The day I turned 11, my best friend moved to Vancouver. I had planned to go to the airport to say goodbye, but my parents had other ideas – in the shape of a surprise party. So, I played nice with the neighbourhood kids while Janet flew away, never to be seen again. I’ve never liked surprises since.
So, when The Dutchman ambushed me with news of invasive cancer, a week ago, it set me back on my heels for a few days. When diagnosed with DCIS in December, I wasn't surprised; I'd undergone a battery of tests, each one leading me to a more certain knowledge of what I had. But, on Thursday, I heard news I hadn't been led to expect. Now I understand a little about what my friends and family felt when I dropped the bomb on them, in January. Payback's a bitch.
But, a week later, The Dutchman’s assistant e-mailed the date for round two, today. I’ll be back on the table on March 16 – seven weeks after first go-round. My post-surgical meeting to review the next pathology report? April Fool’s!
A little perspective is a wonderful thing. I’m pleased to have a new date in hand, glad it’s far enough away that I can squeeze in a visit to Dad beforehand, and keen to get on with it. And that’s how we roll, in 2010.
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