‘They want you to have an MRI.’ The Dr was facing me, watching me. ‘There’s concern it may be a sarcoma.’
The words I didn’t want to hear. I looked at the floor. I couldn’t breathe.
‘Yeah, there’s a mass in your muscle, which is an unusual spot, so the Dr who did the ultrasound is concerned.’
In the muscle.
I’d been Dr Googling for days. I knew all about the 70 different types of sarcomas.
‘But that’s not a good one!’ It felt like I was shouting, it was barely a whisper.
The Dr shook his head. ‘No. The leiomyosarcoma isn’t good. I’m sorry. This must be very stressful.’
46%. 46% mortality rate. The floor was suddenly wobbling and I began to sob. Fuck. Fuck, I can’t believe I am here. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
‘It’s ok to cry,’ he said handing me a tissue. ‘I’ll call around and see if I can book you in for an MRI today.’
I put my head in my hands and did just that. Not now. I have my son. Oh. My. God. My boy. I began howling. I finally met a great man I love. I have a job I always wanted. The Dr said nothing to reassure me. That’s not good.
I started rocking. I felt so cold. My teeth were chattering. I was shaking.
Not again. I don’t want to go down this path again.
‘I don’t understand. I am healthy. I am fit. I am happy.’ But it was like I was just saying it out loud to no-one. I KNOW it can happen to anyone. Any time. Knowing it makes it even more scary.
So much going through my head. Then moments of nothing at all. 46%. I have to be the other per cent. The per cent that fights it. I’ve done it once. I can do it again.
The Dr got me an appointment that afternoon. I just nodded. I couldn’t feel anything. Somehow I stood up and went to reception. I’m not sure how. Somehow I managed to call my man. I don’t remember pressing any buttons.
I sat and waited for him. I just stared. Then he was pulling up in front of me. I got in, looked into his beautiful big brown eyes. ‘I don’t want to die.’