Storytelling

I have never been a great storyteller. My stories take side roads. They meander through subplots often getting lost in thickets of details. This story is about to meander.

My sister lives in LA. She is a lighting designer, and now works for a small firm out there. She is also a t-cell lymphoma survivor. In May, and I didn't write down the date, she went to her "well-woman" visit only to discover that she had a ovarian cyst. For an endless 10 days we awaited her OB/GYN appointment. The doctor proclaimed "Stage 4 Ovarian Cancer" and then there was an endless wait for a surgeon. Well it seemed endless to me. I whined to Margaret, "why does it take them so long in California to get you to a specialist? If you were here in Boston, things would move much faster."

(So you see why my heavy and puffy breast seemed insignifigant? Heck, my sister was looking at a second fight with cancer! And that totally didn't seem right. I found my lump before she saw a surgeon, but I didn't say anything to anyone. How could one family manage this?)

She liked the surgeon. The surgeon wasn't sure it was ovarian cancer. The surgery was last week and the pathology report was 'borderline ovarian cancer.' Yes, this is good! The cyst removal therapy is all the treatment. She is clean!