I received the call last Thursday. Truthfully, the news that would spill forth from the receiver wasn't unexpected. That little nugget of worry had been thrashing about in the back of my mind for a few weeks...ever since her surgery if you really must know.
The txt came through just ten minutes before my lunch hour was to end. For a second I considered waiting to call her. After all, everyone knows what a huge, sobbing boob I am. I made the call anyway, because I knew from her txt that it was important.
And it was.
I hate that word. I hate the way it sounds on my lips and I despise the way it causes my stomach to tighten and twist into rolling knots of fear and grief.
She told me her news and I choked back the tears that were welling up in my throat. I was determined not to let her hear me cry. I thought my voice sounded strained but figured she's expect that. Everything was fine until she said, "I still have your dishes..."
I lost it. I told her I was sorry, that I didn't want her to hear me cry - after all, she's the one with the big C not me.
She laughed and replied, 'Oh Ann, you are such a booby!"
She did mention that I should feel free to bring her baked goods.
So, that is my cancer fighting plan: baked goods, funny cards, and lots of prayer for her.
Between you and I, I'm worried.