Yesterday I had a follow-up mammogram. Six months ago a cyst was discovered and aspirated and I was given a charge to return in six months to make sure everything looked okay.
I checked in, looked around for a magazine to read (why were the only choices 20 copies of '55 and Older' and one copy of 'Places to Rent'? - did it ever occur to someone that there just might be someone '54 and Younger' having a mammogram?) and sat down to wait for my name to be called.
After a few minutes, a nurse opened the door and called three of us back. We were shown the dressing rooms with lockers and each given a gown to wear. We changed into our gowns and joined three other women in the private waiting room. We chose different ways to quietly pass the time until it was our turn in the mammography room - one watched TV, one pulled out Harry Potter, one stared at the wall and I grabbed a couple of women's magazines to pass the time (the selection was much better in this waiting room).
My name was eventually called and I went with the technician to have my mammogram. We chatted about the U.S. Tennis Open, her son sharing the same birthday as mine, my reasons for this followup appointment and the upcoming General Conference. She was professional but friendly and let me look at the images that showed no new suspicious spots. After she spoke with the radiologist, she took me into a private consultation room to share the results.
Everything looked great but the radiologist ordered an ultrasound just to be safe. She asked me to return to the waiting room while I waited for the ultrasound.
As I waited, I watched women come go - into the mammography room, into the consultation room, off to ultrasound, back to the dressing room - young and old, spry and using a walker. Each woman with her life, her story, here to find out if the ugliness that breast cancer is lurked within her.
I don't know the statistics for our area and so I don't know how many of the women I sat with yesterday went home with great news like I did or felt their universe shift as a cancer diagnosis was delivered to them. I silently prayed that there were angels waiting in the wings, ready to lift and comfort them through their personal Gethsemane if breast cancer was to be part of their journey.
As I passed the Halloween display in the Pink Lady Shop's window and headed to my car, my hope was that every woman that shared that room with me will live a long and healthy life. That every woman will share this Halloween and many more holidays with those she loves.
I thought of my dear friend, Dayleen Felt, who's tenacity, faith and bravery helped her fight back from stage 4 breast cancer to live 17 more years. I wished each one of them could meet her, hear her story and have her strength.Dayleen showed that it is possible to fight breast cancer and win. Her faith and spunk are her legacy and I miss her dearly.
Thank you, Dayleen, for teaching me courage in the face of impossible odds and to remember 'It ain't over 'til it's over' and that each day is a gift from God.
Another thing added to my no-pressure version of a Bucket List (after I have accomplished something that I deem 'Bucket List' worthy, I add it to my list - that way, when I die I will have accomplished everything on my list!).
Apple quilt hanging between the two windows
I went to this quilt garden party hosted by Amy, the owner of American Quilting . . .
and I saw this hanging on her house . . .
LOVED the apple quilt (naturally - I'm a fruit farm gal) . . .
but wait . . .
I entered the quilt I made for him . . .
and named it . . . 'Over the Moon for Asher'
because I am and because it has these fabrics in the quilt.
Beautiful evening, beautiful quilts. Thanks Amy.
Must go . . . I think my sewing machine is calling my name