It was good news. What an incredible relief.

We both woke up yesterday morning fearing the worst. I was sure the news would be bad, and was trying to prepare myself for it. Bob got up and showered and dressed and went off to deal with a few work problems, saying that he would be back to pick me up around noon for the 1:00 p.m. appointment. I did a little work, answered some email, ate a bowl of cereal, showered, and dressed, wearing not the jeans that I had intended to wear, but a pair of cotton slacks, a t-shirt and a sweater vest, then agonized for a few minutes over a choice of jewelry.

I'm not sure why I thought it was important, or even if I did, maybe it was just something to distract me, to keep my mind off where we were going. I put in and took out three different pairs of earrings, finally deciding on a pair of silver hoops with little black stone dangles, then put back on the diamond solitaire necklace I had left at home the day before so that it wouldn't get in the way, and also put on a long silver chain with a fool's gold-shot crystal.

I don't think I was as nervous as Bob was, mostly because I was convinced the news would be bad, and had steeled myself against it. Throughout this whole process, I had gone through several different stages of feeling. At first, of course, I was terrified, afraid that the outcome was bleak, but not really allowing myself to think about it. And every time I did think about it, I pulled away from it, hardly able to envision the future.

I couldn't bear to think about surgery--possibly a mastectomy, the long recovery period, chemotherapy . . . I went to the bookstore once, hoping for some insight, but after taking down book after book and flipping through them, realized that I wasn't strong enough to deal with it, and that rather than contemplating what the future might hold, I needed to wait and find out what the truth was.

The waiting was very hard. The time seemed to stretch out. It had been just over two weeks since I had first been told that something might be wrong--it seemed like a month, at least. Or a year.

On that last day, though, I woke up determined to fight, to do whatever I had to do with good grace, to find out everything I could, and to do what I needed to do to live. I was determined to be strong.

We drove up to the hospital and parked, and looked at each other and took a deep breath, then got out of the van and walked up to the door. As we walked across the parking lot, I reached out and grabbed Bob's hand and squeezed it, thinking again that no matter what happened, we'd get through it. I was so sure that the news was going to be bad that I was already thinking that we would have to drive out to my parents' house to give them the news in person rather than phoning, and we'd have to drive quickly because they knew what time the appointment was, and they would be worrying about the delay.

We were supposed to ask for the radiology technician, but he wasn't around when we got there; the nurse said he was "on the floor." And the doctor, the radiologist, wasn't there, either. They said he was on his way back from "the other hospital," whatever that meant.

So we paced.

Up and down the hallways. We sat down for a few minutes in the crowded little waiting room, but the daytime soap opera that was playing on the television set was so inane that we couldn't stand it. One of those ridiculous television court dramas was on the one in the other waiting room, and the people sitting there wanted to talk, and I was afraid someone would want to talk to me, so sitting didn't last long. I couldn't sit, anyway. I felt like I was going to scream. I needed to move.

Finally--it probably wasn't longer than fifteen minutes, but it seemed forever--the radiology technician showed up, and beckoned us back to his room, the ultrasound lab.

He handed me a gown and said I should get undressed and put it on--I hadn't imagined that I would need to get another exam, although I had dressed in something easily removed so that I could show the radiologist the wound in case he needed to check it.

So I took off my shirt and vest and put on the gown--I was getting quite used to them by now--and we waited a little longer, until he came back with the doctor.

He said, "Well, it was a fibroadenoma, not cancerous--it's benign, and that's it," and I felt like I could breathe again. All the air came back into the room. I asked, "You mean we don't have to take it out?" and he said no, that it may have even been there when I had the earlier mammogram, but my breasts were dense (my thought: smaller=denser?) and it was difficult to see. He said he wanted me to have another mammogram in six months, but after that, once a year would be sufficient.

Just to be sure, though, he wanted me to take another mammogram, so he had the technician turn on the ultrasound machine again and pinpoint the spot, then draw another X on my breast, then they took me down to the mammography department.

I was met by a nurse immediately, who took me into her lab and stuck a little thing that looked like a miniature band-aid with a metal bb attached to it right over the X. The doctor apparently wanted to be absolutely sure that what he had biopsied was what had shown up on the mammogram. She took one view, then had me wait while she went to show it to him, then she came back and said he wanted another one from a different angle, then she said we were done, and she'd see me in six months.

Bob and I walked out of the hospital with our hearts a thousand times lighter than they had been when we walked in. I could hardly stop smiling. We both grabbed our cell phones, and he walked around the parking lot calling everyone to tell them the good news--his parents, his brother, his friends--and I called my mom, who said she would call my sisters and brother, and called my gynecologist to leave a message (she was off on Friday, but asked me to call and let her know), and called several friends, then we stopped by the house so I could email a few people and send out a quick message to the mailing list, then we took off.

He took me to Joe's Crab Shack where we had beers (Bob) and Margaritas (me), and shrimps and crab, and talked and celebrated the fact that we'd gotten through unscathed. Then we drove to a movie theater on the other side of the parking lot from the restaurant and saw "The Mummy Returns" and ate popcorn (Bob) and Milk Duds (me) and lost ourselves in a silly movie.

This was a horrible ordeal, so stressful for both of us, and for our families and friends--I wish I could have spared everyone the pain, but it was too big to hold in. Now that it's over, and the outcome was good, I'm glad that I went through it. I wouldn't wish it on anyone else, though, and from my mail, I think there are at least a few women out there who will schedule yearly mammograms now where they might not have before.

When all this started, I told a friend that no matter what, I was going to try to look at it as an adventure, and it has been. I knew that our friends and families would stand by us, and be supportive and strong for us, and they were--that wasn't a surprise at all, nor was Bob's strength and support. I suppose it doesn't hurt to have it tested, though, or to have myself tested, because ultimately, no matter how strong everyone around me was, I had to bear most of the burden myself. Fortunately, it didn't come down to the ultimate test, of whether I could face death with dignity. That test is still a ways down the road.

Bob had taken his computer in for repairs--the DVD player wasn't working--around the same time I got the first news of the suspicious mammogram, so around two and a half weeks ago.

He had a message that it was ready when we got out of the hospital Thursday afternoon, so he picked it up, but when he got it home, the DVD player still didn't work, but now, in addition, the sound was messed up and he couldn't even play a game CD, which had been find before.

So he unhooked it and took it back to Gateway Friday morning while he was running around trying to keep his mind off other things, and they said they would put a rush on it, which in their jargon meant 3 to 5 working days.

But when we got out of the movie, he had a message on his mobile phone that it was ready, so we went by and picked it up again and took it home. He said they had mentioned that there was some kind of software conflict, so we "might have" lost some software in the process. That sounded fairly ominous, and when we booted it up, we discovered that they had completely wiped the hard drive and re-installed the operating system.

I was furious, but Bob pointed out that when you take a computer in for repair, they make you sign something that acknowledges that you may lose data, but as far as I'm concerned, that's just like that piece of paper they made me sign in the hospital saying that a risk of the biopsy was chest wall penetration--sure, it could happen, but the possibility is pretty small.

I know what happened. They tried to fix it--didn't try very hard, in my opinion--then, when it came back a second time, said, screw it, and just wiped everything out and reinstalled clean. We backed up Bob's records before we took it in, so he didn't lose anything vital, but I had a few things on there that are now gone forever. I guess that'll teach me, just like the last two weeks taught me--get your regularly scheduled medical check-ups, and back up your data, because you never know.

Oh--one more thing. When we walked out the door to get in the car to go to the hospital, there was an Amazon box on the doorstep. Some wonderful person sent me a copy of "When Elephants Paint" from my Amazon wish list!

Usually Amazon tells you who sent it, but I can find no indication on the paperwork. So whoever you were (and I'd love it if you would let me know), thank you for brightening a very stressful day!