O Godot, Where Art Thou?

Waiting is excruciating. I've spent 16 years obsessing over the cancer, 12 days dreading my biopsy and 48 hours anticipating its results. It's almost a relief to finally get it, so I can get on with getting it out and over with.

I ask my therapist if having a god would have eased this endless uncertainty? Not necessarily an omnipresent, all-knowing one, but, you know, just someone who could keep vigil while I took a nap, or a shower, or a coffee break.

I tell her about my brief experiment with prayer. When my mother was sick, I walked an entire mountain trek, silently chanting her name. Five days later she was gone, never to return.

"What were the chances," she asks, "of Deepa, in India, falling in love with Ranabir, from Houston, who lives by the best cancer hospital in the world, where they discover your tumor, before it barely even exists?!"

"I see what you mean." I reply "Someone's watching over me."

Maybe I don't have to call god, god, for god, to be god.

So thank you, person watching over me. I guess you were around the whole time I was napping and showering and caffeinating.

The Sum of All Fears

I've had 16 years to prepare for this moment in my life. From the day my mom got breast cancer at 50, the awareness of my elevated risk has become an inseparable part of my being. I've denied and avoided it, raged and cried, resented and negotiated. But it's a given. A constant. Embedded in the DNA that informs every cell in my body.

Yesterday, I was diagnosed with DCIS, or ductal carcinoma in situ - a very, very early stage, non-invasive cancer of the breast - usually treated with a lumpectomy, followed by radiation.

Since January, I've been screened as a high-risk patient at MD Anderson, one of the best cancer hospitals in the world, and, coincidentally, a short walk from our home. I'll be having both my surgery and treatment there.

As many of you know, I recently fully recovered from a pretty brutal depression and am in great shape mentally. I feel strong and optimistic and filled with gratitude - to have the earliest possible diagnosis and access to talented doctors and excellent care.

I'm surrounded by my beautiful boys, amazing friends, and compassionate doctors and therapists, all of whom have cared for me as if I were one of their own. I'm counting on all of you for long-distance love and support.

One request - I've learnt how to effectively advocate for myself in the medical system and am 100% confident in the choices I'm making. I would prefer not to receive advice on alternative therapies, dietary changes, or questions about whether I'm making the right choices, although I'm sure they all come from a space of concern and love.

I intend to do some writing through this journey. I've always found it therapeutic. There's something vaguely liberating about confronting the sum of all your fears, looking it in the eye, and saying, "Hey! You've got nothing on me!"