A Surprise

I keep reflecting on these powerful words: “it’s cancer’—and then ‘it’s cancer’ again.

When I received my original diagnosis in January 2020, the news caught me completely off guard. My wife and I were enjoying life in Puerto Rico, eagerly anticipating the arrival of our first son. As a pilot, we had chosen to stay in the Caribbean for the bustling winter season, having arrived in late October with plans to remain until May.

For all our medical appointments, we traveled back to Louisiana, my home state. During a routine baby appointment in January, my amazing wife also scheduled my annual mammogram.

Just as we were preparing to leave for Louisiana, the earth trembled beneath us. Earthquakes shook the island, and we faced intermittent water outages and sporadic electricity. In the midst of this chaos, we made the brave decision for her to stay in Louisiana with family until the storm had passed while I returned to my work.

Once I was in Louisiana, I attended my mammogram appointment. The doctor recommended an ultrasound due to something unusual. Initially, she thought it could be just a cyst. A few days later, I returned for the ultrasound, where the technician performed her tests, and moments later, the doctor came in to conduct a second ultrasound herself. While she still suspected it might be nothing serious, she advised a biopsy to confirm things. At that moment, I felt frustrated; all I wanted was to get back to work.

When the day for the biopsy arrived, I completed the procedure and prepared to fly back to the island, leaving my pregnant wife behind. Naturally, she was worried for me. I promised her everything would be alright, even though doubt hung in my mind. I was determined to shield her spirit for the sake of our baby.

After a couple of days back at work, I received a call from the nurse on a Friday. We played phone tag all day, battling against the poor phone service of the islands. I left her a voicemail to explain when I could talk, and she replied to let me know the office would close soon, but she would reach out from home.

In that moment, it felt like I had been punched in the stomach. This surely wasn’t good news. I rushed back to my condo, took a few deep breaths, and downed a couple of tequila shots to ease the stress. When I finally answered the call, I heard those life-altering words: “it’s cancer.”

From that point, the world seemed to spin off its axis. My mind raced with concern for how my pregnant wife would take this news, and the distance between us felt impossible. We were apart, unable to comfort each other, which made the situation all the more painful.

After the call ended, I was overwhelmed with emotion; it was a raw, ugly cry. But as I wiped my face and steadied my breath, I knew I needed to reach out to my wife. I composed myself and broke the news to her as gently as I could. Hearing her cry from miles away broke my heart. I immediately texted her parents, asking them to check in on her.

After that call, it felt as though the world had stopped around me. In my quiet Caribbean condo, the silence felt deafening. I didn’t know what to do next—sleep, walk, or head to a bar? But I realized that despite the overwhelming uncertainty, I had a choice in how to move forward.

For the next week, I navigated life in a fog, but it was during that time that I truly understood the value of connection and support. When I was finally reunited with my wife, it felt like coming home. Together, we could face whatever challenges lay ahead. We would not let fear define us but instead lean on each other and our love, ready to tackle this journey together, hand in hand.