I wish I could remember what it felt like in 2009, so I could connect the dots for you, but I can’t pull those memories from my cerebral archive. From the medical records, I know this:

•  June 8th 2009 –  my wife Jackie, went to Carolina Breast Care Specialist in Raleigh. Diagnosis: “New palpable left subareolar nodule on self exam.”
• October 7th 2009 – Diagnosis: Lump or mass in breast. Procedure: Needle Biopsy. Established: Patient Benign

I don’t remember ever being concerned back then… the Doctors weren’t alarmed, they said it’s nothing… so the negative needle biopsy was just a validation of what I already knew to be true.

Mammograms in 2010 and 2011 continued to confirm that all was well.

It’s a known fact that a woman’s intuition should be trusted. In November of 2012 Jackie went to her OB/GYN and noted that she couldn’t be sure but that the lump seemed to have grown. Reassurances were given but for the sake of “peace of mind”, the lump was removed for biopsy on November 12th.

Most people can remember exactly where they were, and what they were doing when a traumatic event like 9/11 occurs. Jackie was making a routine bank deposit when she received the call that the biopsy results were back and that she had breast cancer. I was in my office when she called me…

The very next morning we sat in a disheveled office as a surgeon matter-of-factly scribbled pictures and gave options as if we were selecting a paint color for walls. My wife and oldest daughter absorbed it all stoically as I unraveled before them. I tried to be strong and compose myself and ask prudent questions, but my words came out broken, matching the condition of my heart. Jackie was to come back later that day to provide DNA for a genetic test that would determine if she carried the mutation that would make both of my daughters at high risk for breast cancer. At that moment, I saw the three most important people in my life all at terrible risk.

We were all in a state of shock that weekend but I was the one who could not hold it together. I cried all weekend. Every time I looked at Jackie I would tell myself to be strong for her, to be an encourager, but my eyes would soon well up and she would squeeze my hand… It was our first experience at being truly vulnerable – dealing with total uncertainty, risk and emotional exposure. 

Cancer is a very scary word and everyone takes the journey in their own way. Some buy the t-shirts and the awareness bracelets and vow publicly to not be shaken in their resolve. Others take a very private and introspective course. My plan would have been to change my Facebook profile pic to a pink ribbon and hold a virtual prayer meeting… The fact that many of you are just hearing of this story, is indicative of Jackie’s choice to travel privately.

Doing battle with something that is trying to actively kill you, is also a race against time. We knew we had to make decisions quickly but they needed to be made with confidence and soulful peace. My eldest daughter Amanda led the effort in researching and finding a team of Oncology specialists at the Duke Cancer Center. It is no exaggeration to say that Jackie’s world class team came together in a miraculous way, and we are forever grateful to them.

• Dr. Kimberly Blackwell, Oncologist – TIME’s Top 100 most influential people in the world
• Dr. Erika Hamilton, Research Fellows – Oncology
• Dr. Rachel Greenup, Surgical Oncology, Pioneer in Mastectomies
• Dr. Michael Zenn, Plastic Surgery Vice Chief
• And scores of nurses and support staff who remain nameless, but we know who you are and what you did for us!

Three surgeries behind us and one reconstruction surgery to go, but it feels beyond liberating to tell you that Jackie has now joined the ranks called “Survivor”. I like that… survivor… for it truly defines the physical, spiritual, and emotional fight, that is breast cancer.

I titled this blog post The Journey to Vulnerability because I have witnessed this amazing transformation in my wife, as she has been forced into this wonderful thing called vulnerability, that many see falsely as weakness. Dr. Brené Brown, in her book Daring Greatly, says that “to dare greatly is the courage to be vulnerable. It means to show up and be seen. To ask for what you need. To talk about how you’re feeling. To have the hard conversations.” 

> Being vulnerable is having the courage to tell your physician that something is not right, even though the tests say everything is okay.

> Being vulnerable is admitting that you don’t want to read the inspirational books, or wear the t-shirts or run the races, until you are ready…

> Being vulnerable is sitting up all night with your daughters, laughing, and watching Magic Mike, the night before your mastectomy.

> Being vulnerable is allowing your husband to hold you, silently praying, during that sleepless pre-surgery night.

> Being vulnerable is coming out of anesthesia and asking through tears, “did I do good?”

> Being vulnerable is waiting for the surgical oncologist to come into the room with the lab results that reveal if she “got it all”  – and watching the release of emotion when the answer is “yes!”.

> Being vulnerable is going out in public for the first time with a scarf around your neck, hoping that you don’t look weird.

> Being vulnerable is telling the nurse that you’re scared and have her hug you and give you a laminated card of inspirational words for you to hold onto for life.

> Being vulnerable is going to the gym for the first time, not knowing how the ladies and instructor will see you.

Being vulnerable is NOT weakness…it’s a statement of tremendous courage and strength.

As a husband and a father, I have had to share in this vulnerability. I’ve been allowed to cry, and I’ve been able to be the strong one. I’ve wondered how I would encourage my daughters and my wife, how I would hold up in waiting rooms, and if I could empty surgical drain tubes – and I’ve done them all.

I’ve watched my amazing daughters have vulnerable conversations with their mom about medical procedures, and diets and life balance. They have huddled with me as the surgeon took us to a back room to give us the status. They’ve waited nervously for DNA testing results which would possibly dictate their own fate. They’ve shopped with their mom for skinny jeans and have made sure she keeps her mojo.

The journey of a survivor is never over. Being a survivor means you are living to fight another day. That requires that we open ourselves up to the joy and power that vulnerability brings.

A final thought on vulnerability from Brené Brown

“Owning our story can be hard but not nearly as difficult as spending our lives running from it. Embracing our vulnerabilities is risky but not nearly as dangerous as giving up on love and belonging and joy—the experiences that make us the most vulnerable. Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light.”