The Diagnosis

Have you ever had a health scare?

I have and there’s nothing more sobering than when you get that letter.

The letter of doom.

The letter that says you might be sick.

Really sick.

The kind of sickness you can’t cure by having a prescription filled, or “sleep it off.”

I’m talking about cancer. In my case breast cancer.

I discovered a lump on my return home from vacation. At first, I thought it was my imagination, but no. It wasn’t. The lump was still there when I checked again… and again… and again.

I freaked out. The cost of seeing a doctor is astronomical these days. Could we afford it after having the holiday of a lifetime?

My husband said, get it checked out. He said it without thinking and I saw his fear mirroring my own.

What if?

Have you ever had that feeling? The feeling of what if you or your loved one is sick and there’s nothing you can do to take that feeling away.

I saw a doctor and yes, there was a lump. Not a big one, but enough to have the doctor worried. I saw the slight frown on her face before she could hide it from me.

I was referred to a special breast clinic for our district.

I arrived through automatic doors, and the smell of antiseptic hit me. A stone seemed to penetrate my stomach and fill me with heaviness that made every step difficult.

I didn’t want to be here.

I walked into a pink-walled hospital waiting room. Chairs lined three corners with the reception desk facing the room. Posters hung in different colors of smiling families and reassuring slogans.

They blurred as I blinked my tears away.

I closed my eyes, and when I opened them, a receptionist smiled at me in that fake grin that didn’t reach her eyes. It appeared to silently signal a “welcome,” with a “sorry you’re here.” I felt her pity emanating from her body language.

She welcomed me to sit and wait for the doctor. I reached for my husband’s hand, but he wrapped his arm round me instead and led me to a chair.

“We don’t know anything yet. Let’s not fear the worst, honey.”

My tears were falling in earnest now. Silent warmth down my cheeks as I tried not to sob.

Two women stared at me with hollow eyes. Their husbands admire the floor in between their feet.

A gentle sound came from the loudspeakers. A pop song. Miley Cyrus’ Flowers. The world was moving around me like everything was normal.

The song reminded me of my past. Of my resilience when I started my life again at eighteen. I’d experienced darkness before and I could survive this too.

Whatever happened today, I was going to be fine.

Have you ever had a song remind you of something life changing in a moment of despair?

When my name was called, I held my head high.

Cancer — yes, I can survive this.

The 3D Xray machine was bigger than me. The room cold from the a/c. My skin prickled as the sonographer positioned me into awkward angles for the best possible picture.

Then the news confirmed. Yes, the lump looked irregular and needed further tests.

Next, I was scanned like a pregnant mother looking at a fetus, except the scanner was focused on my breast. It rolled over the gel creating a picture of every millimeter in a hashtag pattern.

Back and forth.

Criss cross, then back and forth again repeating the process ten times.

I stared at the screen, willing the scanner to zap the lump away.

“Where was it anyways?” I asked myself inside my head.

I couldn’t see anything, but the doctor was staring intently at the screen as he scanned me with minute precision.

My husband held my hand, giving it a squeeze every now and then. His love flowing into me in this surreal moment. My mind couldn’t help drifting to a happier time when we were expecting our son. My lip curled slightly upward as I remember that time when the sonographer announced we were having a boy.

This scan was deathly silent. You could hear a pin drop in the room.

After an eternity, the doctor stopped scanning and asked me to get dressed and he would share the result with me.

I hastily grabbed my clothes, wanting the news over and done with. When I opened the curtain that shielded me from the rest of the room, the doctor was sitting at his desk. A nurse stood silently by the door.

The doctor’s screen was filled with a picture of two breast scans next to each other. I stared at them, their shape familiar but seeing nothing but white lines with black inside.

“So, Lizzy, as you know we discovered a lump…” The doctor paused. His silence seemed to fold in on itself as I took a deep breath.

Expecting the worst.

“Please take a seat.” The doctor indicated a chair next to him. My husband stood behind me holding my shoulder. A gentle squeeze telling me he was there for me, no matter what.

The doctor began to speak, pointing at my left breast scan and my right. He showed me the area where my lump was, as he explained about normal breast tissue, nerves, and fatty tissue.

Just say it already! I was screaming. Yes, I was impatient and I think after being thoroughly scanned three times on my private parts, I was allowed to feel that way.

I must have sighed because the doctor stopped explaining.

“I’m confident that this here is normal tissue. No cancer.”

“Pardon,” My husband and I said in unison.

“You’re in the clear Lizzy.” The doctor smiled. “I will pass your scans on for a second opinion but I’m confident there is no cancer there.”

I jumped out of my chair and big arms wrapped around me into a hug. My husband’s familiar smell enveloped me.

I was safe. I didn’t have cancer.

My name is Lizzy. I’m a trauma survivor, a wife, a mom, a teacher, and an author.

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For more about me: www.elizabethwoodsauthor.com

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