"Yes, that works perfectly," Sophie says, filling them in her calendar for the twelve weeks.
Three months.
"And the surgery?" Sophie asks, her voice a little quieter at this.
"The plan is a bilateral mastectomy with immediate implant reconstruction, tentatively the week after Christmas. Gives you a bit of a buffer after chemo, and you can enjoy your Christmas! The plastic surgeon will be present during surgery. You'll stay at least one night, but I would plan for two just in case. Drains for about a week. After healing, we'll start radiation Monday through Friday, for four to six weeks."
"Four to six... got it!" Sophie says, underlining the time frame twice in her notebook.
"Any questions, Sophie?"
"Hm… oh, how soon would radiation start after surgery?" Sophie asks, pen at the ready. She's completely unaware that each word from the scheduler's mouth feels like a punch.
Surgery, mastectomy, her breasts cut off and gone.
I fucking know how selfish and sick this thought is as it infiltrates my brain, but the image of her perfect breasts being gone hits me hard.
And then even worse, I think of Elise...
"About four to six weeks post-op, assuming wounds are healing as they should."
Sophie's pen is already moving. "Okay. Wednesday—Port Surgery. Tuesday—Infusions, every other Tuesday for twelve weeks. After Christmas for surgery. Radiation February-ish... okay, I think I’ve got it." Sophie takes a deep breath in what sounds like relief,brave girl."Can I bring books to read during chemo?”
"Of course! Some people read, nap, listen to music, and bring their tablets to entertain them. That's what my mom did at least. I finally got her to watch all seasons ofReal Housewives,and she's hooked!"
Sophie nudges my arm playfully as she jests, "Hey! Looks like I'll be able to put a dent into my TBR list, at least."
Sophie and the scheduler laugh together like they're old friends catching up and not scheduling appointments for Sophie to get poison shot into her veins for months.
But that's the thing about Sophie, people naturally gravitate toward her—her warmth, her genuine kindness, her thoughtfulness, the way she smiles with her whole face.
Even when she snaps at me over laundry being leftin frontof the hamper and notinthe hamper, or when I half-listen to something she's saying and she has to repeat herself, she's always quick to apologize.
She hates being mean, even for a second, even when it's deserved.
And fuck if I don't deserve it right now.
"I'll tell you what, Sophie, that's the mindset you should keep through this whole process. My mom told me this after she got diagnosed,'I might have cancer, but cancer doesn't have me.'"
Sophie's eyes soften, she looks over to me with a smile. I try, and fail, to return it.
"I love that. Thank you for sharing that, Karen."
"You're welcome, Sophie. Do you have any other questions for me?"
"No, I think I'm good," Sophie sighs as she caps her pen and smiles, even though Karen can't see her. "Thank you so much for your assistance."
"You are so welcome. We'll see you Wednesday!"
They end the call and Sophie lets out another relieved sigh. "Well, at least that's one thing I don't have to worry about anymore. Now we just have to show up."
Her words are gentle but they hit me like shrapnel. My heart slams in my chest uncomfortably, and the nausea returns with a vengeance. My vision swirls and I blink hard, but it doesn't clear.
My throat burns, my chest cinches tight, my skin feels like it's two sizes too small.
Sophie’s smile is soft and reassuring like she's the one promising me that everything will be okay.
That's what undoes me.
