6. What Did Dr. Sweet Say?

Our cream colored phone hung on the wall above the kitchen counter. With its long, twisty cord we could take it into almost any part of our small apartment (bedroom, bathroom, a closet) and enjoy a private conversation away from the noisy television or overly-interested parents. As kids, my sisters and I shared one phone line with our parents - one phone line, one answering machine. Our phone had dials, actual dials. I used to think it a bit odd that, should you ever face a true emergency, where mere seconds could severely impact the outcome, that the 9 was at the bottom of the phone ... round it goes, nnnniiiiinnnnneeee-1-1. (Or, if you're my mother, when that emergency is at your doorstep, you can dial 4-1-1. Seriously. I'll explain later.)

When we wanted to relay a message, ask a question, or simply chat with a friend or loved one, we flipped open the kitchen cabinet to find the appropriate phone number listed on the beat-up, torn-cornered sheet with food-stained fingerprints all over it. The local pizza joint, the doctor and dentist, the swimming pool all had numbers listed on our precious list. We did, of course, memorize the numbers of beloved grandparents, aunts, cousins, neighbors, fellow church members, and friends. If we ever got lost at the mall, for example, we had a quarter in our pocket for the pay phone and several important members stored in our memory banks.
 
Here in the 21st century, we have something called cell phones that have taken over any need we may have once had to actually memorize important numbers. Important numbers were now simply added to ones' speed dial. Presto! A tap of the button and the recipient's phone would start ringing. With my parents and sisters living in other states, I knew I had to pick up my phone and call them ... tell them voice-to-voice about the day's appointments, the biopsy and what was next. Most of my friends, however, would be content with a quick text message update - much more my preferred method of communication. (I like to write. Texting is writing. It's faster, more direct and you can avoid so much of the unnecessary small-talk.)  Almost everyone who needed to be kept in the loop already knew I had found a lump and was heading to the doctor's office that day. I had promised to call/text as soon as I was headed home.

I grabbed my cell phone and stared at the speed dial list. Thankfully, I had every number I would need already programmed into my cell phone. Being so dependent on modern technology these days, I would have had a terrible time trying to recall so many phone numbers. So, where should I begin? Mom? Little sister? Big sister? Coworkers at the office? My person/best friend?

I shot off a quick text to Julia (aforementioned as my person/best friend): Biopsy done. Survived but they shot me in the breast! Seriously! Results Monday. Going home for the day.

I tapped Cheryl'sCell entry on my speed dial list. Gave her the update. Called CarenHome entry next. Gave her the update. Called MomHome and repeated it all for the third time.

The three responses I received to those three phone calls were quite indicative of each person's personality and characteristics and would become their standard response to the many phone calls regarding my doctors' appointments over the next several months. Here's your chance to play the matching game.

Response A: Well, whatever the results show will be fine, one way or another. I'm not worried. Glad you are doing okay with it all.

Response B: Oh, okay, well, let me know what happens. By the way, I got my hair cut today. She cut it too short again.

Response C: What time Monday do you meet with the doctor? Where do you go? What did they say about the possible results? When do they test the other side? How do you feel? Is it sore? You okay? You need to rest.
 
Answers:
A = ever-practical yet loving big sister, Caren
B = I refuse to hear/acknowledge the word cancer, yet loving mother Catherine
C = my over-protective yet loving little sister, Cheryl.

The grapevine, I knew, would handle spreading the word to the extended family within minutes. I refocused my efforts on my texting mission. I sent messages to many, many friends (copied and pasted, of course, text after text). My phone beeped and buzzed repeatedly for the next little while as friends replied their thanks for being kept in the loop and wishes for all to be well. One texted conversation, however, was a bit unique. I hadn't yet informed this friend that I had even found a lump. 

Me: Found a lump. Doctor thinks it could be cancer. Biopsy done today and results will be in Monday.
Friend: That's pretty common. Probably nothing. What did Dr. Sweet say?
Me: I haven't told Dr. Sweet. And why would I? 
Friend: Well, who was the doctor then? 
Me: Dr. M
Friend: Don't know him.
Me: Well, why would you know him? He's MY radiologist.
Friend: Huh? Sutter has a lump, right? 
Me: Perhaps she does, but I'm telling you about the one I found on ME.

Sutter was my black labrador retriever. Dr. Sweet was her veterinarian. I realized then that yes, perhaps some conversations shouldn't be done solely via text. 

Once home and settled, I popped a pain pill, and climbed into bed. I "unplugged" my phone for the remainder of the night.