Last year, something really scared me. Being a worry wort, it was always niggling at my mind and I couldn't focus on a lot of other things...
Just a ordinary Monday after a day at school. I pull on my ballet tights and leotard. Then all usual thoughts become an unusual realization when my hand brushes past my right breast. A lump. I fall down Niagara Falls. For the rest of the night a worry of the worst kind gnaws away in my mind. In bed, my eyes are wide and glazed over. It can’t be.
At this point, I did not know what else it could be. With an impressive family history of the dreaded “c” word, it made sense that I was next in line. I started to think of all the things I have in life: my family, my friends, just the gift of life, the amazing feeling I get when I go down that huge hill on my bike and have the wind in my hair - not to mention the occasional fly in my mouth.
About three days after the dodgy discovery, I eventually forced it out to my mother. In the midst of telling her, my mouth went as dry as the hottest desert. It was like the thought of having cancer was trying to keep me quiet, while it got worse without anyone knowing about it. My mother assured me that it was probably nothing to worry about. The only word I took notice of was “probably”. The insecurity and the fear of the unknown was sickening.
I wait and wait for the letter for my appointment at the Breast Clinic at the Hospital. I am eager to find out but my trepidation is more dominant. A few weeks later, I see my name staring menacingly from the door mat of my home. The sound of a washing machine starts in my ears. I rip it open.
From the time I found out my appointment, I kept telling myself not to think of anything in particular - not the worst but not the best either. Coincidently, people started asking me about my future. I felt that could not answer those questions with confidence anymore. If I did I would be jinxing my future, cursing any hopes and dreams I have. People expect to live their lives as normal from each day to the next but no one knows what is going to happen tomorrow. A hex was splitting my anticipation of every future plan I had.
I used to think I was unlucky. I complained endlessly to my mother for “giving” me her terrible migraines and fair skin and to my father for cursing me with a prominent derrière and short legs. I feel so guilty for even daring to think of these things now.
The big day came and I am in the car with my mother in utter silence. The radio is on, not for listening, just to break the barrier of restlessness. We arrive only too soon at the hospital. I walk, shivering and teeth chattering with anxiety. The sun beating down on me, making my hands sweat. Wearing my all black school uniform, I feel as if I am dressed for my own funeral. I hit the anti-bacteria dispenser and some luminous green liquid plops in to my palm. I ask my mother to check in at the desk for me.
I sit down and fill out a pointless questionnaire that I do not even mind doing. It is something else for my brain to think about. I look around the waiting room. It reminds me of an airport waiting room. My name is called and I feel like I have just taken off in a plane. I feel people’s eyes follow me out the room continue down the corridor. I dawdle behind the nurse like a lost puppy and catch up at her heel, waiting for an instruction. I pass a lady with a bald head. Chemotherapy.
We walk in to a small, bright room and I take a seat next to the desk obediently. The nurse holds out her hand and I shake it, introducing herself. I smile back and swallow loudly. I have to strip off. She prods and pokes around. I have to raise my arms, lie on my sides and she draws on me with a pen. I cannot look her in the eyes at all. Then she sends me on the journey to get an ultra-sound on my breast. I meet my mother again. The women ranging from about thirty to about eighty all look at me as if I am an alien. As I leave, I look back in to the room and I telepathically send a good luck to everyone. My thighs shake as if I have been riding my bike non-stop all day as I descend the ugly, grey stairs to the Mammography Department.
A doctor introduces herself and she asks me to take my top off. She puts some clear, unscented jelly on me. I cannot look at the screen so I just count the tiles on the ceiling. Exactly thirty. She rambles on about how her son is at university.
Will I get to go to university? Or will I not get the grades because of this? She says that she is going to get the head of the department to make sure everything is normal.
When she leaves the room, I get into the mind set of accepting that I have breast cancer. I know I have. It is just not been professionally declared yet. I try to prepare how I am going to take it. I plan to ask what my next step is going to be. I listen to the distant noises; quick, noisy high heels thump the floor, the many swinging doors banging at the hinges, the eerie squeaks of the trolleys down the corridor.
Eventually, a male doctor enters. A red powder of embarrassment sprinkles on my face. I lie there like a stunned rabbit as he puts more jelly on me. He then uses the probe and I bring myself to look at the screen. Clear for so far but as he moves over the lump I see the difference - wavy lines. I swallow back that invisible stone in my throat.
Oh God.
The doctor tells me that it is normal.
Normal? At first I thought that my ears were deceiving me. A tremendous wave of elation washes over me. I am sent back to my mother. She looks concerned and obviously waiting for an answer. I give her a smile and tell her I am okay. I know this does not mean I am immune to cancer but at least I know, for now, that I have been given the all clear.
People complain about being fat or ugly or something as silly as having weird shaped knees. I used to just accept it when people said that but now I get incredibly angry and frustrated that they clearly do not see the advantage of living. I feel luckier than anyone. I am not the brightest button in the class but I have a brain and I can see, I can hear and I can walk and talk. I look at friends at school and think about them realise how lucky I am. I am thankful for every day. I love life and I know that I am not going to worry about small, insignificant things like appearance any more. I live for the moment and I am going to live life to the fullest.
