Finding out about Cancer #3

In my life, I believe I have discovered two things that will always be true for me. Truth #1: I will never be photogenic. I will always look as if I am eating or have food in my mouth. This is true regardless of whether I actually have been eating. In fact, knowing this, I have often taken great pains whenever anyone looks like they are taking a picture of me to make sure I will not look as if I am eating. Still, the picture shows up on Facebook or in someone's photo gallery - and sure enough, I look as if my mouth is full. I am convinced I have my own personal gremlin that sneaks around in everyone's cameras to make this happen. I have no other explanation.

Truth #2: I will always hear that I have cancer while eating out. For Cancer #1, I think I was eating lunch out with Mike in Tempe (where I was teaching at ASU for the year). I could be making this up, though, because that was 12 years ago. For Cancer #2, I was with Mike and Joe at Ra Sushi (this was 5 years ago; Joe was home for the holidays and he loves sushi). Just prior to the phone call, I was debating whether to get a chocolate martini and leaning towards "no". After the phone call, Joe said: "You should have a drink". I followed his excellent advice. For Cancer # 3, Mike and I were in Morro Bay, CA, where we we spent the last two days of our Spring Break. This was our first night there and we decided to have a late lunch/early dinner. It was foggy and rainy but just right for otter-viewing and pleasant for Tucsonans used to the sun all the time. This phone call was not a surprise. We were waiting for the news - except not right then. I forget the name of the restaurant, but it was a local fish house run by an actual fisherman. Each table had the picture of one of the fisherman who supplied the fish for the restaurant along with pictures of their boats, families, etc. It was a really nice touch and we enjoyed looking at them.
       We didn't know if we were hungry enough for a full meal so we just ordered appetizers. Mike got chowder and I got some steamed clams to share. When the clams came, there were only about 5 or 6 - not enough to fill us up. We ordered a fish-n-chips to share. The call came just before the fish arrived. I could tell the news was bad simply from the way my doctor said "hi". I think I started trembling immediately. I took the phone outside in the rain - leaving Mike to wait for the food - while my doctor explained the results of the biopsy. Not good. Scary. I was pacing and trembling, trying to stay dry, and at one point, I realized I was dizzy and thought I might pass out or throw up or both. I have never fainted before but there is a first time for everything, and I think if I had, I would have had a good excuse. I don't remember a lot of the call except being distressed that my surgeon for the prior two had retired; knowing that I would not be able to have the solace of his extraordinary care and the kindness and solicitude he showed to Mike and I throughout his 11 years of watching over me was causing extra panic. I also remember asking what the timeline was because we were in the middle of the semester and I was teaching 3.5 courses. I was hoping my doctor would agree to wait on treatment, as they had in the prior two. She said instead: "Absolutely not." I think that might have been the point at which I thought I might throw up. She said she would call the new surgeon and request an appointment for me as soon as possible. She said the surgery would happen in one or two weeks and that she recommended a bilateral mastectomy. I hung up, slightly damp, and definitely wanting to throw up.
       The food had arrived while I was outside and Mike was eating when I got back to our table. He reached for my hands as I sat down and I gave him the details. Tears came then but because we were in a public place, I did my best to suck it up and wipe them quickly away. Mike, clearly upset himself, encouraged me to eat but I just couldn't do it. (A pox on you, cancer! Why do you always interrupt a nice meal?!)  In the end, I just couldn't stick it out in the restaurant any longer so Mike suggested I wait outside while he took care of the bill. We walked back to our inn in the rain, holding hands. I don't recall we said much. We were too sad and upset.

When we got back to the inn, we knew we would have to tell our families, who had been waiting for these results right along with us. This is one of the hardest things to do - call people you love and upset them. The silver lining in all of this is that they love you back. They support you, they offer to help, they listen to you, sometimes they cry with you. We held hands during these calls.
       The other piece of the silver lining in this case is that our room in the inn was actually out over the bay. This meant we had an excellent, albeit rain-smudged, view of a pile of seals sleeping on a dock built in the middle of the bay just for that purpose - also otters swimming by and various seabirds. I thought, well, this could be worse.
       We spent the rest of the evening trying to pretend it was just another evening, part of a lovely vacation in which we had no other cares but to rest and relax. We slept side-by-side, listening to the rain and the seals.