I’ve been pondering for some time how just how open I will be on this blog. My previous public forums (email updates and Christmas letters) have left no topic unturned and no one safe, least of all me, so I might as well jump right in with the really personal stuff.
Yesterday I got the results of the previous day’s breast biopsy, which caused me today to get a new cell phone. How so? Was finding out that I was going to live cause to go ahead and commit to another two-year Verizon contract, or what?
So as you’ve surmised by now, it is officially benign. It’s the good news I was expecting, and nonetheless ecstatic to have confirmed!
How did I hear of this good news you might ask? It could have only happened this way in a sitcom.
I was driving toward home after Laura’s swim practice in bumper-to-bumper traffic, thinking that it was close to 5 PM and that at this point I probably wouldn’t hear anything from the surgeon until Friday morning. There was a steady stream of cars moving inch by inch up the road, stretching on as far as I’ve ever seen. I was approaching a spot along the route at which I would have no cell phone coverage, when my cell phone began to ring. Of course. Caller ID said it was a restricted number, so I knew it was probably the surgeon, and that if I dropped the call I would not be able to call her back. I answered, and in her strong accent, and over the static and popping of the bad connection, the surgeon said, “Cheri, this is Dr. Rajgopal, I have the results of your biopsy.” And then . . . silence. Absolute silence. Dead phone. DROPPED CALL. The screen on my phone said, “CALL WAS LOST.” Folks, I’m not making this up. I do not so much as embellish even one iota for effect. It happened just that way. So I immediately pulled a U-Turn smack in the middle of a very busy thoroughfare, which actually became a three-point-turn-around, because it is a single lane on each side, and I couldn’t pull off a “U” and keep holding my phone, and it hurts my right breast to move my right arm too much. Never mind the Range Rovers, BMWs and Mercedes SUVs cursing me in my rear- and side-view mirrors. I held that phone, finessed that otherwise-foolhardy turn with one arm, and began speeding back down the road. (I could speed because traffic was going the other way.) I was heading for cell phone range with a vengeance. And while doing all of the above, I prayed aloud (as Laura is my witness), “Please God, make her call back. Please God, MAKE her call back! PLEASE. GOD. MAKE. HER. CALL. BACK!” Moments that felt like centuries passed by and the phone rang again. Dr. Rajgopal was back on the line and she said, “Good news, good news, Cheri, it is benign.” She said some more stuff, which I’ll ask her to detail at my appointment next week, because what with her darling accent and my pounding heart, I had a hard time understanding just what that other stuff she was saying meant. Plus Laura kept saying from the back seat, “Mommy, why are you praying? Why are you praying?” So I just verified with with the doctor, “It’s all good? It’s all normal? There is nothing to worry about?” She confirmed that the news was indeed positive and that she’d see me next week for my post-op follow-up. Armed with our good news, Laura and I inched our way toward home all over again.
Today I went to get a new phone. Courtney made me commit to doing it, and I did. Duh. That was all it took. An amused Courtney listened in while I chatted with Kristen all the way home from the Verizon store without a single bit of static or echoing, much less a dropped call. I kept saying, “Can you hear me now? Can you hear me now?” And Kristen could! I’ve suffered with dropped calls at and near my house for a YEAR without getting around to getting to the bottom of the trouble. What was I waiting for? Moms always put themselves last on their lists. I have to stop that this instant!