Breast cancer excision

Thursday, I only have one thing on my mind, one thought circling my brain like a  hungry wolf.  I want to go under Dr. Guru’s scalpel, I need for him to get rid of my nasty, ugly tumor. Now.

Not a word from Dr. Guru’s office.  Not a word about the MRI results.  Not a word about a surgery date. Yet another week-end of uncertainty looms before me.

I can only assume now that my surgery will not be on Tuesday. Annoyed at being in limbo, I call Dr. Guru’s office. His assistant, Joy, has left although it is only 4.15 P.M.  Of course, I left my own office at 1.15 P.M., three hours earlier than Joy left hers. But I am not an oncologist or surgeon. My job is only about money, not about  life or death, not about anxiety and worry.  And my territory is Europe where 1 P.M. Eastern standard time means 6-7 P.M. : Happy hour in London and Paris.

Yet there is an upside to breast cancer: people care more than I could have imagined. Six friends call me in the evening to ask about my MRI result and about a surgery date. They, too, get huffy and annoyed when they hear that I don’t know.

One friend, who calls me from Sweden  to check up on me, says:”We love you!”  before she hangs up. We have been friends for more than 40 years. She has shown me in a million different ways how much she and her whole family cares, but for the first time she says:  We love you.

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