Storm in a B Cup - A Breast Cancer Tale by Lindy Dale

screams. “You’re life isn’t so perfect, either. The whole city knows Jeff’s
bonking that skinny little secretary of his.”
    Now, I do
crack. “Enough! Stop it. I have Breast Cancer and that’s a teeny bit more
important that who’s bonking who.”
    They stop
fighting and stare at me like the cancer is growing on my face. Jodie goes
limp, as if I’ve physically knocked the stuffing out of her. She bursts into
fits of tears. “Why didn’t you say something? There I was harping on like a
diva and you’re dying. I’m so sorry.”
      I try to be flippant. “We don’t know if
I’m dying yet. Look at it this way, it’s a good way to drop a couple of kilos.”
    “Oh my God,
don’t be ridiculous. Go for a jog if you want to lose weight.”
    “I was
joking, Jodie. I don’t advocate amputating body parts as a form of weight
loss.”
    Jodie
flushes with embarrassment.
    Angela’s
face is filled with sorrow. Or pity. “The feeling you had was right then.”
    “Yep. I have
a surgeon’s appointment next week.”
    “Are you
still keen to have it off?”
    “Not sure.
Guess I’ll have to see how bad it is before I decide.”
    Jodie has
rallied. She’s blown her nose and is stuffing the tissue into her handbag.
“Well, if you do decide to get fake ones, I know the most spectacular plastic
surgeon.   The work he did on my
sister was unbelievable. Her boobs look like she’s nineteen. Unfortunately, her
face still looks forty-three.”
    I can’t help
but laugh. Jodie’s a bitch sometimes but she’s also a bit of a crack up. She doesn’t
see the problem in calling a spade a spade. And she likes to get what she pays
for.
    The bell
rings and within minutes the playground is heaving with hundreds of kids under
the age of eight. I’d hate to be a teacher. Being a parent is hard enough. I
look to the door and see Rory running towards me, his blue school shirt is
flapping and his grey school shorts are sporting some type of grass injury.
    “Hey Mum.”
He stops in front of us and I bend down to kiss him.
    “Hey sport.
You ready to go? Got your homework?”
    “Yep. Miss
Reynolds put a note in my diary for you, too.”
    “Have you
been naughty?”
    “Nah. Oliver
pushed me over and I scraped my elbows. He made me get grass all over my new
shorts, too. He said I was hogging the ball but I wasn’t. He always hogs it.”
He lifts his elbows for me to inspect the damage and suddenly I feel overcome
with motherly protective instincts. That Oliver is a bully.
    “I’ll pop in
and see Miss Reynolds.”
    “Mum. No. It’s
fine. She said it’s fine.”
    I look at
Rory and decide to leave it be. If he says it’s fine, then it is.   I only hope he reacts this well when I
break the news.
    *****

 
    After
dinner, I sit Rory down on the couch. “I need to have a talk with you,” I say.
    “Is this
about my shorts?”
    “No. I don’t
care about your shorts.”
    Rory looks
at me quizzically. He knows something is up because I’m always on about looking
after his school uniform, being proud of it.
    I pull him
over to sit on my knee. Even though he’s getting to be a big boy, he still
loves a cuddle and I could do with one.
    “Mummy’s
sick, Rory. When I said I was going to the dentist the other day, I really went
to the doctor. I have Breast Cancer.”
    Rory’s deep pink
lips begin to wobble. Two crystals of tears form in the corner of his eyes. “Are
you going to die? Like Julia’s dad?”
    Julia Long
was a child in Rory’s class whose father suffered from a particularly
aggressive form of bowel cancer the previous year. The children had seen him at
school during the various stages of his illness and appeared to take it in
their stride. But this is different. This is my son.
    “No. I have
to go to a special doctor next week. She’s going to help me get better.”
    “Can I
come?”
    “Not this
time but I’ll write everything down, so I can explain it to you when I get
home.”
    Rory seems
okay with this.