Today I got the call I hoped I’d never received. I even said so much to the very nice lady on the other end. She chuckled. I imagine she’s heard that same response many times before. Just moments earlier, Steven and I were happily discussing the show we were watching. It was lunchtime. I warmed the leftover chicken adobo and rice from the night before with a tossed salad. I didn’t recognize the number, and briefly considered not answering it at all. But something inside urged me to pick up, and in that moment, my heart sank with a cancer scare.
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The Call No One Wants to Receive
Wednesday, August 22, 12:22 pm
These lunchtime rendezvous have become a respite of time that I don’t have to share my husband with anyone–he’s all mine. But I’ve applied to a few jobs recently, and it could be the callback I was eagerly awaiting, especially since I haven’t set up my voicemail yet. Honestly, I don’t want to set it up. I wouldn’t say I like the responsibility of checking it.
Cancer Scare
It wasn’t my future employer on the line. It was a nurse. The mammogram results showed a slight abnormality and the nurse said a follow-up mammogram and maybe even an x-ray was required. To be honest I really didn’t hear too much else. I heard blah blah false-positive blah blah blah redo mammogram blah blah blah maybe an x-ray blah blah it’s not unusual blah blah Mrs. Peters, do you have any questions? And even though she never mentioned cancer, I started thinking about it.
Fear
The tears began to flow. I couldn’t control them and my mind raced ahead, far into a future filled with difficult decisions, cancer, surgery, pain, and worse. For a split second, I had left my body and imagined my family without me. I mean it really was a split second when I thought the very worse and it must have shown on my face. Steven turned down the TV and whispered something like, it’s going to be okay, don’t cry.
My followup was scheduled for 8 am on September 8th.
I hung up the phone and tried to return to the place we inhabited before the phone rang. But I had lost my appetite. It was almost 1 pm, and Steven would have generally left by then to return to work. But he lingered around, leaning back into the plush cushions on the back of the sofa. He didn’t want to leave me alone. Go back to work; I’ll be fine, I assured him. He fidgeted a little, leaning forward in his seat, but he didn’t budge.
Seriously, I’m fine. Are you sure, he said? Yes. When he left, I wrote down the date and time of the call just in case I needed to remember the exact moment my whole life changed. Then I tried not to think about it anymore. Sometimes, I even succeeded, but for the next week, everything I did was in relation to that early morning appointment.
September 8th, 7:19 am
I’m on the road to the hospital… late. I’m always late. Today, I wanted to arrive on time. The last thing I wanted was to reschedule this appointment. I needed to know today that I would be fine. This is NOT my story. I do NOT claim it. This is NOT my story. I do NOT claim it. I just kept repeating that in the car. Until I remembered leaving my wallet on the sofa the night before. I don’t have my ID, money, ATM card, or driver’s license.
Hopefully, I won’t need anything to be seen at the hospital. And hopefully, I won’t get pulled over because I am speeding. Hopefully, the gate guard at Fort Lee will be in a great mood and let me back on the post without jumping through a bunch of hoops. Hopefully, I won’t have any more mammograms or talk about my right breast for another year. I have a lot of hope.
This is NOT My Story
I do NOT claim it. This is NOT my story. I do NOT claim it.
The traffic on I-95 was ridiculous and it didn’t get any better when I exited onto Chippenham Parkway at 7:50 am. I wouldn’t be on time even if a humongous eagle swooped down and carried me the rest of the way. I pulled up to valet parking at Johnston Willis Hospital at 8:10 am. Two minutes later I pressed the elevator button for the 2nd floor where I met one of my sorors from Delta Sigma Theta.
We stood there together, exchanging meaningless chitchat while we waited for the car to arrive. She was here for a routine screening. She opened the clinic door and ushered me in first. After signing in we sat in the waiting room together.
I confided that this was a follow-up. She said had had a false positive three times in the past. I was hoping for a first.
I Don’t Pray– Much
She asked if she could pray for me. I’m not a religious person. Actually, it’s not the religion I have a problem with, its the organization of religion that I think is the problem. So many wars have been started– are still being fought in the name of religion. Suicide bombers, women being stoned, massacres, occupations, ethnic cleansing, etc, etc. But like anything else, if it doesn’t affect me… you like it, I love it. I don’t judge or discriminate against anyone’s faith, religion, or God. I just as soon not be a part of any of it.
What’s ironic is that most people of faith don’t feel the same way. They are judgmental. I’ve even had a so-called minister say I was going to hell and that he was going to make me his project, converting me from a heathen, saving my soul. That was bad enough, but then he invited me to his church. Um, excuse me?? Not just no, but hell no.
Before I could say anything, she gently took my hand into hers, mumbled a few words that essentially asked God to look out for me, looked me dead in my face, and said Amen. I smiled and whispered Amen.
The Exam Room
I sat in the next waiting area next to a plastic bag filled with my shirt, sweater, and bra. The gown I wore was extraordinarily soft against my bare breasts. At least it wasn’t that scratchy cotton gown, worn paper-thin from use.
I was escorted into the cold exam room by the tech. She confirmed my name and gave me a brief explanation of what the former scan had uncovered and the area in question. The nurse said this exam would be uncomfortable because the area was high on my breast, very close to the collarbone. She was correct.
Afterward, she escorted me back into the waiting room. Another tech, this time from x-ray would come to retrieve me shortly. Two minutes later, she called me from the doorway and lead me down the narrow corridor into what looks like a consultation room. She was much sterner.
I Braced Myself for Really Bad News
False Positive
Mrs. Peters, she began, the mammogram is clear. There is no sign of cancer. Blah blah, the first scan was done incorrectly blah blah and reflected a slight fold in the skin blah blah. I hugged her and her face grew softer, she smiled and said, see you in 12 months. I put my clothes back on and shed yet another tear behind the pale blue curtains. This time it was a joyous tear. I emerged from behind the curtains with a weight lifted and a pep in my step.
This was NOT my story. I did NOT claim it.
September 22, 9:17 am
I walked to where I left my car, anxious to call my husband. I thanked him for parking my car, which was still in the circle, three cars from the entrance.
Steven didn’t seem surprised, he was happy, but not surprised. I knew it was a false positive, he said. That’s not your story, he said. You’re more apt to kill yourself hiking cliffs or drowning in the ocean. He’s probably right– damn.
I sat in my car for a few minutes under the awning of the hospital, telling him exactly what the nurses had just told me. After I hung up with him, I pulled away from the curb and remembered my wallet was still sitting on the sofa where I left it and knew instantly that everything had returned to normal.
It wasn’t until late that afternoon, that I knew exactly how much normality had been restored. My car redlined, overheating to the degree that I really couldn’t drive it. Three soldiers helped push it into a parking spot and I had to have it towed to the dealership.
Yup, life goes on. Cancer scare averted.
This Wasn’t My Story
But it is for too many many women every year. Early detection and self-examinations save lives. No one likes to talk about cancer. Like the word itself is contagious. But we have to talk about it. We have to make sure that our sisters, mothers, daughters, and friends get screened each and every year until we find a cure.
Yes, life does go on for more and more of us every year because we are doing our self-exams and getting regular screenings. Despite the cancer scare, we’re empowered by knowledge and proactive health measures to face whatever challenges may come our way.
That is Our story. Claim it!
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