Author's Note: Hi! This is a new story, yes. I might be crazy for posting it, but I actually do have a bunch of new stories and several chapters to the others already written, so it shouldn't be much of a problem (until it gets to be, I already see it coming lol).
This is my most personal story yet. Fun fact is that I had the first chapter drafted already about 2 years ago, but I just left it there hanging between all my stories because I wasn't sure where I wanted this to go. Did I want it to have a happy ending? A sad ending? A Cancer diagnose or just a scare...? Yeah, I couldn't decide, so I just let it rest with the rest of my "to be written" stories. Then, 7 months ago I got diagnosed with breast cancer in real life, and this story came back to me. I know where this is going now, and be warned, it might not be pretty. I need to write about the hell I've lived for 7 months and I can't do it if it's not through fictional characters.
In the end, though, it's just another stupid love story.
Trigger warnings for this story: Cancer. Sickness. Drugs and side effects. Possible death. Depression and anxiety. I will try to put up the warnings as they come in the chapters, but this is about how it's going to go, so if any of these trigger you, read at your own risk. And if you or any person you know are struggling with anything similar, or with any other expression of the warnings, you can always reach out to me if you want to talk, but please do not hesitate in looking for professional help. You are not alone.
"How long has this bump been here?" Dr. Schuester, a middle-aged blonde man, asked her as he palmed the side of her left breast tentatively yet professionally, his eyes not leaving hers.
"For around two months, Doc" Santana replied unemotionally. William Schuester had been her doctor for almost ten years now, and she trusted him completely, but having a bump on a breast and a swollen axilla was always a big deal for any woman, she needed to keep her anxiety on check in front of him.
"Why didn't you tell me earlier, Ms. Lopez? Usually women freak out the very first day they find something odd on their breasts" he smiled softly at the Latina, drawing his fingers upwards to palm the swollen spot on her axilla.
"My father was a doctor, too" Santana answered with a sigh "I kind of freaked out the first day too" she added with a sad laugh "But he taught me that anything, especially anything regarding breasts starts to be worrying after 21 days. I guess after day number 21 I started hoping I was an exception and it would just take one day more to disappear, and here we are, day 60 and now I have a swollen armpit too" her eyes wandered all over the doctor's office, looking everywhere but at him, breathing slightly shallowly. He noticed her uneasiness and, after a few seconds, retrieved his hand from her body, gesturing her to get dressed again and to sit in front of him. Unfortunately the conversation was far from over.
"How did you notice it?" he asked softly once both of them were seated
"I was showering, I noticed it when I was rubbing shower gel on that side" she half lied. She was in the shower, yes, but it wasn't exactly her who had noticed it. She was about to have hot steamy shower sex with her soon-to-be ex-husband when he cupped her left breast roughly, then he stopped dead on his track and asked something among the lines of 'babe, what's this?', but Mr. Schuester didn't need to know that, as I said, she was getting divorced, so it didn't matter anymore that he had been the one to notice it.
"Okay, I have to be frank with you, Santana" that caught her attention, and she focused her gaze on him. She knew him well enough to know that the moment he used her first name, he meant serious business "You need to see a gynaecologist. First and foremost to check that bump. In my opinion it's not really worrying, it moves around, it is well delimited and the edges aren't sharp or irregular, and your swollen axilla could be only due to stress and anxiety, but we better be safe than sorry" he paused, offering her a pamphlet with some information and a few phone numbers "But also, because you haven't gotten a vaginal cytology test for a few years now, and you should know that we recommend to take one every year, especially since you are young, and married, with a healthy sex life for what I know. Again, we'd better be safe than sorry" his words made Santana shift uncomfortably on her seat and clean her throat awkwardly. Better get this over as soon as possible.
"Well, you can change whatever you need to change on my medical history, I'm not married anymore" almost "And my sex life is non-existent at the moment for evident reasons" she said, thankful that he didn't say anything in response, he just typed something on his computer "But okay, I'll go get checked. Can I leave now?" she asked getting up from her chair and checking that all her clothes were on the right places.
"Sure, give me a call when you get the results" he said, offering her an empathetic smile.
"Will do, Mr Schue" she said with her signature cocky smile and left the office. Once she got into her car, she nearly slammed her forehead against the steering wheel. Can anything go even worse this fucking year? She asked herself with a sigh.
See, Santana Lopez was a Hispanic woman in her early thirties who had it all. She had an awesome husband, a bunch of awesome friends and a job that she loved over everything else. She was the owner and manager of the biggest animal shelter in the city. Yeah, if you saw her, you'd never think that was her job, or if you saw her teenager self you'd absolutely never think that was her dream job. But she was extremely happy with it, and she made a lot of money to be honest. She had the perfect life, but deep down she knew it was all a facade and then suddenly, out of the blue, everything started to go downhill.
First she lost one of her best friends, Matt Rutherford, his wife and their daughter, who happened to be Santana's goddaughter, to a car crash in early January that year, inducing her into a couple months of a mild depression. Thanks to her friends Quinn, Noah, Sugar, and her husband, Jacob, she recovered from the emotional turmoil faster than anyone thought she would. But in the meantime her business encountered a few financial problems, which did no good to her emotional problems, but thankfully she got over them too, and now her business was perfectly fine again, of that she was extremely proud. And then, out of the blue, her seven year marriage started shattering. At first she thought Jacob was cheating on her, but he was too much of a good man to do that, at least not without confessing it right after. She knew deep down that it was her fault. She had tried to be the perfect wife for seven years, but it's only so much that a man can take of someone not being her true self, ever.
After months of walking on thin ice, two days prior to the doctor's appointment, during their Thanksgiving dinner with his family, she decided it was time to stop fighting. She asked him for a divorce as nonchalantly as she could, but obviously maybe she could have done it in a more private situation. They hadn't talked since, and he still hadn't really agreed, but she knew he would, not that he had so much of a choice anyway.
And now her doctor was telling her that she needed a deeper checking because he wasn't sure of what she had, because it could be nothing, but it could be something. And something, given the circumstances, usually meant something bad.
Holding back her tears she started her car and started driving. She didn't want to go home yet, the house felt big, cold and empty without Jacob's presence so she drove to the only place she could find some peace at the moment: the shelter.
Once there she was received with a lot of welcome barks, wagging tails and happy jumps and she finally let the floodgates to her tears open. Now she needed to make two phone calls.
"Motta, we need to talk. Meet me tomorrow at the park" she said to the phone, listening to the other woman agree, and without a goodbye she hung up. Sugar Motta was one of her best friends, but she wasn't usually Santana's first choice for something like this. For serious staff she'd always rely on Quinn Fabray, her partner in crime since they were 8 years old. But she didn't know how to deliver this news to Quinn. Matt's death had affected her too, and this…this was too much. Besides, Sugar had a lot of contacts.
Her next call was even shorter. "Yo, Puck. Come to the shelter. Bring alcohol".