It always seems to start with a phone call.

 

This time the call came during dinner preparation, a pot roast simmering in the oven with a pile of carrots and potatoes to peel.  As the phone rang, I glanced distractedly at the caller ID.  I didn’t want to answer.  I didn’t want to answer because I had carrot juice on my hands.  I didn’t want to answer because I knew who was calling.

 

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Tags: breast, cancer, diagnosis, skin

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