wish it were something like that.
“No. I…” My throat constricts. I take a drink of water and force the words out, trying to remain dispassionate so I won’t start crying. “Allie, just before Thanksgiving, I found a lump in my breast.”
She blinks. “A lump?”
“Yes.” I gesture vaguely to my left breast. “On the side. I had it checked out, and they did some tests and…well, it turned out to be cancerous.”
All the color drains from her face. “Wait…what?”
“It’s cancer.” I take a deep breath. “Allie, I have breast cancer.”
She shakes her head, as if that makes no sense.
“It’s early stage,” I say quickly. “I’m going to have a lumpectomy. They won’t know all the details until after the surgery, but hopefully I’ll only need surgery and radiation.”
Only.
Allie sets her cup on the coffee table. Her hand is shaking.
“You’re serious?” she asks.
Well, I wouldn’t joke about something like this.
“Yes. Dean and I have met with several doctors, but we didn’t want to tell anyone until we knew what the plan would be.”
“Wow.” Allie gets to her feet, reaching over to straighten a stack of magazines. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I’m not going to let it affect my work,” I add. “I mean, I’ll try not to, as much as I can, at least. And I’d like to tell the staff all at the same time so I have a chance to answer everyone’s questions. Maybe we could call a special staff meeting?”
“Yeah, sure. Whatever.” She turns to fluff up one of the sofa pillows. “I mean, whatever you want to do. Just let me know.”
A strained silence falls between us. I take another sip of water.
“So, do you have any questions?” I finally ask.
“No. No, I don’t.” Allie stops fussing with the pillows and glances at the clock. “I’m sorry, but I have to be somewhere at four, so I should go get ready.”
“Oh. Okay, sure.”
I set the glass down and stand, taking a step toward her for a hug because hugging is what Allie and I do.
She backs away. What the…?
Hurt flares through my chest. I take a few steps toward the door.
“So I guess I’ll see you at work tomorrow,” I say.
“Okay.”
I leave her house, blinking back tears as I try to compose myself. That was not the reaction from Allie I’d been expecting. But one thing I’ve learned in life is that you can’t control how other people react to what you say or do. So maybe she just needs time to process this news. Heaven knows I still am.
Since I know the news of my diagnosis will spread, and since I don’t want to drag out the telling, I make calls and set up times to talk to different people. I’m surprisingly calm as I sit down with my friends and tell them the truth. Every time I say the words, “I have breast cancer,” something solidifies inside me, like I’m adding a brick to my wall of strength.
I will not give it power over me. I will not fear saying its name.
People’s reactions range from shock to painful understanding and sympathy. One of Bella’s teachers tells me about her mother’s successful battle with breast cancer, and a sobering number of friends have their own personal stories of different kinds of cancer.
“Oh, Liv.” Despite the static-filled phone line, the heaviness in North’s voice sinks right into my heart. “Not you.”
“I’ll be okay.” I manage to maintain my positive tone.
“I’m on my way back.” His voice breaks up, ragged and hoarse. “I’m in Pondicherry, en route to Mumbai. I can catch a flight back from there.”
“No.”
As much as I want to see North, the thought of him cutting short his years-long walkabout because of me feels wrong. It will not change North’s direction.
“I need to know you’re out in the world,” I tell him, picturing him with his long gray hair; warm, crinkled brown eyes, and the little red ribbon nestled into his bushy beard. “I need your postcards about temples and sunrises. I want to hear about the friends you’re making, and the foods you’ve never tried before. Don’t come home. Not yet.”
He’s quiet for a long time. “Only if you promise to do something.”
“Of course.”
“Draw.”
I’d been expecting something like, “Don’t be a turtle, be an eagle,” from my philosopher friend, so for a second I’m not sure I heard him right.
“Draw?” I repeat.
“You always had a talent for drawing. In Paris you told me you hadn’t done it for years. So get a notebook, some good