Read an excerpt from the book:
"We got checked into the ER and were assigned a bed in our own curtained area. Tests and blood work were ordered. I could tell by the questions that were being asked the doctors already had some idea of what could be causing Mom this issue, and they knew what they were looking for. We, of course, did not. We waited a while, which is the normal routine in Emergency Rooms.
Mom and I were of course eavesdropping on the surrounding curtains. That is what you do in these situations. We heard some interesting stories and ailments including overhearing the doctor tell the unlucky chap in the next curtain area that he was in need of a rectal exam to check for bleeding. My mom leaned over and whispered, ‘Hope he at least buys him dinner first.’ This is why I loved her.
She was sweet and good to the core but somewhere buried beneath the Girl Scout was a sick sense of humor that I of course shared as well. I routinely tried to encourage this side of her to come out. It made us both laugh in the moment which was a welcomed relief from the barrel of stress sitting on top of us.
We sat quietly for a while, and I remember telling her it was going to be fine, and they would figure it all out and get her feeling better. Shortly thereafter, the physician’s assistant we had seen earlier came through the curtain and brought with her a tall, important-looking senior doctor in a pristine white lab coat. They both had serious expressions on their faces but also had a tinge of sympathy in their head turns as they came behind the curtain to talk to us. I know my mother thought the same thing I did. This can’t be good news.
The senior doctor asked a few more questions and let us know the scan they had done had shown “something”. “Something”? Any chance it showed my missing car keys or an old twenty-dollar bill that was previously misplaced? These are the crazy thoughts going through my panicked brain as I was trying not to imagine the worst. ‘There is a very large mass,’ he muttered. Then there was a lull. Silence. Absorption. Shock. Fear. I tightened my grip on Mom’s hand. I didn’t want to make eye contact with her, but I did. We met eyes, and there were two different expressions. Hers was of defeat, mine of sheer terror.
The doctor went on to explain that in most cases, tumors (there is that word for the first time) of this size in the uterus are often malignant (not a great word either). He apologized as if somehow he had a hand in its appearance and explained he would send in their Emergency Outpatient Coordinator to help with the follow- up to see an oncologist (third times a charm for words you don’t ever want to hear). He reached over and touched my mom’s arm in a gesture of sympathy and support.
He asked if we had any questions. My brain at that point probably resembled a pinball machine. Silver balls bouncing around all over the place being knocked by lopsided shiny levers clambering to find a hole. Of course, I had questions, probably around four thousand of them, but at that very moment, the connection between my brain and mouth seemed to have been severed, and I couldn’t conjure up even one. He smiled and left us with all that just hanging in the air like a lead blanket."