July 1, 2008 Day 1 Cancer

I march resignedly into the examination room ahead of my husband and anxious for an end to the suspense. I expect the worst. Waiting for the biopsy results has been it's own journey.

"How was the drive down?" Dr. Corn asked, blond curls bouncing irreverently, her blue eyes targeting mine. A contradiction of impertinence and compassion which I interpret to mean the news is not good.

I shake my head and waive my hand deflecting her nicety. My fate hangs between us like an unclaimed short straw. "Just tell me the news," I answer a bit rudely.

"Oh," she says, "you have breast cancer, honey" delivered in a tone suggesting this can't be a surprise. Her small feminine hand, a breast surgeon's hand, rests on my shoulder assuming an intimacy we will soon have. Its always struck me as suspicious being called "honey" by someone younger than me. I'm not sure I trust her.

Breast cancer. The words bounce around my mind like a steel ball in a pinball machine, bumping against the many scenarios I'd conjured up in anticipation of this moment. Cancer. Ping. Chemo. Ping ping.

I look at my husband. Stricken. Apparently my captain has come unprepared. Had he missed the clouds forming on the horizon? My heart cries out to him: "Too far south! We've sailed too far south. We have no choice now! We'll have to sail through this one and hope for safe harbor beyond."

His hand nervously rubs my neck vigorously,annoyingly, wanting to DO something, I can't focus. The blood rushing in my ears is making it hard to hear.

She's answering questions with a practiced voice of gentle concern, experienced in the art of delivering bad news. Do they teach that I wonder? Bedside manners 101? She deserves a gold star. The Emily Post award for physician manners.

Cancer! She's talking. There it is again. I'm not paying attention and there are so many questions.

"Can you write it all down for me?" I say. "I'm not getting all this."

"Sue will write it down for you" she gestures to the girl at the desk of this two woman office.

My doctor appears too young, unable to deal with the reality of her chosen vocation. The words from the Sound of Music come to me - how do you solve a problem like Maria(Christa) how do you catch a wave and pin it down? She's excited with the anticipation of her impending trip to Europe. She assures me the resulting delay of surgery will make no difference. At once I am thankful for the delay and curious - if cancer is roaming my body searching for a place to land, does a three week delay give it the advantage? Subvert squatting rights so to speak? But hey, my doctor deserves her vacation.

My husband chats with Sue who is busy scheduling appointments for a plastic surgeon, radiologist and chemo doctor. I'm on my cell phone delivering the 'news' to my daughter, my son, my mother,sister and my co-workers with careful words of hope for the ones not ready to give me up. I call my brother last. He's been through this five times! Some unusual free floating malignant tumors in his abdominal cavity. I remember thinking God was trying to get his attention. And He did. Finally. It was somewhere between his 4th and 5th surgery. His response reveals his experience in tired resignation. He is SO sorry I have to go through this. A shiver of fear ripples my soul.