A Year of Second Chances. Buffy Andrews

when I needed an ear to listen, a shoulder to cry on or arms for a warm hug. I love you all so very much!

      Lastly, I thank my editor Victoria Oundjian who has pushed and challenged me to make this book the best it could be. Thank you for your unwavering support and for helping to bring this book to the world.

      Blessings to each and every one of you, Buffy

      To Tom,

      The love of my life

Chapter 1

      I kept telling myself I wasn’t going to die, that the radiologist simply wanted to double-check my right breast to make sure it was as benign as the left. Nothing more than a big ball of size 36C fat. But the C word kept popping up like that irritating “unexpected item in the bagging area” message I always seem to get after scanning every third item at self-checkout.

      I called Shonna on my way to the imaging center. I’d already talked to my bestie the night before and she’d calmed me down, but I needed her reassurance again.

      “I think I’m going to die,” I blurted into the phone.

      I could hear Shonna turn on the faucet.

      “Are you listening to me? I said I think I’m going to die.”

      “Now stop it. We talked about this last night. Don’t jump to conclusions. Even if they find something it doesn’t mean you’ll die. They probably just saw something suspicious and want to take a closer look. I’ve had other friends who’ve had mammogram callbacks and they turned out to be nothing.”

      “But what if it’s something?” I pushed.

      “Then we’ll deal with it, but remember, ninety-nine percent of the things we worry about never happen.”

      “I know you’re right but I can’t help thinking the worst. I’ve never received a callback before.”

      “Deep breaths, Scarlett. One step at a time. For now they simply want to get a closer look.”

      By the time I arrived at the imaging center, my heart felt like it was going to pop out of my chest. I tried to calm myself by taking deep breaths. My anxiety was surely even greater because my boss’s mother had had breast cancer and died, so of course that’s all I could think about.

      The imaging center was busier than during my previous visit but I found a seat in the back facing the wall. I didn’t feel like exchanging small pleasantries with anyone. I just wanted to get the scanning over with and find out if I had the big C. Would I divide my life BC/AC, Before Cancer/After Cancer, I wondered.

      Finally, I was called back by a technician who introduced herself as Linda. She looked to be about my age. I changed into a pink floral top that snapped down the front and followed Linda into a room with a huge white machine standing in the middle of it.

      “Please, sit down,” she said. “Do you know the date of your last period?”

      I reached inside my purse and pulled out my monthly pocket calendar. I noted when I got my period by writing a P in the tiny date boxes, a habit that had carried over from my teen years when there really was a chance I could get pregnant because I actually did have sex. “April 20.”

      “Are you sexually active?”

      I shook my head.

      “I’m sorry, is that a no?”

       Yes, it’s a no. I haven’t had anything hard in five years!

      “Yes. I mean no, I haven’t had sexual relations with anyone for quite some time.”

      Linda furrowed her brows. “Oh, okay.”

       She thinks I’m weird. Should I explain I want to have sex but there’s no one special in my life and I’m not into hooking up?

       No, let it go. I can’t be the only forty-nine-year-old who’s wasting the prime years of her life on a purple rabbit vibrator I nicknamed Jack.

      Linda nodded toward the machine. “Stand in front and slip your right arm out of your top.”

      I stood and walked over to the machine and did what she said. She peeled off a little sticker with a tiny bead in the middle of it. “I’m going to mark your nipple. It helps the radiologist who reads the mammogram. We wouldn’t want him to mistake it for an abnormality.”

       How can a nipple be mistaken for an abnormality?

      “If the nipple rolls during compression the area might look suspicious.”

       She read my mind.

      “Think of your nipple like the North Star,” she continued. “It’s a point of reference for the radiologist and helps him read the mammogram.”

      Visualizing my nipple lighting up the north sky made me giggle.

       She thinks my nipple is big. It is big. Big and probably cancerous. Mike always liked my nipples. Screw Mike. Stop it, Scarlett.

      I stepped toward the machine, placing my hand where Linda had instructed. I winced as she positioned my breast against the cold support plate and compressed it, flattening it out like she was prepping a piece of chicken to coat with bread crumbs and seasoning and bake.

      “Are you okay?”

      I nodded. Just take the damn picture.

      Linda dashed to the console behind a see-through barrier to take the image. “Don’t breathe, don’t move.”

      I held my breath and exhaled seconds later when the compression plate retreated.

      “Are you okay?” she asked.

      I nodded. “We women know how to take pressure!”

      She laughed and proceeded to take additional photos of my right breast from different angles.

      “We’re done,” Linda finally said. “You can have a seat in the waiting area while the radiologist checks these films. Don’t get dressed until I tell you to in case he wants additional images.”

      I grabbed my purse and headed to the waiting room, which was packed. It was much smaller than the other waiting area so I had no choice but to sit next to someone. And it was just my luck she was a talker.

      “Is this your first time getting a mammogram?” asked the woman, a petite brunette who looked to be thirty-something.

      I shook my head.

      “It’s mine. I’m only thirty-four but my doctor felt a lump during my annual exam.”

      I nodded.

      “Did you ever have a lump?”

      I shifted in my seat. “No.”

      “I hope it’s not cancer.”

      I wasn’t sure what to say so I said something really stupid. “I hope so, too.”

      I should’ve told her that eighty percent of breast lumps aren’t cancerous and that they often turn out to be harmless cysts, but I didn’t have time. The nurse returned and told her she could get dressed. The radiologist was ready to see her.

      I picked up a magazine and started reading an article about the First Lady when Linda popped in to tell me I could get dressed. I took it as a good sign that the radiologist didn’t need any more views.

      Five minutes later, I was in his office staring at images on the screens.

      Dr. Johnson sat in front of two monitors and pointed to the images on the left one. “These are the images taken last Friday. See this area here? I wanted to double-check that.”

      He then pointed to images on the other monitor. “These images,