“Any concerns?” I hear unease in Dr. Marc’s voice.
Sitting in Walgreen’s parking lot I stare through the rain-smeared windshield, evening traffic rambles by.
Concerns? Hmm … Let me see … Do I need chemo? Will I lose my leg? How will I function on one leg? I stifle a hysterical laugh at the images my mind conjures. I pray the Hail Mary.
My head exploding, I shift into my corporate voice. A tone I use when I’m masking emotions. “Concern almost describes it,” I retort.
“I’m very sorry to give you this news over the phone, Mary. I thought you’d like to know as soon as possible,” Dr. Marc explains.
He hurriedly continues with TV drama blah, blah, blah I arrogantly thought I’d never hear. As he talks I recall an Apple commercial. A woman puts on her iPod, steps into a world of her own and wildly dances. That’s exactly how I’m feeling – except I’m not dancing.
I return to his conversation. “I need to excise the area under the mole and see if the melanoma is extensive or contained. That will give us all the answers we need. Let’s do it tomorrow at 9 am.”
He pauses. I agree. I sigh and wait for him to hang up.
I was proud of my cute mole in a sexy place behind my right knee. Just like mom. I loved that we had matching ‘beauty marks.’ I see her laughing when I was five and told her we were twins.
Forty-eight hours later I’m standing in front of the magnificent Venetian Hotel in Las Vegas. Sporting twelve stitches behind my knee, I’m resting before I walk the half mile to a business meeting. My phone vibrates.
I hear ‘all clear.’ I’m nauseous. I’m sobbing. I’m dancing without my iTunes.