For the past year and a half, Hud and I have been to see a doctor about cancer every. single. month. It's been long winding path cowering under the dark clouds of pathology. Eighteen months of questionable reports. 540 days of learning patience and courage.
We went to see Dr. Trautman this morning for yet another cancer screening. One of the receptionist's joked that we were at the office so often that they should give us a key so we could let ourselves in. I retorted to her that I would like my paper gowns monogrammed.
But today, the most wonderful thing happened. Dr. Trautman couldn't find anything he wanted to keep. Not a scary colored lump. A ragged edge to be perturbed about. Nothing.
He gave us a gift. I do not have to return to his offices for four whole months. We get to take the summer off!
As we left the medical center, storm clouds churned in the airs all around us. I hugged Hud and stepped into my car. Feeling good, I defied the clouds and took the top down for the ride home.
I drove all the way to Schyterbolle in the bright spring sunshine. All around me, the skies were boiling black, but a single ray sliced its way through the darkness and paved the way home for me.
As the Mustang pulled around the oak tree into the curving drive, the clouds disappeared. The hydrangeas, lilies and roses shone like gemstones. The kids were all smiles when I broke the news.
Leaving Dr. Trautman's offices usually has me feeling as if my feet are lead and inky tar bubbles angrily in my chest. My tears feel like gasoline brimming under the surface of my eyelids.
Today, I felt the child in me, remembering that first sweet day of freedom as I tumbled out of the schoolroom into the light of summer.
I felt joyful.
