So how's Ann?

Ann is 33 years old.
Ann is typing on her laptop in bed.
Ann needs a shower.
Ann has breast cancer.

I never thought (never ever) that I would have breast cancer. You see, I had plans, and this wasn't one of them. Another baby, a couple of new business ideas, and growing old with Dave - I was thinking along those lines.

About a month ago, I noticed blood in my bra. Just a tiny little spot. "That's weird," I thought.

The next day, I thought, "Hmm...that's definitely weird."

The day after that, I thought, "Is that the same spot from yesterday?"

Always tiny, always easy to dismiss. Until one day, when my toddler and I were wrestling and I knew that last tackle hurt more than it should have, and I checked and found a shiny-wet blood stain the size of a nickel in my bra.

Okay, gross. TMI, you say. But I thought I had an infection. That's probably what you would have thought too. But you would have been wrong. Because I have breast cancer.

The next day, I was in my doctor's office. Looking back, I think she knew right away, but mercifully, she didn't let on. Two days after that, I was getting my first mammogram. (Did I mention I'm 33?) Then I had an ultrasound, and it seemed to take an awful long time. I wondered why all of this had to spoil my happy memories of the ultrasound room. The radiologist came in. She wanted to look in real time. That's when I started to think maybe this wasn't an infection after all.

I have a tumor at 10 o'clock. I have nasty, uneven microcalcifications sprinkled all through my breast like jimmies. I have cancer in my lymph node. I'm learning a lot of big and/or funny-sounding words.

Before the biopsies came back, I cried. I cried all the time. I had to run from the room when my husband brought my son home because his little two-year-old face set me off. I cried in the shower, which made me feel dirtier.

Now I know I have cancer. Now I'm immersed in the minutia. Is it estrogen positive? (yes) Is it HER2 positive? (yes) When will I have the mastectomy? (...)

Meeting with the oncologist on Monday. She'll fill in the few remaining blanks. Then I'll know what will happen to me. One thing is already determined.

I'm going to kick this cancer's ass.