I drove to my parent's house Monday morning and by the time I pulled in the driveway I knew. I walked in and looked at my very sad parents and said, "I have cancer, don't I?" "Yes", dad said. The doctor had called them on Friday. He thought maybe I would take the news from them better. I didn't. "We have an appointment with an obstetric surgeon in about an hour".
I don't remember much except yelling at God. "This is the prayer you answer?" The one about being barren?" "Not the one about not being beaten, or scared, or even being a fucking Beatle?" "YOU BASTARD!" I went on and railed against God. It was a really nice touch that I got to be pregnant for a week. I was done with God. God obviously saw me as someone to be constantly disappointed and miserable forever. DONE with God. I had seen a movie once based on mythology where the gods played chess with the mortals and got their jollies from watching the mortals flail and die. I was definitely a pawn in some crummy game.
We arrived at the surgeon's office. I don't even know where it was as I was rather catatonic. We had to fill out paperwork of course because having cancer and NO BABY was not bad enough. Dad offered to fill in the blanks in the mountain of paperwork. He did fine until, "how old were you when you started menstruating?". He asked me. "Eleven", I replied. "Eleven?" "Yes, dad, surprise, you're little girl was a woman at the age of eleven". I took the forms from him. Good plan. Next question, "when did you become sexually active". Yeah, didn't want to say "15" to my dad even now.
After an eternity it was my turn to go in and face the executioner of my baby. Even though he had all the tests and the notes from my doctor I was not spared the indignity of resuming "the position". The doctor placed what must had been both hands inside me and felt my uterus. "This feels like a large mass about grapefruit size". "Mass?" I said, "please say tumor if you mean tumor otherwise I might think there is a tiny priest and a congregation in there. IT THIS A TUMOR?" Of course I was crying for emphasis and because there was no way to stop. "I prefer to just say "mass" until we see the biopsies. "Is there anyway I can have this baby?" "I will stay in bed, I will do anything if there is even a small chance?" "I'm sorry", said the doctor, "the fetus has been terminated by the mass I feel certain". THE FETUS? Her name was going to be Amanda Leigh or his name was going to be Forrest Glen. THE FETUS WAS MY ONLY CHILD!
He asked if I had any questions. Am I going to die? Do you think I will have chemo? Why does God hate me? Does everyone get kicked in the gut over and over or am I just uniquely deserving of the short end of every stick?
No, I said. Well, I did have a favor. Now, I would not normally include this next bit of information but it is necessary to the story as they say in Hollywood when most of the women are naked in a movie. I was not blessed with breasts. I had nubile teeny breasts. However, in some areas the Creator must have thought I was going to play defensive end for the Green Bay Packers. Think about it. OK. I asked to please be prepped for surgery on the table.
The doctor called the hospital and asked for the "earliest available O.R.". He waited, "no", he said, "I will do it Saturday". SATURDAY! A DOCTOR WAS COMING IN ON SATURDAY! I thought that's when they played golf. I must be dying, period.
I needed to pray, but to whom or what? I had too many emotions to define and I had until Saturday to have the MASS removed with MY UTERUS and TAKE MY DEAD FETUS.
I was not all that thrilled to be 28.
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