you to in case he wants additional images.”
I grabbed my purse and headed to the waiting room, which was packed. It was much smaller than the other waiting area so I had no choice but to sit next to someone. And it was just my luck she was a talker.
“Is this your first time getting a mammogram?” asked the woman, a petite brunette who looked to be thirty-something.
I shook my head.
“It’s mine. I’m only thirty-four but my doctor felt a lump during my annual exam.”
I nodded.
“Did you ever have a lump?”
I shifted in my seat. “No.”
“I hope it’s not cancer.”
I wasn’t sure what to say so I said something really stupid. “I hope so, too.”
I should’ve told her that eighty percent of breast lumps aren’t cancerous and that they often turn out to be harmless cysts, but I didn’t have time. The nurse returned and told her she could get dressed. The radiologist was ready to see her.
I picked up a magazine and started reading an article about the First Lady when Linda popped in to tell me I could get dressed. I took it as a good sign that the radiologist didn’t need any more views.
Five minutes later, I was in his office staring at images on the screens.
Dr. Johnson sat in front of two monitors and pointed to the images on the left one. “These are the images taken last Friday. See this area here? I wanted to double-check that.”
He then pointed to images on the other monitor. “These images, taken today from other angles, give me a better look at that site. Do you see these fine white specks?”
I nodded.
“They are calcium deposits within the breast tissue.”
My heart started to race. “Are they cancerous?”
“Calcifications are usually noncancerous, but I’d like to send you to a surgeon to have a breast biopsy to be sure.”
I’m dying. I knew it. Oh, stop, Scarlett.
“You said calcifications are usually noncancerous. What do they look like when they are?”
Dr. Johnson opened his desk drawer and pulled out a laminated sheet showing two types of calcifications. He pointed to the top image. “These are macro calcifications. They are large, round and well-defined and are more likely to be benign.” He then pointed to the bottom image. “These are micro calcifications, or tight clusters of tiny, irregularly shaped calcifications. Certain patterns might indicate cancer.”
I looked at the image on the laminated sheet of paper and then at the image on the computer screen. “Mine look like the bottom photo.” I started to tremble. I knew it. I had cancer.
“That’s why I’d like you to see a surgeon. Just to make sure they’re benign.”
I tried to stop the tears from coming, but it was no use. My face felt like it was on fire. All I could think about was dying.
Dr. Johnson handed me a tissue.
“So who do you recommend I see?”
“Dr. Edwards. He’s excellent and it’s who I’d want my wife to see if this was her mammogram.”
The next ten minutes were a blur. The nurse returned and asked me to come with her. We went into a small room and I sat while she called the surgeon’s office to schedule an appointment.
“You don’t have anything sooner?” I heard her ask. The nurse looked at me, covering the receiver with her hand. “The soonest they have is next Friday.”
I sighed. “But that’s a whole week away.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Ask them if they’ll call if someone cancels.”
I heard the nurse ask and then confirm the Friday appointment. She hung up and handed me a slip of paper with the doctor’s address on it. “Dr. Edwards is the best. You’ll be in good hands. Good luck.”
Good luck? It’s not like I’m going to play tennis with him! I don’t need luck; I need prayers. “Thanks”
The nurse showed me to the exit and as soon as I crawled into my car I broke down, the tears coming as fast as a waterfall that crashes onto jagged rocks below.
I called Shonna and in between sobs managed to mumble breast, biopsy and cancer.
“Calm down,” Shonna said. “We need to take this one step at a time. It might not be anything.”
“But it probably is. I’m probably dying. I’ll never get to see my kids marry or play with my grandchildren.”
“Scarlett, stop it. Stop it right now. I’m not trying to minimize this, but a lot of people have breast calcifications and they’re usually benign.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve never been like most people.”
We talked some more and I drove to Mom and Dad’s, wondering how I was going to keep a happy face the rest of the day. I wasn’t going to tell Mom and Dad. I didn’t want to worry them and feared they’d let it slip to the kids. I’d tell David and Tory if I needed to.
I’d already arranged to take the day off when I got the callback. My parents were moving to a retirement community and Mom had asked me to sort through boxes in the basement to see if there was anything I wanted to keep. I couldn’t imagine finding anything of value, but I promised Mom I’d look anyway.
I stared at the list I’d written when I was seventeen. Thirty-two years had passed since I scribbled my hopes and dreams on the white napkin and tucked it inside my high-school yearbook. A knot formed in my throat as I scanned the items. Marry Jake. Take a road trip with my bestie. Live in a big city. Overcome my fear of heights. Buy a sports car. Make lots of money. Own a boutique. I must’ve listed twenty things. My dreams had sparkled like bright stars in the night sky, waiting to be plucked one at time. What happened? Some stars had faded; others had long been forgotten, swallowed by life and its twists and turns. The things you never see coming when you’re seventeen.
A tear slid down my cheek, and I wiped it away with the back of my hand. I suppose there comes a time in everyone’s life when you realize you have fewer years ahead than behind you. And suddenly it becomes important to make sure that, when winter comes, you’ve lived the best life you could. Facing the possibility of having breast cancer only intensified my feelings and need to grasp hold of whatever time I had left.
And that’s when I decided I had to make some changes in my life. The kids were grown and each night I went to bed lonely in a house I’d once shared with Tory and David and their dad. Mike gave me the house as part of the divorce settlement along with the mini-van. We’d
