The Diagnosis

The Diagnosis 9/2/05

“I have never seen this before,”
says the radiologist, examining the
pink blotches on the PET screen.
“I don’t see any cancer anywhere in your body,”
he says, “but I don’t know what all this inflammation
is in your neck, shoulder and axilla.”
Observing son sits quitely looking at the screen,
wheels visibly turning in his head.
He says only,
“We’ll do a biopsy in the morning.”

A late afternoon phone call the next day.
A sad, somber son voice, “The pathologist just came by, mom.”
“And...?”I coax.
“It’s breast cancer,”
I am incredulous. “In my neck?”
“Yes, you see, you have infiltrating, lobular cancer. It...”
“I know what I have, honey. I’ll call you back in an hour.
I’m going in for a haircut now.”
“A haircut?” He is distressed at my seeming nonchalance.
“Just let me be for awhile, I’ll call you back later.”

“I’m so sorry,” Krystal tells me again and again
as she absently chops at my hair.
She is distraught.
I am numb and don’t notice.
Until I get home and look in the mirror.