Sometimes

Sometimes I can be really dumb.

I have had breast cancer twice. The second time they lopped the breast off, which was fine with me. The damn thing wanted to kill me. I needed chemo and a special type of radiation which involved heating the area than zapping it.

Since then, I've had certain medication plus physio from time to time for the discomfort caused by missing lymph nodes.

None of this is a complaint. I am extremely lucky to be living in a time and place with wonderful, affordable medical care.

However, on my last check in Geneva, the doctor frowned at my ectograph. "We'll want to take a look at it in a few months. Nothing to worry about?"

Little did she know the words "nothing to worry about" is the same thing that says "worry, worry, worry."

I pictured myself being biopsied, back in bed, exhausted from chemo with Rick doing all the cooking (someone else cooking is not a bad thing but not for the reason of my total exhaustion from chemo).

Twice, I rose to the situation, making the best out of everything, while accepting the situation, sometimes joking, sometimes gathering the good things that happened to me as if I were picking wild flowers. Could I do it again?

I would have to, not just for me but for my husband. We would need to make the time count.

And the wig store serving bald cancer patients doesn't have white wigs. I would need to order one from the States.

As lovely as the nurses were who came to the house for my blood boosting shots, I would rather see them for a cup of tea at a café.

With these thoughts, I decided not to wait until my November check in Geneva but made an appointment in Argelès for the ectograph. Today was the day.

Dr. Christian listened to my explanation, squeezed cream on my right side and ran the wand over it.
"Nothing is there. Everything is okay," he said in French.

I told him I felt ten years younger. The Echo was cheaper than a face lift. I also told him that my imagination sometimes was over active."

He smiled. "Pour les femmes avec cancer du sein c'est classique."

I paid my 41 Euros, collected the film for my doctor in Geneva and left with my husband, relieved that we could continue with out plans for Madrid, Nova Scotia, Toronto, Geneva, Lucerne, etc.

I guess being dumb about somethings is classic.