3 years ago, Robin left the house for her mammogram. I was sitting at the kitchen table. Little did we know that our lives, hers especially, were going to be turned over. Neither of us gave the appointment any thought. It was routine.
We had more on our minds. Frank, her father was in hospital with a broken hip. I was planning to leave for a week long trip to France with my uncle to visit the World War I battlefieds and to follow his father's 4 year oddyssy in France.
Now 3 years later, after the death of her father and then mother, a cancer diagnosis, surgery, chemo, radiation and tamoxifen - we set out today to see her oncologist after an MRI last week. What will we learn?
We have put the risk of her being re-diagnosed into the recesses of our minds. It is how we cope. But in the last 2 days, the enormity of a possible new diagnosis has entered our conscioussness.
Can she go through all of this again? If re-diagnosed after only 3 years, what track are we really on?
We all die. So how and when is important. This is a terrible posible future.
