Diagnosis Day: What I Felt, What I Learned

Patti McGee is an author, a massage therapist and breast cancer survivor of 20 years. Catch up on all of Patti's blogs here!

Leading up to my diagnosis, cancer wasn’t even on my radar. I found a lump, yes, but everyone around me — doctors, nurses, friends — reassured me it was probably nothing. “It’s a good sign that it hurts,” they said. “Cancer doesn’t hurt.” And because the lump was just below my collarbone, I was told that, at 39, it was unlikely to be anything serious. I clung to those words. I let them soothe my nerves as I scheduled the surgery to remove the lump. I wasn’t worried. Not really. Not until the day everything changed

I remember sitting in the surgeon’s office, my mother by my side. We were calm, almost casual, waiting for what we both expected to be good news. But when the surgeon walked in, I sensed a shift. He sat down, looked me in the eye, and told me I had breast cancer. In that moment, my mind went blank. The words seemed to float in the air, heavy and surreal. I tried to listen, tried to focus on what he was saying, but my thoughts spiraled away from me. Am I going to die? What will happen to my son? He’s so young, how will he cope if I’m not here?

I’d always thought of myself as strong, but that day, I felt powerless. The fear was overwhelming, a tidal wave that threatened to engulf me. I was glad my mother was there to hear what the surgeon said so she could remind me.

The surgeon explained my options: a lumpectomy or a mastectomy. I was numb, unsure how to make such a monumental decision. So I asked him the only question I could think of: “If I were your daughter or wife, what would you recommend?” He said he’d recommend a lumpectomy. I trusted him, so that’s what I chose. During surgery, they removed the lump and all 21 of my lymph nodes. One lymph node was positive.

It was December 2002, right before Christmas. The holiday season, usually a time of joy and celebration, was suddenly overshadowed by fear and uncertainty. I went through the motions for my family’s sake, but every moment was tinged with anxiety. I had to undergo more tests to see if the cancer had spread. The surgeon told me I’d get the results the day after Christmas. That holiday was a blur of forced smiles and sleepless nights, my mind racing with what-ifs.

When the call finally came, I held my breath. Relief washed over me when the surgeon said the cancer hadn’t spread. But then, as if the universe couldn’t let me breathe too easily, he told me the margins weren’t clear, that I’d need a second surgery.

By February 1, 2003, I finally had all the answers with all the bone scans, other tests, and surgeries behind me. Now it was time to find an oncologist and determine the next steps. The path ahead was uncertain, but at least I knew what I was facing.

Looking back over the past 22 years as a survivor, there’s so much I wish I’d known on diagnosis day. I wish I’d known that it’s okay to feel scared and lost, that strength doesn’t mean never crying. I wish I’d known that the journey doesn’t end when treatment is over — that healing is a process, one that takes time and support. I wish I’d known that asking for help isn’t a weakness, but a lifeline.

Most of all, I wish I’d known how resilient I could be. That even in my darkest moments, I’d find reasons to hope, to fight, to dream about the future. Cancer changed my life in ways I couldn’t have imagined. Still, it also introduced me to a community of survivors, caregivers, and professionals who would walk beside me every step of the way.

If you’re reading this and facing your own diagnosis day, know that you are not alone. The road ahead may be long and complex, but there is light — even if you can’t see it yet. Trust yourself, lean on others, and give yourself permission to feel everything. Healing isn’t a linear process, but with time and support, you will find your way.

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