Hearing dreaded words again
ANTOINETTE JACKSON Mangia! Mangia!

"It's malignant. A person shouldn't have to hear that twice in their lifetime," I was telling my husband through tears as I hung up the telephone.

We had just returned from a golfing weekend to find eight answering machine messages beeping to be heard. Two of them, a day apart, were from Eye Care Associates.

"It's probably about that thing they took off the bottom of my eye lid after my cataract surgery," I said jotting down the number as Bob pulled up to the counter to open two days' worth of mail.

Continuing the game of phone tag, I left my number to be returned by their office.

In a short time, Nurse Cindy was calling me back with the biopsy report.

"It's malignant and Dr. Mack would like you to come into the office to make sure he got it all."

I held myself together while forcing myself to listen, ask a few questions and confirm an appointment.

Then I put down the phone, turned to my husband and said the words neither one of us ever expected to hear again, "It's malignant."

Just like before, those two words stirred up a 9.0 tremor on my emotional Richter scale.

Basal cell carcinoma is not breast cancer, I reasoned. I had been counting down the months until July 31, 2008, when I would celebrate 10 years of being cancer-free.

Was my body going to let me down and become cancerous once again?

Gratefully, all those questions would be answered at 8:15 a.m. the next morning.

It was going to be a long 20 hours.

"Everything's going to be okay. You'll see tomorrow," said my husband hugging me as he quelled my fears.

I managed to calm down and get through the evening.

"Why don't you take something to make you sleep," Bob suggested just before bedtime.

"I'll be okay," I answered. But I wasn't.

With the lights out, all those old familiar "goblins" jumped around my in brain.

"You've got cancer again. . . No I don't. . . . Yes you do and it's sending roots out to your nose and face. . . . I have the top doctors on my team. We'll see what they say. . . You're going to have to do chemo and radiation. . . .I did it before; I can do it again . . . You know the drill . . . Yes I do and it's faith, family, friends and finding humor in the situation . . . You're nothing but a cancer farm . . . Funny, but not true . . .This is d'ja vu all over again . . . Yes, I've been there; done that; don't want another darned T-shirt . . ."

Finally, I fell asleep.

The next morning, armed with my checklist of questions, Bob and I arrived at the doctor's office for the all too familiar conference.

Dr. Mack started by saying, "Well, we have three choices."

"Before you go any further, doctor, let's talk about the pathology report," I interrupted. As he responded, I made notes on my list:

Kind: Basal cell carcinoma, right lower eyelid.

Fast/slow growing: I circled the word slow.

Then I heard him say, "The margins are negative and it's non-metastatic. This isn't usually life threatening."

"Oh thank God," I said looking at my husband through joyfully tearing eyes.

Once again there was good news in my pathology report.

After discussing the options, we three decided the route to go would be to photograph the area of my eyelid and reexamine the area again in six months.

I would confirm our course of action with my oncologist, of course.

"I'd like an 8 x 10 glossy of my eye, please," I told the technician as she was focusing her photographic equipment on my eyelid.

My sense of humor had returned.

"Doctor has already ordered it," she chuckled.

"It's sissy cancer," I told Nurse Jeri as I left the area clutching my pathology report and a highly magnified digital photo of my eyelid.

"I knew it was going to be all right for you," she answered with a big smile on her face.

"I did too," said my husband.

My mother used to say, "Everything happens for a reason."

Later in life, I learned and memorized Romans 8:28, ". . . all things work together for good . . ."

I replayed the incident over and over in my mind looking for answers. Why did this happen?

Why did I crumble under the diagnosis of a malignancy?

The following Monday, I shared the experience with my Bosom Buddies support group.

They understood my fears completely and rejoiced in the good outcome.

Their reactions were comforting.

A week later, I talked to my peers at cancer survivors' camp.

"I've heard 'It's malignant twice," said colon cancer survivor Soonhee.

"I've heard it four times," chimed in Grace.

My heart was full of compassion for those ladies and the other survivors at camp who were battling a recurrence.

I learned a lot while revisiting the term "malignant."

Once again God's grace brought me through it.

My old rules for coping have been reinforced by time and are still effective. First, have confidence in a good medical team.

Then, rely on faith, family, friends and finding humor in the situation to pull you through.

With about a million new cases diagnosed in the U.S. each year, basal cell carcinoma is the most common form of cancer.

Learn the signs and how to prevent it by going to the Amercian Cancer Society website: www.cancer.org.

The Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure website estimates that 182,460 new cases of invasive breast cancer will be diagnosed in 2008.

If you haven't already done so, schedule your annual mammogram now.

For any diagnosis of cancer, remember that early detection is the best protection.

Destiny's Delicious Chocolate Chip and Peanut Butter Chip Cookies

Destiny Fawver is our teen-age neighbor who is growing up before our eyes.

She hasn't missed a Komen Race for the Cure in Tyler since we moved to Emerald Bay in 1999.

Unbeknownst to Destiny, we celebrated my good report that evening with the homemade cookies she carried across the street to our home.

Her recipe is loaded with lots of good chocolate chips and peanut butter chips, so you too rejoice in your good health with these delicious treats.
1-1/2 cups smooth peanut butter
1/ 2 cup butter at room temperature
1 cup sugar
1 cup brown sugar, packed
3 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
4-1/2 cups quick cooking oatmeal
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 cup semisweet chocolate chips
1 cup peanut butter chips

In a large mixing bowl, cream peanut butter, butter and sugars.

Add eggs one at a time, beating well after each egg.

Add vanilla.

Combine oats and baking soda and gradually add to creamed mixture. Stir in both chips and mix well.

Drop by heaping tablespoons two inches apart onto un-greased cookie sheets.

Bake in 350-degree oven for 12 to 14 minutes until edges are browned. Cool on wire racks before serving.

Makes about 9 dozen cookies.

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Antoinette Jackson is a Bullard-area resident. You may reach her at Antojxn@aol.com.