And, now we know...

February 24, 2011: Dr. Bradley calls me at home. Early results from the biopsy show "unsatisfactory cells." No kidding! The whole thing is unsatisfactory. I feel unsatisfactory, like I'm failing chemistry or algebra because I didn't get the equations right. He wants to do a tissue biopsy, which involves surgery and general anesthesia. Scary stuff. The last time I was under general anesthesia was when I had my tonsils out as a tiny girl. My only three hospitalizations were for childbirth. This is new territory and it looks as daunting as a wilderness. I am asked all sorts of questions and have to give all kinds of information. Do I have any questions? Yes. Do I have to have a catheter? Do I wear my contacts or glasses to the surgical center? Should I not wear makeup? Silly stuff. But I can't think about the serious stuff right now.

February 27, 2011: I ask my Bishop for a blessing. He kindly assists Dean and I feel stronger. I am blessed beyond words by the prayers of others. I know I will be all right. God is in my corner, now and forever.

March 2, 2011: I go to presidency meeting, where Ann tells me that she has put my name on the prayer roll the brethren take to the temple on Thursday morning. My heart soars to know that the prophet will speak my name aloud and personally ask for God's blessing on my little life and that the gathered brethren will say, "Amen" and seal the prayer. As powerful as that promise is, I also feel the strength of my little grandchildren's prayers, as they ask God to "bless Grammy so her neck will get better." He will. He has. He will continue to bless me.

March 3, 2011: Mom is here. Dean takes the day off work. I slept well, but I am nervous and a little testy. I know I am not a good "sick person", but I am a good actress. I will give a good show. It is rainy and cold. I dress in "easy clothes", as they have told me, and wear no jewelry. We are there at 9:45. Joni is my nurse and she is a gem. She puts me at ease immediately, as we chat like girlfriends about menopause and that White Coat syndrome again and how lucky I am to be a young grandma. She brings me huge scrubs to change into, but tells me kindly that I am not huge (though the scales have confirmed it). We wait, the three of us, in a tiny room, and giggle at the lockers that open up on both sides and the promise of cookies and juice for Dean. I am astonished as I walk to the operating table - as if this was really my choice and I could dash away at any moment - that they really trust me to follow behind like a little lamb. How trusting I am! I lay on the table, take three or four good, deep breaths of oxygen, and close my eyes. I am out.

When I am awakened, I know I have dreamed, but I don't remember what. I am fuzzy. Dean is beside me. He and Mom tell me that Dr. Bradley analyzed a piece of the biopsy in the operating room and it is definitely lymphoma. No question. I am not surprised or upset. It is what it is. I have a bandage around my neck and a tiny drain in the incision. I sit up, pull on my jeans and my top, and am wheeled to the car. I feel like a head without a body. I feel limp. Noodle-y. But, my head and heart are quiet. It will be all right.

I know now that I have been in pain since February - a mild pain in the neck, ha ha! But the surgery brings no new pain. None. I have no need for the pain pills Dean gets at the pharmacy. It is a blessing, a tender mercy, an answer to the many prayers. I don't sleep that night - my head is composing emails and conversations I must now have to tell my story, but I have no pain. When the bandage is removed and the drain is taken out the next day, Dr. Bradley is amazed. He himself calls it a blessing. I know it is and I am so grateful. I have an incision that looks like something out of Frankenstein, so I will not venture far from home for a few days.

Now we know. Now, we wait the five days for the biopsy to be analyzed further. We wait to know how to best fight this Goliath. We wait to hear the plan of action, the plan of attack. We wait...and we continue to pray. I will be okay. I will.