March 1, 2016: Michael and I making a day out of getting a mammogram done.

March 1, 2016: Michael and I making a day out of getting a mammogram done.

Dear Fran,

It’s been a long time. What can I say except I’ve been busy. For the past few months, I’ve been trying to find a counselor. I didn’t tell you why, but I told my benefactor all about it.

Then, I went and got a mammogram on March 1, considering it’s been two years since my last mammogram. My son—the boobie-obsessed one—and I made a day of it. He sat out in the lobby while I went in and had my “boob-crusher” appointment. (That’s what my best friend calls it anyway.) Notice I said boob singular. I really wish that they would charge me half-price since I, well, I… uh… only have one side left to crush. Michael and I went to Red Robin afterward and ate way too many fries.

I finally saw the oncologist today so he could go over my mammogram results. I thought I would be in and out scot-free within ten minutes. While the mammogram was clear (which I was pretty certain it would be as I have not found any lumps these past two years), Dr. Hoffman was concerned about an annoying cough I’ve had for the past three months. He ordered a CT scan.

I wanted to sit in the parking lot and cry for half an hour because I was so convinced he was going to say everything was fine. Instead, I called three people: Ken (husband), Jonathan (my other son: obsessed with Russian women), and Tami (my other best friend besides you). Afterward, I sang to a Loverboy CD the whole way home at the top of my lungs.

Best friends always,

Marie