7. Fairytale

Having always loved music, I was open-minded and rather excited to hear this guy play. I'd never heard his name before my friend, Jill, had let me borrow a few of his CDs and said we had to go hear him play - live - on Saturday night. Tickets were sold out, as the venue was incredibly small, and we made plans rather last minute. So, we improvised. The venue was outdoors and a park was right at the side gate. We brought all the makings for a fabulous evening picnic - sandwiches, fried chicken, drinks, snacks, blankets, chairs and a football. A few other friends joined us as we casually enjoyed a summer evening concert in the park. Chloe (Jill's daughter and my honorary niece) and I tossed the football around for a bit until I caught a pass right smack in my breast. Bullseye - like a magnet, the football shot straight into my two-day old biopsy bruise! That was the end of football for me that evening. I turned my sights towards a chair, a soda and listening to the sweet tunes of Jackie Greene playing his annual concert at Fairytale town, only a few yards (and one fence) from our picnic. For a short while as I listened to his guitar and iconic voice, the world seemed rather simple and time stood still. 

And then Monday rolled around. 

I was escorted into a hospital waiting room that reminded me somewhat of a church classroom. It was quiet, and only a few chairs and some pamphlets occupied the room. (I don't recommend reading the pamphlets as you await biopsy results. "You Have Cancer - Now What?", "Breast Cancer and You" ... it was if by having me wait in that room with those brochures staring me in the face, the doctors were prepping me for what they were about to tell me. You could just picture the doctors walking into the room, glancing at the brochures, then back to the patient and asking, "Any questions?")

Dr. M and a nurse (I kid you not, her name was Sherry), entered the room and said hello to Craig, who had once again accompanied me to the appointment, and me. Sherry and I awkwardly chuckled about the coincidence of our names being so similar.

The results were not what I had expected. I knew I had cancer, but the results, as explained to me by Dr. M were somewhat inconclusive. He explained it to me by drawing a horizontal line on a piece of paper. He started at the left edge with a number one, and then numbered the line in equal part up to the number five. He continued with his explanation:

One = regular, perfectly normal cells
Two = changing cells, could be normal, but ...
Three = ADH (atypical ductal hyperplasia), cells that were changing and could become cancerous; not breast cancer, but a possible marker of it to come
Four = DCIS (ductal carcinoma in-situ), cancer in the ducts but that hasn't spread beyond
Five = invasive ductual carcinoma, cancer that has spread beyond the ducts 

While he didn't say specifically what number he had expected my results to hit, he was obviously unsettled when he explained that the biopsy put me around a 3.5. Seeing as the lumps in that breast were palpable and easily visible with the ultrasound, we all had anticipated a more definitive, accurate, and frankly, serious diagnosis. Dr. M was contemplating the need to re-biopsy the right breast after we did the left side. Something just didn't feel right about these results. 

Craig was practically giddy on the drive back to the office. (Yes, I went back to work. What else was I going to do? Catch an afternoon soap-opera and chow down on bon-bons?) I, however, wasn't feeling the same sense of relief as Craig. 

"This is good news," he told me. "No cancer!" I just stared out the window as he repeated to me over and over how this truly was good news. It wasn't. I wasn't relieved. I wasn't smiling. I wasn't happy. But I also wasn't sad or worried. I was annoyed by two things - 1) Craig's casual dismissal of it all (he was confident this was all over and there'd be nothing to worry about and this tossing aside of my reality got my goat) and 2) this non-specific and inconclusive finding simply meant I had to, once again, wait. My next biopsy wasn't until Wednesday. Another 48 hours of waiting. I think that's when I started to hate cancer.