The C-Word

So, I had that mammogram on Tuesday. I distinctly remember putting my shirt back on afterwards and thinking, in a pleased-with-myself kind of way, "Well, that's over with for another year... I'll be getting that letter in a few days that says, 'You don't have cancer! Good job- see you next year!' "

The next day, a woman called me from the mammogram place. She left me a voice mail in a hushed, concerned tone saying, "Please call us back immediately. We saw something. It might be cancer." (OK, those weren't her exact words, but it was something along those lines.)

I was able to get an appointment for the following day. Not a good sign, I thought... They want to get things moving so I can start my treatment ASAP.  Big Al chatted that evening on the phone with my mom about planning a trip to Paris in May, which I thought was a little cruel of him, considering that I'd be in the thick of chemo treatments and would have to stay home. We watched The Voice- I was distracted, but of course focused intently on the 15 year old girl whose tragic backstory was that her mom had almost died of breast cancer. (This story was accompanied by pictures of the poor woman sick and bald; I wondered what my skull would look like when I lost my hair and decided I'd go the cute hat route instead of the bad wig one.)

I tossed and turned in bed that night and imagined how sad people would be when I died. I thought about how maybe I was better off to be spared the misery of old age...

I prayed on my way to the appointment the following afternoon. I made God all sorts of silly promises. I had to wait a long time in waiting room #1 for the 14 year old girl to come and get me to change (her: How are you feeling today? Me: Not happy to be back here.)  Then I had to wait in waiting  room #2 for a long time. I read a magazine, or tried to, mostly just looking at pictures of happy, healthy, beautiful people and thinking how lucky they were to not be dying.

Then I had my special kind of mammogram which consisted of the nice technician squishing my breast for several minutes at a time as tightly as possible while she talked to me about the weather. I waited in waiting room #3 for a long time- the one where they try to make you feel better with tea and coffee and comfy chairs while you wait to hear how much time you have to live.

Anyway, I don't have cancer. At least not for now. I practically skipped to my car and started planning what kind of clothes I would pack for Paris.  And I thought about how an experience like this changes you, but probably not for long. I'll be back to my old silly self in no time- but if someone I know has to go through this, I will feel their pain and know exactly how scared they were.