What a difference a year makes…
One year ago on Good Friday at 2:00PM, the telephone rings.
I’m pooped and don’t know why. I’ve been pooped for months with no clear reason other than being 48, post-menopausal, fat, eating poorly again (yep, another episode of The Days of A Backslider’s Life), and not exercising.
I pick up the phone, “Hello? This is Susie.”
“Hi Ms. Gibbs. This is Natalie from Dr. K’s office.”
“Hi Natalie and Easter blessings to you,” I said.
“Thank you,” she said. “Ms. Gibbs. Um. Well, Ms. Gibbs, we received the results from your mammogram today. I wanted to let you know I’m writing an order for you to have a biopsy on
One year ago on Good Friday at 2:00PM, the telephone rings.
 |
| The face of cancer. Dead eyes. Profoundly grey in weeks. Mid-stage of hair loss. Sick to death. No eyebrows. Few lashes. And a moon face. Sweet. Cancer disfigures literally and emotionally. |
I pick up the phone, “Hello? This is Susie.”
“Hi Ms. Gibbs. This is Natalie from Dr. K’s office.”
“Hi Natalie and Easter blessings to you,” I said.
“Thank you,” she said. “Ms. Gibbs. Um. Well, Ms. Gibbs, we received the results from your mammogram today. I wanted to let you know I’m writing an order for you to have a biopsy on
