My therapist eats hay
When the phone rang that late Friday afternoon in September, I answered without a thought. I shouldn’t have been surprised when I heard what my doctor had to say. After all, I’d already had an ultrasound, an MRI, and a needle-biopsy. But my innate optimism, my desire to always find the glass half-filled even if it had a crack in it, left me hopeful for good news. I wasn’t ready for, “You have breast cancer.”
Those words started me on a trip no woman wants to take ---a forced journey with an uncertain destination. I learned a lot of jargon. I can almost
