It’s cancer. No it’s not. It has to be, otherwise why wouldn’t they publish my biopsy results on the patient portal. Why is no one calling back? It’s been over two weeks now. Where are my results?
Then I think, this will change everything. And at the same time, this will change nothing. At this very moment, I am cancer free. As long as the phone doesn’t ring I am cancer free.
But what would change exactly? I made a vow that I would continue to coach and serve and do this work—no matter what, no matter if the cancer came back, that I would do this work until my very last day on earth.
If I am found to have a cancer recurrence, what would really change, and would it be all that bad? Wouldn’t I remember to be a more patient mom, a more present wife, daughter and friend? Wouldn’t I remember to savor every little thing because time is so very precious? Wouldn’t I eat better, knowing full well all the sugary, acidic and processed foods that create an environment for cancer cells to thrive in. Wouldn’t I make sure to rest more when I need it? Maybe I’d even take the foot off the brake and prioritize writing my book, to get all those stories together into one collection at last.
None of this would be so bad. But it seems totally crazy that here I am, already trying to flip the script, to find the good in this hypothetical as I sit and wait for the stupid phone to ring. The black iPhone screen stares vacuous, and suddenly it feels heavy, like a loaded weapon.
Maybe the doctor won’t call because she doesn’t know how to spill the bad news. She and I just met a month ago. I told her if it comes back positive, that I wasn’t going to have another surgery. Not this surgery. I told her that I was going to just go live out my days in the desert. The fantasy is that I tell no one, but slip away in the night. I can’t put my family and friends through this again. I would find a little clay adobe house with a dirt floor, a bed, a desk, a small kitchenette and a wood stove for when the nights turn cold. I can see the particles of dust in the shaft of light that pours in from above the kitchen sink. I tell no one. This is where I will write my last story and the sun and the clay and the dry heat will mummify me. Years later someone will find me clutching a notebook.
Then the phone rings. It is the doctor—FINALLY. The results are negative. No cancer.
I can finally exhale, and return my fingers to their keyboard dance.
Time to get back to work.
9 thoughts on “Waiting for Results”
Phew! And I admire you.
Yes, I was on the edge until the last – so happy for you.
Thanks for sharing the journey!
What a poignant experience, Melissa. Thank you for sharing your bravery and determination with us.
Thank you for reading along Cynthia!
Oh, Melissa! My heart goes out to you. You had me hanging on a wire. I am so, so happy the results are good and that there is NED. This is so beautifully written, so from the heart. I can relate to each and every word. I think it needs to be posted somewhere else, to reach more people, more women going through the same thing. Maybe HuffPo Woman. Again, I am so happy you are healthy.
Thank you Cathy! 💗
Waiting for any test result is torture, I recently played “the why aren’t they calling game” I was fortunate with negative results as well and I’m only the sister of a survivior. I applaud your tenacity and positive vibe in the face of adversity. I pray that you never get anything but positive results in future scans & tests! ❤️ Cousin love all around.
Positive meaning negative results! 😉 Thank you Laura! I’m glad your results were negative as well. ❤️