It's In The Stars. Buffy Andrews

I had lung cancer and was going to die.

      My grandmother died from lung cancer after going to the doctor about a back pain, so of course I figured I had cancer, too. By Monday my fears had spiraled out of control and I could hardly breathe it hurt so much. Dr. Lerman sent me for chest X-rays immediately and had me wait for the results. When I learned there was absolutely nothing wrong, it was like a huge weight was lifted off my chest. The pain just vanished. It was the weirdest thing. I never would’ve believed my fears and anxiety could actually produce phantom symptoms, but they did.

      When I discovered the lump, the only thing I could think about was this tearjerker movie in which a young mother died from cancer that was detected during a routine office visit. The lump was near her armpit. So, knowing how my worries manifest into symptoms, I made the appointment.

      When I arrived at Dr. Lerman’s office, a woman with a throaty Midwestern accent talking on a cellphone followed me in the door. Dressed in what I would classify as retro bohemian she looked like she was ready to smoke a joint and party. I swear she had a ring on every finger – even her pinkies.

      I hate with purple passion people who talk on cellphones in waiting rooms, or anywhere I’m a captive audience. She sat beside me and put the caller on speaker. (No, I’m not kidding.) They talked about a guy (“He was a lousy lay anyway!”) who dumped the caller earlier that day. Thank God the nurse called me back to the examination room because I was about to go hang out in the bathroom.

      Covered with a thin paper sheet, I drifted off on the examination table. Dr. Lerman startled me when she opened the door.

      I sat up. “Sorry, Dr. Lerman. Tough day. I probably smell like smoke.”

      She sniffed the air. “You do a little. Why?”

      “Covered a fire today and didn’t have a chance to shower.”

      She nodded and went over my medical history. “So, let me see this lump.”

      I held my right arm straight up and the paper covering fell down around my waist. She pushed against the lump with her fingertips.

      She pulled off her plastic gloves. “Nothing to worry about, Sydney. It’s just a pimple.”

      I sighed. “Thank God, because I really thought it was cancer and that you were going to tell me I was going to die and never have kids and never grow old and never be a grandmother, even though I’m not sure I want kids and growing old isn’t bad because it means I’m alive but I don’t want to look old and I definitely don’t want to be a grandmother until like fifty years from now – if at all.”

      “Wow, Sydney,” Dr. Lerman said. “How are you sleeping, by the way?”

      “Well, since you asked – I’m having trouble. I just can’t shut off my brain. You know how I hate odd numbers, right?”

      Dr. Lerman nodded.

      “Except 666. I hate that number, too, even though it’s even. I got a receipt yesterday and it was for $6.66. I asked the clerk if she could add two pennies to it, but she said she couldn’t. I thought about buying something else, but then I added two pennies to the penny dish on the counter, figuring that covered me.”

      Dr. Lerman cleared her throat. “Wow. Okay, then. And the sleep?”

      “Yeah, that. So, as I was saying I hate odd numbers. Now I’ve been watching the clock and if the clock ends in an odd number, like 11:03, I have to wait until 11:04 to close my eyes. But if the time ends in an odd number but the two last digits add up to an even number, then I’m okay. So like 11:13 is fine because even though it ends in an odd number, one plus three equals four, which is even.”

      “Sydney,” Dr. Lerman said. “Maybe it’s time we had a serious talk about your anxiety issues.”

      I squirmed on the table. “Do we have to? I’m not crazy about taking medication.”

      Dr. Lerman sat down across from me. “Would talking with someone help?”

      I shrugged.

      “Look,” Dr. Lerman said. “If we start you on a very low dosage of medication, just enough to take the edge off your anxiety, you’ll be able to sleep better. You want to do that, right?”

      I nodded. “It would be nice to be able to shut off my brain and fall asleep when my head hit my pillow. I’m not sure that’s even possible.”

      “There’s only one way to find out.” Dr. Lerman called in a prescription. “Let me know if it helps. I’m going to start you out on half a pill, but if it’s not enough, we’ll increase it to a whole tablet. How does that sound?”

      “I’ll give it a try.”

      By the time I got home, I had a little bit of a second wind, but not enough for Zumba. Maybe a walk. I hadn’t planned on confessing my odd, no pun intended, behavior to Dr. Lerman. But maybe she was right. Maybe I did need something to help curb my anxiety. It couldn’t hurt. Maybe this was the something new Horoscope told me to embrace. Besides, the whole odd and even thing was beginning to stress me out in other areas of my life. For example, I liked having an even number of pencils in my caddy at work. When I bought bananas, I looked for a bunch with an even number. It didn’t bother me that after eating one, there’d be an odd number left, as long as I started with an even number. I know, I’m a freak! I knew Dr. Lerman was right about my anxiety and obsessive behavior affecting the quality of my life and I definitely needed to get more sleep if I was going to function at my best.

Chapter Six

      Tuesday, July 19

      Someone close asks for your advice. Be honest. They’ll benefit from your wisdom and experience. Communication is key. Tonight: Make it early.

      My BFF Jen called to complain about this guy she’s been dating. He has potential, but there are some things about him that bug her.

      “He doesn’t call me,” Jen said. “He texts all the time!”

      I laughed. “Sounds like you met your twin when it comes to texting.”

      Jen sighed. “He texts way more than I do. Maybe he’s lazy.”

      “Come on, Jen. Whether we like it or not, nowadays the default is to text. Running late? We send a text. Want to know what someone’s doing? Send a text. Besides, did you tell him how much it bugs you?”

      “No.”

      “Send him a text!”

      We laughed.

      “Seriously,” I said. “He’s not going to know you prefer he call, at least every once in a while, if you don’t tell him.”

      “And another thing,” Jen said. “Why can’t he ask me before Friday if I’m free over the weekend?”

      “Does he know you like to plan ahead?” I asked.

      “No, but he should. What girl doesn’t know what she’s doing for the weekend by Wednesday?”

      “Look, the next time you see him, tell him how you feel. That you want to talk more and text less and you usually have your weekend plans figured out by the middle of the week. Either he’ll get with the program or not.”

      “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Sydney. I miss you. I wish we lived closer.”

      “Me too. And you can thank my horoscope.”

      “What?”

      I explained how I was following my horoscope, using it as a daily guide.

      “So today it said someone close would seek my advice and I should be honest.”

      “That’s kind of creepy,” Jen said. “Do you think it’s because it’s at the top of your mind so you’re making a correlation that’s not necessarily there?”