Bad Mammogram, Born Again

This is a photo of us at The Price is Right: my sister, Marcy, me, Norris and Mom and baby sis Kate.

I'm a born again. Not really. I feel like one today. Or at least I think I know what it feels like to be born again, kinda.

A few Sundays ago, we had Sunday night dinner, which is a regular occurrence for us. The "us" includes my little family, Jerry, Cole and Patty, my sister, brother in law and their two boys and my parents. Usual Sunday night dinner crew. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, until an enormous bomb dropped right there in mom's kitchen, when Mom announced, very casually and somewhat bravely, that she had a "bad mammogram". The world stood very still and the words seemed hazy and unfathomable at that long moment.

They found not one, but two spots that looked suspicious. This is when the stillness was abruptly interrupted by the cancer bomb which fell through the vaulted ceiling, crashing through the granite countertops, hitting the travertine tile with a deafening thud in my heart. Fear coupled with uncertainty and wondering engulfed my seething brain.

Mom was certain that this was going to be "nothing". There is no trace of cancer whatsoever on that side of the family, so it just couldn't be. Cancer. To even think that icky word makes me reel with images of my paternal grandmother curled in the fetal position, calling out for her own mother and not recognizing who I was. My grandmother died at age 65 of breast, lung and brain cancer. This could not happen to my own young, hip mother. I would not allow it.

As you may recall, Mom had just been run over by a Range Rover less than one year ago. How could God zap her with the cancer wand? Not possible. She had two needle biopsies on Tuesday. We waited like lunatics for the life-changing results for three endless days. Three days of knowing deep down that this was "nothing" but not actually knowing. So what if?

The not knowing plays with your mind and forces you to plan. Mom already decided that if it was breast cancer, she would get them "whacked off" and a new perky pair plunked on. I started thinking of all of the physicians that I could ask for good oncology referrals. I would have no choice than to start training for the Breast Cancer Three Day Walk that I had completed a few years ago to show support, but this time it would be to fight. I would start bargaining with God hardcore. There were the plans.

By some sort of miracle, the results were benign. What a wonderful, terrific word, benign. We all breathed a heaving, heavy sigh of relief, screamed and cried and had a beer. We are truly "born again" for this second chance to enjoy life with Mom once again. And I told her to go buy a lottery ticket.