Dr. Guru meets with my family in the waiting room. Big grin, face mask dangling around his neck, arms raised, two fingers on each hand formed into the V for victory signs. No cancer in frozen lymph node section. So far everyone agrees. Big wide margins. Some heard only “wide” margins, but not “big wide” margins. One thought he said only “good margins.” Another does not recall anything about margins.
Whatever he said, everyone is jubilant. The cancer “episode” is over. The drive home takes 20 minutes. We stop to fill a prescription: a small brown plastic container filled with — Wow — FIFTY Percocet! Good bye pain I don’t have. Hello euphoria.
In the living room, the mantel above the fire place is filled with flower arrangements. Calla lilies, Gerber daisies, roses of all kinds, delphiniums, chrysanthemums, hydrangeas, and freesias fill the air with their perfume, lots of get well cards.
Our family lounges in the sofas and chairs around the large coffee table. Snacks and munchies are brought in . After all, it is dinner time. Wine is poured for everyone but me. (I get water. One indication that all is not fully back to normal.) A couple of neighbors stop buy. The phone rings. A friend brings over a water melon salad and a chicken salad. My sister in law brings a bag of fresh bagels from Goldberg’s along with various spreads. The atmosphere is that of a festive wake.
Normally, during casual family gatherings or Sunday dinners, people arrive late or leave early. Some excuse themselves to check emails, or make cell phone calls, turn on the TV to catch the last few minutes of some game, or sneak away to play billiards downstairs. All signs of a certain restlessness, an eagerness to escape the tight family noose. Not today.
Like on Christmas Eve, everyone remains seated: content and mellow, we bask in the glow of togetherness. I feel their warmth and concern, happiness about the outcome. We even play a few hands of my favorite card game in a concession to my status as Queen for a Day. (Although they don’t let me win.)
At 11 PM, I go upstairs to prepare for bed. I am not particularly tired and I feel no discomfort. Dutifully I swallow a Percocet because my husband reminds me of the nurse’s wisdom: “Take them before you start to hurt. It is easier to prevent pain than to chase it away. ” Plus who wants to hear “I told you so” should I wake up wreathing in pain.
When I roll over on my side, I feel a tighness, tenderness, in my swollen, bruised breast. A pleasant reminder that I still have that breast, and that it is now tumor free. Post operative treatment options are completely off my radar screen as I drift off to a night of uninterupted, dreamless sleep.
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I will always remember that day. Mostly I will remember your indomitable spirit and how it infected all of us. I will also remember your surprise and laughter that the dye turned your pee turquoise. As always, your sense of humor made a scary day easier to handle and you comforted us more than we could ever comfort you. Love you.