and I began to realize that the possibility existed that I already carried the disease that would kill me and prevent me from living to see my beautiful sons marry and have children of their own, (not to mention the completion of the remodel/addition from hell).

Not being independently wealthy, I had to carry on with work as though I were not walking around with a deadly thing growing inside my body.

Oddly and most fortunately, my brother was already scheduled to visit that week, so we could mark the fifth anniversary of our mother’s death, as well as her birthday, and there are some who suggest this is less coincidence than intentional intervention and I like to think so.

I briefly considered stoically keeping this information to myself, but I’m too scared and feeling too sorry for myself for that. Besides, I want everyone I know who believes in a higher power to put in a good word for me. It couldn’t hurt, I figure.

So far, I believe I have at least four Jewish and three Christian congregations – in Northern and Southern California – praying on my behalf, which I think is extremely cool.

So far, letting people know has been a positive thing.

Nearly everyone I know now ends every conversation with an “I love you,” which is wonderful and something most people don’t do in normal times.

If there’s a good side to this, that’s it. A frightening diagnosis like this gives people the chance to let each other know they appreciate each other, something you don’t get when a loved one dies suddenly.

Having people know also has brought lots of revelations from those who have survived or know of others who have survived the same or a similar diagnosis, which inspires hope.

So, so far, the good news is the doctors believe the cancer was caught very early and is very small, meaning there’s a good chance it hasn’t spread, which would significantly increase my chances of surviving. We’ll have a better idea after the surgery scheduled to remove the offending cells and some surrounding tissue to check for clean margins.

Keep your fingers crossed, OK?

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