The Call to Hell

OCTOBER 14, 2020

Barely two years after burying my mom, the phone was ringing.

Yes, ringing. It was a landline. A beautiful, clunky, Band-Aid-beige push-button telephone. And it was loud. On purpose, so you could hear it throughout the house and answer it.

It was June of 1996 and my dad was over, as often was the case after my mom died, having dinner with us. “I’ll get it” I said as I got up from the table and grabbed the phone. I was expecting this call.

A few weeks prior, while in the shower, I had felt a tiny, hard, pea-sized lump in my left breast, really almost in my armpit. I had fibrocystic breasts and was very familiar with the lay of the land. This thing was a new development.

So, I went to my Ob/Gyn, because once you’ve had a baby, you really only ever see your Ob for all things medical. I don’t even think I had another doctor back then. A pediatrician for the kids and the Ob for me and I guess the dentist.

My Ob sent me for another mammogram, and the radiologist came out to talk to me. That’s never a good sign. He said I should have a biopsy and was going to call my Ob to follow up.

I walked outside, shouted FUCK, burst into tears, and kicked some random car tire. I was surprised by how much it hurt my foot! I also had an instant knowing--I had cancer.

I was referred to a brilliant surgeon, Dr. A. One of the kindest men I’ve ever met, even if he had hair plugs. He did a thorough breast exam, and said “Flori, whatever this is, it doesn’t belong in your body so I am going to remove it”. Well, remove it like it’s cancer, I said to him. “Then you know something I don’t” he replied. After the outpatient biopsy he said he’d call me with results.

Sitting around the dinner table, hearing that phone ring, I knew that call was for me.

 “Flori, the good news is we caught it early. It was very small and the 5-year survival rate is over 90%" He must have said more, but my ears disappeared.

FUCK I’m thinking. All eyes are on me, but the ones I see most clearly are my father’s. Thoughts are rushing through my mind, it’s the first time I’m glad my mother isn’t alive. And at the same time, I want my mommy. But I’m the mommy now, so I take a deep breath and put on a slight smile and I turn to face my kids and my father and my second-hand-husband. Taking a deep breath, I repeat “the good news is we caught it early.” I’m going to be fine. Let’s finish dinner.

I don’t remember the air being sucked out of the room, but I remember it being sucked out of me. I don’t remember anything else about that night. I don’t even think my stupid ex or my own father asked me any questions.

And because I seemed in-charge and seemed okay and seemed confident, they all got to keep their bliss and their blinders on. They did clear their throats a lot, the way men do when they are choking on their own emotion.

My head was starting to scream. I had just lost my mother; how much more could I endure?

And the Calls kept coming. Biopsy showed clear margins but close. Dr. A. wanted a wider excision. And a lymph node dissection. More surgery. I hated answering that fucking phone.

Good news-- All lymph nodes are negative, Flori. Bad news-- Small cancer was an aggressive little fuck, although those might not have been his exact words. More calls with bad news; hormone negative, and HER2+ both are associated with a poorer outcome.

And then the worst news of all - I had to do chemotherapy and radiation. FUCK!

I now had an army of doctors. In addition to the Ob/Gyn, the pediatrician, and the dentist, I had an oncologist and a radiation oncologist. I had two second-opinion oncologists and a second-opinion surgeon and a plastic-fantastic surgeon (easily the best-looking doctor in my army).

HOW could this be happening to me? I was only 38! But I took it like a “warrior”. I channeled all my fear and anger into surviving. Chemo? Sure, bring it on! I was sick as a dog. Every day.

Radiation, burning off my skin, sure, bring it on.

I also had a Chinese medicine doctor for weekly acupuncture and herbs. He was the only honest doctor on my team even though I was scared of acupuncture and herbs at the beginning. Each week, he’d write the herbs down, and I’d look up every single herb (in a book!) to see if there were contraindications or if any of them were dead animals, bugs or weird toes. Each week my trust in him grew, and the acupuncture helped to soften my anger, and let out my heat and whatever else he said was wrong with me, my qi, my stagnation, my liver energy, my yin, my pale tongue, my wrist pulse, and my third eye.

In general, I was raging angry, and this served me very well. FUCK YOU cancer, I thought again and again! I have to raise my kids. I will do whatever it takes.

 Yes, of course, I answered the call to adventure. And I’m still answering it today, every day.

Even when that call is a lousy text.