The cause of this gap is a telephone call I received last Saturday, which (I guess) would have been the 20th. Amy was at work, and I was at home preparing our affairs for a trip to Indiana. The plan was to very briefly visit Amy's parents on the way to an ASPCA conference Amy was to attend in Bloomington.

About an hour before Amy was to get off of work, I got the call.

It was my dad. My dad doesn't usually call me unless there's some sort of business behind it, and I could tell by the tone and wavering of his voice that it was not only business but important business. It was either a someone-has-died or someone-is-going-to-die call. He stumbled around words for a while, then asked the most unlikely of question I've ever heard come out of my father's mouth:

"What has your mom told you about her breasts?"

Despite the two-seconds worth of confusion at hearing this question, the obvious in-my-head reaction then came: "Oh, FUCK!!!!!!!" Of course, to answer his question, I attempted to gather myself and mumbled, "nothing... why? What's going on?"

What I heard over the next 20(? time was lost) minutes was the story of how my mom had started having some problems in November, and had immediately gone to the doctor. Her family physician referred her to a specialist office. However, the specialist/quack assigned (John Eliades - offices at 1812 Royale Drive, Muncie; 765-284-7703) continually misdiagnosed her for the next six months, repeatedly prescribing drugs for a non-existent infection despite tumor-like irregularities in the various scans. My dad had choice words for Eliades which he shared with me at this point in the story.

Skeptical of the diagnosis as the problem continued to worsen, my mom returned to her family physician, who looked over the scans, saw some obvious problems, and sent her for a second opinion. That was a good thing, said my dad, because she has breast cancer.

Even though I knew it was coming through the entire backstory, it floored me.

A minute passed, maybe less maybe more. "So what does this mean?" I asked. Dad told me that they were pretty sure it had spread to lymph nodes and perhaps bone marrow, and that the prognosis in this case was generally not good. He told me that she would be getting further tests from doctors in Indianapolis (as, agreeably, all Muncie doctors at this point could be generally considered quacks) and that chemotherapy and surgery would follow.

I hung up with Dad because he had arrived in Redkey before he called me. Redkey is a random place to be, but he had riden up there on his bike to find Steph, my first cousin who is the female family member with whom he is the closest besides my mom, and talk to her about it. I let him go so that he could accomplish that goal, and I sat in our living room, stunned.

Amy called sometime later, though I'm not sure how much time had passed. I asked her to come home and tried to tell her what was going on. Luckily, she was already on the way and she hung up to call her parents to let them know and to call the pet-sitter and get a few extra days.

We were going to have to stop by Muncie during our trip.

Whenever she arrived home, I was still in the same spot. She tried to comfort me, and she finished my tasks needed to get us ready to leave town. I called my dad to let him know that we'd be coming by on Wednesday through Saturday and I couldn't get him. So, I did what I had to do: I called my mom.

She was in remarkably good spirits, considering everything.  She was happy to hear that we were coming. She basically saw the whole cancer thing as an annoyance that was going to be a pain in the ass, but an experience that she'd have to face nonetheless. She said that she figured she'd have to get through it, because "I just can't imagine that it's my time yet." Those are chilling words to people in our generation, because it's always a statement of confidence like that which preceeds a fade into a funeral scene on television and in movies. Luckily, this is not television or film.

She talked about their new house, which they're going to close on the 23rd of June, and she told me that she basically expected our help to move that weekend. (And yes, they're still moving. At first I was skeptical of the idea of dealing with cancer and a big new home, but I've been convinced that it's a good thing. It will give them something positive to focus upon, and a nice new clean environment in which to recover, and it may be their last chance to do anything financially positive if their medical bills get out of hand).

Once I finished on the phone with my mom, Amy had finished all of the preparations and we left for Indiana. The trip over was an adenaline-filled blur. Adrenaline is how I react to problems I can't control, and my mind goes insane. Amy drove, which is the safest option when I get like that. By the time we had gotten to Dayton three hours later, I needed adrenaline relief, so when we stopped to use the restroom I bought and smoked a Black-and-Mild cigar-like thing. It helped.

We hit Indy and Amy's parents, hung out with Jon and Kris (though didn't tell them as to not add a damper on our only evening to hang) and hit Bloomington for the ASPCA. I used the hot tub in the hotel several times to relax, and ended up smoking another Black-and-Mild while Amy was in her sessions. I prayed to God in angry ways I'm pretty sure he didn't appreciate, questioning his all-knowing-ness and telling him that he was a fucking inexcusable dick if he didn't fix my mom. Then, it was a trip to Muncie.

On the way, I got really really sick. God's revenge was quick and merciless. We stopped at Amy's parents on the way to have dinner, and while it was delicious, it didn't help. By the time we were in Muncie, I was doubled over and begging for the mercy on my stomach that vomiting would provide. Vomit and diarrhea followed, and Thursday was a wash for me physically.

Emotionally was another story. On Thursday, my mom got a phone call with the results of her testing from Monday and Tuesday. Her bone marrow was clean, all of her organs were clean, her blood was clean, her lymph nodes were clean, and the cancer was fully contained in one breast. No evidence of metastasis.

Prognosis: excellent, greater than 98 percent.  Don't know if God fixed this, but he's not on my list anymore for the time being. He was pretty close to a permanent spot on the "Dead-to-Me" board, and luckily for us both he averted this label. Mom will still be doing chemo and surgery (chemo actually starts today), and it will still be rough for a while, but she's going to make it just fine. This news was the lifting of a great burden when compared to the other information we'd been given, which was sure that the cancer had spread and that chances were not good for survival.

Friday, we went with Mom down to Indianapolis. I was pretty much over my bug by this point. She's using a hospital at Meridian and 116th, which is brand new and part of the Clarian network. The hospital is a little overdone in terms of aesthetics (the aspirin pill has to cost $1,500 if you want the fountains to work!) but is very pleasant to visit. He had a port implanted while we were down there, which is like a permanent IV with which they can draw blood, give medicine and chemo, and other intravenous things. This way, they don't have to poke her each time they want to do any of these things.

On Saturday, I helped my short-of-help dad film the Academy's graduation, which was hard work and pretty boring, but he needed the help. He didn't even have my mom's help this year. Then, a trip to Ivanhoe's and a relatively peaceful drive back to Akron.

Even with the good prognosis, my mind is still with her. I can't imagine that it's her time, yet, either.