Getting the lump out of my head

Convinced I should feel something profound before knowing the results of my biopsy, I closed my eyes and took deep breaths.

Should a Cancer Call come in, I made a list of reactions to avoid. There would be no:

Bargaining. As a matter of principle, my nightly prayers, grievances and observations would stay the same. To add "Please save me" or "Give this to someone who deserves it" would add a level of desperation that neither God nor I would appreciate. Whatever would be, would be. We would handle it together, as we had other crises, such as when NBC canceled "Freaks and Geeks."

Nonsense. No Lifetime Movie revelations. A-ha moments are against the rules in my house; they make as much sense as folding underwear or quoting Glenn Beck. I made a promise to myself never to say, "Everything happens for the best." I didn't need an illness to understand the nonsense inherent in such an outlook. I once owned a Bon Jovi album.

Regrets. Looking back on the last 40 years, with the exception of once eating a mouthful of crab, I wouldn't do a thing differently. My actions, both good and bad, have led to a great life. I have done my best, said every "I love you" and "I'm sorry" that needs to be said, and will continue to let the chips fall where they may.

Fear. It's about as attractive as the compression pantyhose I wear when mopping the house, but at least those things make my legs feel better. Fear is absolutely useless.

Later that night, my mind shut down and I fell into a peaceful sleep. I welcomed the concern of loved ones with a measured and confident tone.

"Are you OK?" they asked.

"I'm fine," I replied. "For now."

This was the result of my self-assessment; this was my profound thought. I felt fine, no matter what, for now.

How many of us are incubating something and we just don't realize it? If a physician calls and says, "All clear," what does it mean? Clear of this, but what's next?

Two years ago, a dear friend underwent a biopsy that turned out benign. Today she is beginning her second round of chemotherapy for breast cancer. So whether I get that dreaded call today, tomorrow or next year, I have decided that I'm going to be fine no matter what.

As it happened, Moffitt called and said my lump is benign. The staff will follow up with a diagnostic mammogram and clinical breast exam every six months for the next two years. If nothing changes, I can go back to yearly appointments after that.

Government panels suggest that early mammograms aren't necessary. I couldn't disagree more. The worry and exposure are real concerns, but women have been saved by early detection - women I know. So I would rather be safe than sorry.

The introspection that comes with an abnormal mammogram helps, as well. I am more confident about my choices and appreciate those in my life more than ever.

I have no idea how I would have handled a different diagnosis. My usual cocktail of bitterness and humor probably would have carried me through, but I don't know for sure.

Something tells me, though, that one day I will know.

One day.

And so I'm fine. For now.