M

Each year the entry on my calendar says simply “M.” This morning I go to the hospital and change into one of the thin pink (they are always pink) gowns, place my clothes in the locker (I always try to get #7 but it is never free) and wear the key on its stretch band around my wrist. I sit in the waiting room filling out a form on a clipboard. Next to me this year is a very old lady with a lovely, well-lined face and snowy white hair, in a pink gown much like mine. We commiserate on the meager two-snap closing in the front of the gown, and then she blinks in dismay through thick glasses at her own clipboard.

“They want me to fill this out and I can’t see,” says she. “My daughter usually helps me, but she left for Alaska this morning.”

I don’t want to presume, but I want to help if I can. “I could help you if you like,” I say.

“Would you?” She seems genuinely relieved, so I scoot over to the chair next to hers and we work together on the form. I learn that her name is Marilyn. She was born in 1918 and is 91 years old.

She has had two different kinds of cancer and two different operations for it, one for each breast. “What bad luck,” I say, “But you sure are a survivor!” She smiles gamely.

She tells me she is very glad her daughter lives nearby and can’t imagine how it would be to not have family close at hand. She is wonderful, and positive, and still quite spry. I feel a surge of grief for my own mother, gone for 11 years now.

“See you later, and good luck,” I say when they call me in for the strange imaging process that involves mashing my breasts into various painful configurations.

I ask the technician how this test is done for women who have had double mastectomies and remark on how positive the woman waiting outside seems to be. “Oh, she probably had lumpectomies and we can still do tests in those cases. Yes, it sounds like she hasn’t allowed breast cancer to define her. For some women, it ends up defining them forever. For others, it defines them for a short while of course, but then they live through the experience with grace and strength. Seeing that happen is one of the best parts of my job.”

So far each year, despite a few false alarms, the news has been positive. Whatever comes, I hope for grace and strength.