When the letter for my follow-up appointment arrived, I actually thought, “Wow, that was fast!” which, in hindsight, should’ve been my first clue that something was up. But no, I was too busy being annoyed about having to reschedule a meeting that morning and telling everyone I’d be back on campus by 10 a.m. I am the very picture of efficiency.

I showed up bright and early, still grumbling internally, and noticed a nurse with a MacMillan badge. Weird, I thought. Still didn’t connect the dots. Apparently my brain had decided to take the morning off. Dr Lump (aka The Otolaryngologist; aka The Ear, Nose & Throatist) then performed the eye-watering throat-inspection routine. She looked down my throat, slid a camera up my nose and down the back like she was launching a tiny expedition, and then calmly delivered the line:

“As we thought, I’m sorry to say it is cancer.”

I must’ve looked like I’d been unplugged from reality because The Oracle (aka Julie the Cancer Specialist Nurse) grabbed my hand and kept reassuring me they’d get me through it. Meanwhile I was internally yelling, WAIT, WHAT? CANCER?

They took a biopsy immediately (no time for emotional preparation) and sent me for an MRI. Since I didn’t have an appointment, they said it could take a while. I sat alone in that waiting room for two hours, feeling like I was floating outside my own body.

Every time I thought about telling The Worrier, I cried. I’d calm down and then the moment I pictured walking into the kitchen to say the words, I’d start again. By the time I got in the taxi home, I was one blinking neon sign away from a meltdown. “Be strong,” I kept telling myself. “You know how he’ll react.”

I remember walking down the hallway, entering the kitchen and there he was, eating a sandwich. Not even a dramatic sandwich. Just a normal one. And instead of delivering the perfectly rehearsed “Darling, we need to talk,” I absolutely lost it. Through a snot fountain I blurted, “IT’S CANCER!”

I’ll never forget the moment after. I looked at him—still holding the sandwich. Didn’t drop it. Didn’t put it down. He just looked at me with the same expression he has when the computer says no. My brain was screaming, HELLO? THIS IS THE PART WHERE YOU LEAP UP AND HUG ME!

But no. Sandwich remained.

LESSON 1: TAKE SOMEONE WITH YOU TO EVERY APPOINTMENT—EVEN THE ONES YOU THINK ARE BORING, ROUTINE, AND NOT WORTH WAKING ANYONE UP FOR.

LESSON 2: REMEMBER EVERYONE REACTS DIFFERENTLY. GIVE PEOPLE THE TIME TO PROCESS WHAT YOU ARE TELLING THEM.

Trust me. You do not want to face Big News alone, nor deliver it to a man holding a sandwich.

For the record, he did get up and gave me the tightest squeeze he has ever done in the 31 years together.