To Live Each Moment by Janet Britton

Author:Janet Britton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: cancer, chemotherapy, radiation, foster parenting, coping with breast cancer, janet britton, janet durney britton, mastectomies
Publisher: Janet Britton

Rays of Hope

Nancy took me to my first appointment with the radiation therapist. I registered with the receptionist and then sat squirming, waiting to hear my name announced. Nancy sat tranquilly knitting a sweater for a Christmas present. I barely glanced at the room or the people around me. Eventually a matronly nurse called my name. I followed her to an examination room. She handed me a gown and said that the doctor would be with me soon. I stepped into the bathroom, hung my blouse and bra on the hook, removed the gauze bandage which comfortably concealed my deformed side, and slipped the gown on. I shivered. The moments crawled by as I waited to be sentenced. A dark, petite woman entered. “Hello, Mrs. Britton. I’m Dr. Nath.” She wheeled her stool on its casters until she faced me, our knees touching. I tried to determine what nationality she was—Syrian perhaps or Pakistani. Her face was inscrutable.

“Tell me what has happened,” she purred. I strained to understand her words through the unfamiliar accent.

“You mean why am I here?” I asked, unsure of her question.

“Yes, what has been your problem?” she said, a little louder.

“I brought records from my surgeon. I gave them to the receptionist.”

“I know that. I want you to tell me yourself. I will read the records later.”

I must have looked puzzled, for after pausing she continued. “I have found that the patient is the best source of information. Sometimes you can give the clue that has been previously overlooked by the doctors.”

I understood her purpose. I began my story. “This spring I found a lump in my left breast.”

“What month?”

“March, I guess.”

“Where exactly was the lump? Show me,” she said as she slipped the gown from my shoulders. I pointed to the lower center of where my breast had been.

“How did you find it?” she asked. “Do you do regular self- examination?”

I told her the story of the elusive chocolate-chip cookie crumb. I was extremely self-conscious about sitting naked to the waist talking to a stranger, but she reacted not at all.

After I had covered every detail of my medical history, she examined me thoroughly. Her only comment was, “This is a very neat job.” At that moment I understood Dr. Coulter’s careful burning of the thick growths from the edges of the skin graft. It was important to his professional reputation to keep my scars hidden and smooth.

As suddenly as the doctor had arrived, she stood and glided back out the door.

“You may get dressed,” the nurse said. ‘The doctor will be back after she has read your records. Do you have a member of your family with you today?”

“I have a friend who’s like a sister.”

“Would you like her here when the doctor talks to you? Sometimes it helps if someone is with you to remember the doctor’s comments.”

“Well, I guess so. That’d be fine.”

By the time I had finished dressing, Nancy was sitting in a chair in the examining room, still knitting. We talked until the doctor returned with her decree.

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