SOMETIMES THE PICTURE IS THE STORY

It doesn't matter how beautiful the facility is or that there is a valet ready to help you out your car.

It doesn't matter that the people inside this building are some of the kindest, compassionate and skilled human beings on the planet.

What does matter?

This is the building into which I hobbled in April of 2006 to drop off films for a radiologist to review.

This is the building where two separate office biopsies were performed in May of that same year.

This is the building where I met with a breast surgeon in June of 2006 to schedule a surgical biopsy to remove atypia which was almost certainly just abnormal cells.

This is the building where I was told "You have cancer" in July.

This is the building where I met with genetics in August to discuss BRCA testing and the subsequent inconclusive results.

This is the building where I went with my mom and my dearest friend in September to meet my oncologist.

And in October of 2006, this is the building where I would begin my chemotherapy journey to make sure any rogue cells would be (hopefully) destroyed.

And on October 18th, 2011, this is the building from which I exited, exactly one week prior to the Fifth Anniversary of the commencement of "Let's Poison AnneMarie."

Five years ago, a petrified patient.

And this is what a "survivor" looks like during follow up exam time.

This is what a survivor feels like waiting for results DESPITE their stage at diagnosis or their statistical prognosis.

At follow up time, statistics don't matter.  This is the face of a survivor.  Still petrified.