Holding Lightly: When the World Comes Crashing Down

*I am a verbal processor. Parts of this post may not make sense, since I still don't know how to understand what's happening*
My world came crashing down today. Those who know me know that I am very theatrical.
 How I wish this was theater.
The scene: Sitting in the doctors office, with one of my best friends (we'll call her P), and my mom. We're chatting, and I complain of being cold. P is in the middle of a story when a soft knock sounds on the door, and the doctor walks in. Introductions are made, and we all sit down. That's the last clear memory I have. The rest is haze.
The facts are: I have synovial sarcoma. My first reaction is relief. Not cancer! Still serious, if I can judge by the look on the Dr's face, but better than what I was expecting. Her next sentence shatters my hope.
"It's cancer."
Two words; that's all it takes for my delicately crafted reality to shatter. I almost laugh. There's a hidden camera somewhere, right? Did I walk on the set of one of those fake reality shows?
Nope, because next there's talk of specialists, MRIs, CT scans, and surgery. Endless circles of questions, and unsatisfying answers.
"No,  the pathology report hasn't come in. It should in the next two weeks, then we'll know what stage the cancer's at."
 "We're sending you for another MRI to see if the tumor has grown since February." (now that was a memorable Valentines Day; getting an MRI on your foot!)
"We also need to do a CT on your chest, because this kind of cancer likes to metastasize in the lungs."
"Your surgery plan should be in place by the end of July, and the removal should happen early August."
I'll still trying to compute the fact that recovery is 6 weeks to 3 months. Off my feet. I've had enough trouble staying off my feet for 3 weeks.
What does this mean for the road to rosebud?
It's gonna be a heck of a lot harder than I ever dreamed. I was supposed to move in 9 weeks, but in the days and weeks to come it's a dream I've got to hold lightly.
 I am not giving up, I am lying on the ground at my heavenly Father's feet, desperately clinging to the shattered pieces of my plans. I know I will come to the place where I will give them to Him, and He will make a beautiful mosaic out of the shards. Right now I'm still in the ugly cry phase.
I've taken Psalm 18 as my battle cry, brokenly singing Reason to Sing by All Sons and Daughters
"If there be a victory, will You sing it over me now?
Your peace is a melody, will You sing it over me now?
I need a reason to sing, I need to know that You're still holding the whole world in Your hands. and THAT is a reason to sing."
I know people are praying for me; thank you. I haven't done much praying, because I've mostly been numb. Please keep praying, because I'm too exhausted to fight right now.
What I need right now is community. You know that whole thing about being Jesus's hands a feet? Feet can be used to take you to someone's house, (that someone being me) plus hands and arms are excellent for giving hugs. Besides, it's a superb reason for us to catch up. Lets do stuff that makes us laugh, cause I'm going to need to balance out seeing straight faced specialists, and the barrage of tests that are coming up.   
If there's anything I've learned about myself in the past year it's this: I am resilient and adaptable. Though I can spout positivity, right now I feel like crap, but the beauty of feelings is that they change.  I know deep down in my gut that I won't always feel shell-shocked, dazed, and depressed, but that doesn't change how I feel at this moment. I'm holding to the promise I preached in church a few months ago (ask me about it sometime!) I tweaked one word to fit my circumstances:
I believe in the sun, even when it's not shining
I believe in love healing, even when I don't feel it 
I believe in God, even when He is silent
I believe.

Bittersweet: Nothing ever goes as planned

I walked for the first time in two weeks today.
For the past six months, I've undergone a battery of tests for the egg sized tumor in my foot. X rays,  ultrasound, MRI, and finally a biopsy. I spent five days on bedrest, and a week on crutches.
It's been one of the hardest weeks of my life, so far. I never understood what a privilege it is to go up and down stairs, open a door, or simply walk.
Bitter: I was supposed to receive the diagnosis today. The answer is, they don't know. It is or it isn't cancer. They sent the sample to the Mayo clinic in Minnesota, and it'll be another week before we get the results. My doc's advice is to bring someone for moral support, when the results do come in. If it is cancer, they'll probably have to reconstruct my foot. 
Sweet: walking with no crutches all afternoon
Bitter: having to go back on crutches because my foot started bleeding.
Today has left me emotionally drained.
Best case scenario: the tumor is benign, it gets removed, and I start school in the fall, possibly still recovering a bit. This is the option I'm asking you to pray for.
If it's cancer, the procedure becomes exponentially more complicated. More of the foot tissue has to be removed, skin grafts have to be done, and tests performed, to see if the cancer has spread. My doctor has advised holding off my first payment for school, because I might not be healed enough to go.
To be absolutely clear, the only thing that is definite, is that there's going to be another surgery.
 I'm not borrowing trouble, simply outlining the two possible outcomes, and trying to process it all.  
I'm 18. I'm accepted into the only school I've ever dreamed of going: Rosebud School of the Arts. (hence the blog name) I dance. I run. I hop on one leg to study. I have dreams of being on Broadway.
What am I supposed to do? I have prayed, and been prayed over for healing so many times.
What do I prepare myself for? How hard do I fight to be optimistic? At what point do I let go?
I don't have the answers right now, but I would love your prayers.
Much love,
Star