Читать книгу A Year of Second Chances - Buffy Andrews - Страница 9

Chapter 1

I kept telling myself I wasn’t going to die, that the radiologist simply wanted to double-check my right breast to make sure it was as benign as the left. Nothing more than a big ball of size 36C fat. But the C word kept popping up like that irritating “unexpected item in the bagging area” message I always seem to get after scanning every third item at self-checkout.

I called Shonna on my way to the imaging center. I’d already talked to my bestie the night before and she’d calmed me down, but I needed her reassurance again.

“I think I’m going to die,” I blurted into the phone.

I could hear Shonna turn on the faucet.

“Are you listening to me? I said I think I’m going to die.”

“Now stop it. We talked about this last night. Don’t jump to conclusions. Even if they find something it doesn’t mean you’ll die. They probably just saw something suspicious and want to take a closer look. I’ve had other friends who’ve had mammogram callbacks and they turned out to be nothing.”

“But what if it’s something?” I pushed.

“Then we’ll deal with it, but remember, ninety-nine percent of the things we worry about never happen.”

“I know you’re right but I can’t help thinking the worst. I’ve never received a callback before.”

“Deep breaths, Scarlett. One step at a time. For now they simply want to get a closer look.”

By the time I arrived at the imaging center, my heart felt like it was going to pop out of my chest. I tried to calm myself by taking deep breaths. My anxiety was surely even greater because my boss’s mother had had breast cancer and died, so of course that’s all I could think about.

The imaging center was busier than during my previous visit but I found a seat in the back facing the wall. I didn’t feel like exchanging small pleasantries with anyone. I just wanted to get the scanning over with and find out if I had the big C. Would I divide my life BC/AC, Before Cancer/After Cancer, I wondered.

Finally, I was called back by a technician who introduced herself as Linda. She looked to be about my age. I changed into a pink floral top that snapped down the front and followed Linda into a room with a huge white machine standing in the middle of it.

“Please, sit down,” she said. “Do you know the date of your last period?”

I reached inside my purse and pulled out my monthly pocket calendar. I noted when I got my period by writing a P in the tiny date boxes, a habit that had carried over from my teen years when there really was a chance I could get pregnant because I actually did have sex. “April 20.”

“Are you sexually active?”

I shook my head.

“I’m sorry, is that a no?”

Yes, it’s a no. I haven’t had anything hard in five years!

“Yes. I mean no, I haven’t had sexual relations with anyone for quite some time.”

Linda furrowed her brows. “Oh, okay.”

She thinks I’m weird. Should I explain I want to have sex but there’s no one special in my life and I’m not into hooking up?

No, let it go. I can’t be the only forty-nine-year-old who’s wasting the prime years of her life on a purple rabbit vibrator I nicknamed Jack.

Linda nodded toward the machine. “Stand in front and slip your right arm out of your top.”

I stood and walked over to the machine and did what she said. She peeled off a little sticker with a tiny bead in the middle of it. “I’m going to mark your nipple. It helps the radiologist who reads the mammogram. We wouldn’t want him to mistake it for an abnormality.”

How can a nipple be mistaken for an abnormality?

“If the nipple rolls during compression the area might look suspicious.”

She read my mind.

“Think of your nipple like the North Star,” she continued. “It’s a point of reference for the radiologist and helps him read the mammogram.”

Visualizing my nipple lighting up the north sky made me giggle.

She thinks my nipple is big. It is big. Big and probably cancerous. Mike always liked my nipples. Screw Mike. Stop it, Scarlett.

I stepped toward the machine, placing my hand where Linda had instructed. I winced as she positioned my breast against the cold support plate and compressed it, flattening it out like she was prepping a piece of chicken to coat with bread crumbs and seasoning and bake.

“Are you okay?”

I nodded. Just take the damn picture.

Linda dashed to the console behind a see-through barrier to take the image. “Don’t breathe, don’t move.”

I held my breath and exhaled seconds later when the compression plate retreated.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

I nodded. “We women know how to take pressure!”

She laughed and proceeded to take additional photos of my right breast from different angles.

“We’re done,” Linda finally said. “You can have a seat in the waiting area while the radiologist checks these films. Don’t get dressed until I tell 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.