If you’ve ever waited for lab results—especially the kind that could change your life—you know the emotional rollercoaster is real. It’s messy, unpredictable, and somehow still follows a pattern you don’t recognize until you’re already halfway through the loop.
For me, those early weeks of biopsies, appointments, and portal notifications hit while I was still juggling my full‑time job. I didn’t expect the emotional whiplash, but looking back, I can see the rhythm of it. Maybe you’ll notice the pattern too.
Waiting for results became its own chapter of my cancer journey—one that split my life into “before” and “after.” Today, I want to walk you through what that waiting period really felt like, how I coped, and what helped me stay grounded when everything felt uncertain.
Let’s talk about the emotional cycle of waiting for lab results—and how to survive it with compassion, support, and a little humor.
Before the Results: The Day Everything Changed
I waited almost a week for the official lab results after my first biopsy on the same day as my mammogram. If you’re just joining me, you can start reading about my cancer journey here →Choosing To Thrive.
Most cancer survivors (or thrivers, as many of us prefer) remember the exact date they learned the truth. Mine is October 2nd—the day I learned I had cancer.
There is life before cancer, and then there is life after. Every memory becomes timestamped. Every photo becomes a “before” or “after.”
The Mammogram That Shifted Everything
On October 2nd, I requested a mammogram after feeling a lump in my right breast. The radiologist gave me her professional opinion right there in the office—it was malignant.
Not everyone gets answers that quickly. Some women wait days to hear back about their mammogram images.
If you want to read more about what mammograms are really like, here’s another post you might love: The Day Everything Shifted: My Breast Cancer Diagnosis Story →here
The First Waiting Period: A Week of Emotional Whiplash
I was fortunate (yes, I’m working on perspective) that my radiologist had an opening that same afternoon for an ultrasound‑guided biopsy. That meant faster results.
But that week of waiting? A blur.
I allowed myself to cry, and I cried easily—an animal video on Instagram, a dropped sock, a commercial with soft music. My mind wandered into every worst‑case scenario because all I knew was:
- I had cancer
- I didn’t know what kind
- I didn’t know the stage
- I didn’t know the treatment
- I didn’t know how deadly it was
My brain did what brains do – filled in the blanks with fear.
If your partner feels like they’re walking on eggshells around you during this time, trust me—they’re not alone. It’s a completely normal part of the emotional chaos that comes with waiting, worrying, and not having answers yet.
One thing that helped us was using a “timeout word” whenever we noticed a conversation getting too heated or too emotional. Ours was purple nurple—ridiculous enough to break the tension and remind us we were on the same team.
Trying to Live Normally While Waiting
When I wasn’t at appointments, I went to work. Work felt like the only place where I still felt like me. I laughed. I joked. I hit my end‑of‑year goals.
Home was where I had cancer.
Work was where I could forget.
I kept my phone within arm’s reach at all times. My husband knew to expect a call from me—and to answer immediately—so we could listen to the doctor together.
One of our friends told us it helped to have someone else in appointments as an extra pair of ears. They were right.
The Power of a Second Set of Ears
My husband heard things I didn’t. He asked questions I never would’ve thought of. He took notes when my brain checked out from overwhelm.
His support was a lifeline.
If you’re going through this, I highly recommend bringing someone with you—someone calm, present, and supportive.
When the Results Hit the Portal
When lab results were posted online, we read them together. We didn’t always agree on whether to read them before hearing from the doctor, but I couldn’t sit on a notification. If the portal said “new test result,” I needed to know immediately.
This became the rhythm:
- A biopsy or MRI
- A day off work
- A nap with my cat
- A few days of normalcy
- A portal notification
- A new wave of fear
- Another appointment
- Another biopsy
This cycle continued until I was finally scheduled for my skin‑sparing full mastectomy.
Then everything got quiet.
Preparing for Surgery: The Stillness Before the Storm
I’d never had major surgery before. I’d never even broken a bone. Preparing for a full mastectomy felt surreal. If you’re looking for real‑life tips and doable steps to get ready for major surgery — breast surgery or a mastectomy included — you’ll definitely want to catch my next post.
And in that stillness, I leaned hard on the things that grounded me.
The Healing Power of Animals
We don’t talk enough about how healing animals can be.
My dog gives me an instant mood boost every morning and each time I come through the front door. She checks on me constantly—yes, even during bathroom breaks.
My cat, old and blind, is the perfect cuddle buddy for naps, binge‑watching, or reading. His purrs regulate my heartbeat and steady my breath.
If you’re looking for a furry companion, check your local humane society.
If you’re in Washington, here’s my favorite nonprofit cat rescue → Whiskers In Need (WIN). If you’re still unsure about a permanent addition, WIN is always looking for fosters – for just a day, weekend, or more.
Finding Moments of Normalcy
I’d go about my days laughing with coworkers, calling family, making jokes with friends. I didn’t physically feel sick, so it was easy to forget—until another appointment or result reminded me.
And because many of my appointments were in October—Breast Cancer Awareness Month—I had constant reminders. Especially while watching football. Thanks, Tom Brady.
Dark Humor, Friendship, and the Things That Keep Us Going
One of my coworkers, and friend, was a few months into her first pregnancy when I was diagnosed. We joked about the things growing inside our bodies without our permission.
She’d complain about her expanding hips and limited food options. I’d tell her how grateful I was to only have breast cancer. One day soon, the cancer would be cut out of me. Her situation? Not so simple.
We laughed. A lot.
Dark humor became a survival tool.
What Helped Me Through the Waiting
For me, the best medicine has been:
- Laughter
- Writing
- Cuddling my fur‑babies
- Talking with good friends
And giving myself permission to feel everything (and write it down)—fear, hope, anger, relief, confusion, and joy. And cry, when I needed to cry.
Need practical tips, emotional support, or a tiny spark of hope?
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