Page 6 of The Perfect Gift

When I was pregnant with Kai, I wasn’t prepared for the near doubling in size that happened. Not that my breasts got huge, but for the first time in my life, I fit into a B-cup. The only bad thing about the whole thing is the tenderness and increased sensitivity.

Dr. Johnson begins the exam with my right breast. Her brows furrow, however, during the exam of my left breast. She goes back to a prior spot, running her fingers over that one area again and again.

Something’s wrong. I know it.

“Have you noticed a lump here before?”

“A lump?”

“Do you feel that?” She takes my hand and places my fingers over the area she’s concerned about.

I’m not great with self-breast exams. Since my breasts aren’t much to write home about, I admit I’ve never checked for lumps before.

“I don’t feel anything.” I look at her with concern.

“It could be nothing, but we’ll need to run some tests.”

“Tests?” Noodles asks. “What kind of tests?”

“Mammogram. Ultrasound. A needle biopsy, depending on what the results of the mammogram and ultrasound show.”

“Biopsy?” My attention shifts to Noodles in alarm.

He squeezes my hand, then leans down to press his lips lightly against my forehead.

“In most cases, it’s nothing more than the fibrous framework of the breast tissue enlarging during pregnancy due to your hormones.” My doctor tries to keep me from freaking out, but I’m freaked out. “With your pregnancy and the changes in your breasts, we might simply be better able to feel the normal dense fibrous tissue, but I’d like to be certain.” Dr. Johnson keeps her words steady and soothing.

Unfortunately, it does nothing to calm the racing of my pulse.

“So—it’s normal, right?”

Please be normal.

“Perhaps, but I’d like to be certain,” Dr. Johnson concludes, her calm, practiced voice a stark contrast to the chaotic tumble of my thoughts.

I swallow hard against the lump in my throat. She hasn’t said the C-word, but I know what she’s thinking.

Cancer.

Tears spill down my cheeks. The flutter of joy from seeing my unborn child is gone. All I feel is a leaden weight in the pit of my stomach and fear. Lots of fear.

My baby is healthy. I try to focus on the positive, but it’s hard. A riot of emotions swirls through me. Fear for my baby. Fear for myself. Anger at my body for betraying me like this. Grief at losing the joy in this pregnancy.

Dr. Johnson outlines the next steps: a mammogram, ultrasound, and biopsy if required. Her words are a complete blur. Fortunately, I have Noodles. He asks all the questions I can’t. I wish I had his strength. We set dates for the mammogram, ultrasound, and biopsy—if required.

A week? How can I wait, knowing there might be a time bomb ticking away inside me? I want to do something now. If there’s cancer inside of me, I want it gone. Cut it out and get it as far away from my unborn baby as possible.

Chapter Six

A week later, we sit with Dr. Johnson to review my biopsy results. They confirm our worst fears.

She sits beside me, her kind eyes brimming with compassion. “I know this is a shock, but we caught this early. That’s good news.”

Cancer. Cancer. Cancer.

Cancer. Cancer. Cancer.

Cancer. Cancer. Cancer.