This is good news

Good news! The cancer has not spread beyond my lymph nodes. That means the rest of me is clean, according to the MRI, CT scan and bone scan.Sitting in the consultation room beside Zsolt, we both gave a sigh of relief. Whew.

However, the surgeon had more news: “You’ve got a rotten breast.” Rotten? It’s only been sweet to me this far in life. But it seems a little too sweet because the cancer has spread throughout my breast and crept into my lymph nodes. It’s like a cavity filled tooth – extraction is recommended. Anything else simply won’t be enough.

My surgeon proceeded to explain a little bit more. “The operation will take fifteen minutes.” Fifteen minutes . . .  surely my breast deserves more than fifteen minutes? Nope, just fifteen minutes because he “does this all the time.” And no, he doesn’t say it in a reassuring ‘pat-on-the-back’ kind of way; he says it in a ‘I’m a skilled surgeon, and you are lucky to have me’ kind of way.

Yes, I am lucky to have you. Please get every last scrap of this cancer out of my body. Please.

And that is exactly what I want – a surgeon who knows what he’s doing, and believes in his skill. Confidence is a huge asset, and it makes me think I’ll be in good hands.

Mind you, I’ve never been given a general anaesthetic. I have no idea what will happen, and have a slight feeling I’ll freak out before they inject the juice into my vein. Zsolt cannot even come with me. I’d rather his face be my last memory instead of the prep room’s empty white ceiling.

Hopefully his face will be there after waking. Something to look forward towards: Zsolt’s happy, smiling, and quietly concerned face. He is what I will strive for.

Wow – things have changed overnight. Life has shifted into high gear and turned a sharp corner; I’m along for the ride, reaching for the controls.  And eventually this drama will be over, and I can return to my nice, quiet life (wiser, bolder, stronger) just like always.

I look forward to my just like always.