It has been five years to the month that my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. She had the tumor removed, had radiation treatments, took a pill every day, and life went on. A week ago she got to stop taking the pills. We were both pleased at reaching this milestone.
Monday she had a followup mammogram and an ultrasound. Wednesday someone left a message on her answering machine and told her she needed to have a biopsy. So today when I called her, she told me. Why hadn't she called me sooner? Well, I can't be bothering you with every little thing, she said. Mother, this is not what I would classify as a little thing. So she has not called the office back to get this scheduled, but has promised to do so Monday.
Five years. That's supposed to be the magic number. Here we go again.