Who’s on first?

When I hung up on the call with my gynecologist on that day, it took a while for the reality to settle and the news to feel real. And then it started. Figuring out who to tell, what to say, and in what order. There’s no one way that fits all scenarios, and no right way to tackle the words to use.

I have a close circle of women friends and I could just blurt out the details to them. They knew I’d been for an ultrasound and a biopsy. Writing an update for them was my first attempt at shaping how I was feeling. We’ve navigated health journeys together, and I knew I’d find unconditional support. My initial framing was this was ‘the best case scenario of a bad biopsy result.’ I was testing whether I believed it too.

My next message was for the masters’ women on my running team. Though we’re a distributed group, many of us see each other once a year at running camp in the summer. From them, I asked if anyone had returned to running after a hysterectomy and crossed my fingers for stories that could be my benchmark for recovery after surgery. Like my friends, I got unconditional support — and a few connections that have become part of my circle for navigating this journey.

This brought me to the hardest part — crafting a message for my siblings, who all live in different parts of the country than me. I sent a group email first and followed up with 1:1 calls. My sisters both live in the medical world and I loved that my gynecologist had offered a group call. ‘Don’t hesitate if they want to get into the weeds on this.’ My brother, who is younger than me, and closest to me in personality, was initially taken aback (and maybe a little upset that I called him last?) and then rose to the occasion and we had one of our ‘life updates’ that covered much more than my news.

The four of us agreed that telling my parents — both in their 90s — didn’t make sense. At least not right now. The worry wouldn’t add to their quality of life, and until I’ve been through surgery and have staging results, there’s no way of giving them answers to let them know how simple or complex my treatment plan and recovery might be.

Telling friends and colleagues got a little more complicated. I broke the news to my BFF on the phone, knowing she’d need to take some time to process for herself. We have a pact and I have no intention of letting down my side of the bargain.

Then I crafted a group Facebook message for my local circle of friends. It wasn’t my favorite way of breaking the news, but I was going to see most of them in person the following weekend for my annual birthday/tree-trimming pot luck and that seemed like an even worse idea. That weekend when we saw each other in person, there were hugs and then we carried on with the festivities. It all felt normal, which was what I needed.

Telling work colleagues is an ongoing work in progress. My work is in the not-for-profit space and I had just changed jobs when I got my diagnosis. It’s hard enough telling this kind of news to someone you know well, but having the conversation when you’ve only known the person for a few months is anxiety inducing. It turned out to be one of the easier conversations I had. I discovered the chair of my board of directors — my day-to-day boss — also chairs the board of a biotech start up looking at improving outcomes for endometrial patients. He was kind and offered me great context for the questions I was developing for my pre-op consult.

What have I learned in the two months since that call? The emotional energy of having these conversations can be as draining as pushing yourself hard on race day. In a word, exhausting. That first week, I’d find myself spent at the end of day and I hadn’t even laced up my shoes for any kind of run.

Managing the reactions of those you need in your support team takes work to balance with your own emotions. Sometimes it takes a day or two to reset before I’m ready to have the conversation again.

Pacing myself is a better approach than an all-out sprint. There’s no point in going out too fast (my worst habit in any race) only to find yourself searching for the reserves to get across the finish line.