The Waiting Room

Today I joined a new tribe. The Sisterhood of the Seven.

I was referred to the Betty Ford Diagnostic Breast Center in Grand Rapids when my doctor felt something that she wanted further explored during a standard breast screening at a recent appointment. Nothing to get frantic about, just a more intensive mammogram with an immediate review by a radiologist.

Here's where my active imagination kicks in and I run the risk of spinning completely out of control. While sitting in the Waiting Room in my fashion-retardant gown (Seriously, who designs those things? The ties don't work properly and seem to have no real purpose other than to frustrate the wearer for her lack of manual dexterity.) I noticed that there were actually Eight of us in various stages of exam flipping magazines aimlessly and staring at a spunky, fluff news program on the big screen in the Waiting Room.

You see, a woman's chance of developing invasive breast cancer at some time in her life is about 1 in 8 (12%). While waiting for the radiologist to review my films and issue my sentence, oops, I mean diagnosis, I found myself panic stricken by the coincidence.

Here was a perfect microcosm for the breast cancer diagnosis statistic. One of us was going to receive crappy news today. In minutes. Right here. Someone was about to learn that her beautiful life was under siege and she would need to fight the beast with every ounce of energy she could muster.

It might be me.

I could be the One.

I found myself sweating more profusely while waiting for the results than before participating in the barbaric test. I hated that I was wishing that this burden would drop into one of the other women's purses. Please, not me.

It seemed so weak, but I couldn't muster the courage to offer myself up in order to lessen the load for one of these other women.  If a gunman had burst through the door and started firing into the room, I would certainly have leaped up and deflected the bullets aimed at the sweet-faced lady in her mid-50s who was leafing through a magazine on my left. Right? Why couldn't I willingly offer to steal away this grim diagnosis?

My name was called and I stalwartly marched toward the technician for the verdict. I felt the searing burn of the others in the room, seven sets of eyes looking at me as I walked away. Were they all wishing silently for me to be the One?

Today, fortune smiled on me. I was accepted into the Sisterhood of the Seven. Its a temporary position, ever fluctuating in its census. But, for today, I am a fortunate girl.

I could not bear to look at the other women as I walked toward the dressing rooms with my news. They would have seen the relief on my face. They would have known. The One remained in the Waiting Room.

She is in my prayers tonight, as are all of the more than 200,000 women diagnosed with breast cancer in the past year. Fight on Sisters. Fight on.

(I should note that I do realize that statistics should not be manipulated like this and that it isn't a foregone conclusion that there would be a diagnosis today among the eight women in that room. But, hey, its my blog and this is how my mind works...besides, you try sitting in the Waiting Room and not panicking, its a scary place!)