The day of my biopsy, I went alone. I was ushered around the hospital, feeling like a lost child until I was finally directed to the intervention radiology department; deep in the hospital basement.

I sat there sullenly in the waiting room, fiddling with my sweater and looking down at my feet, occasionally locking eyes with other uneasy patients as their names were called to go in. The nurse picked up on my anxiousness and was very kind and reassuring that I had one of the best doctors taking care of me.

They first rubbed an orange disinfectant over my neck. The doctor came in and examined my nodule for himself as the nurse guided the ultrasound over my neck. The pressure of the ultrasound on my throat was so unpleasant. Its heaviness weighed directly on my tumor so that I could feel exactly where the mysterious lump was sitting. It felt like I was being strangled. Then the pathologist entered the room and set up her microscopes and testing kits off to the side.

First came the numbing shot. I felt a pinch as the needle sunk deeper and deeper into my throat. I closed my eyes and squeezed the blanket by my side. Next, the even longer and more precise needle was injected to extract a sample of the tumor. It wasn’t as painful due to the numbing, but it was far more uncomfortable. He moved the needle in all sort of directions, causing a strange tug and pull sensation inside of me as I felt the instrument maneuvering deep below the surface. Then he pulled out the needle, pinching my skin as the tissue inside the tumor was sucked out.

There was about five minutes of stillness and silence as the pathologist examined the sample to determine if it was large enough to accurately determine its malignancy. I stared at her with intensity, searching for facial cues on if she saw cancerous characteristics or not. I continued to study her expression as she told the doctor that she had enough to determine its status. She gave away nothing. A bandage was placed over the “site” and I was handed an ice pack and sent on my way.

I drove through Chick-fil-a for a peppermint chocolate milkshake and cried in the parking lot before making my way home.

In addition to the fear, now I had pain as a reminder of what was growing inside me.

It felt as if I had been punched in the throat. Every swallow, turn of head, and word spoken out loud took effort and resulted in pain.

I carried on like normal and went to my shift with a turtleneck to hide the bruising and the lingering disinfectant on my skin. I put frozen spoons on my eyes to reduce the tear-provoked swelling.

And then, I waited for the results that would change my life.