Page 73 of When You're Home
“Hello. This is the nurse calling from Dr. Ritter’s office for Ms. Thompson.”
“That’s me,” she confirmed, picking a few crumbs off the leg of her jeans from the sub buns she had just cut. She had been waiting for this call since she walked out of the clinic nine days ago. She always stressed herself out unnecessarily about her results. She tried to steady her breathing. It would all be over in just a few minutes.
“Can you please provide me with your birth month and date for security purposes?”
“March 15,” she confirmed.
“Great, thank you for that. The reason for my call today Ms. Thompson is because the results of your blood work just came back from your appointment on April 22,” the nurse explained.
Tori stopped breathing. Her finger and thumb froze into a pinched position, holding onto one last crumb she had meant to swipe away to the floor.
“My blood work?”
“Yes. We’re showing abnormal results from your CA-125 blood test last week. Now, the CA-125 is not typically viewed as a diagnostic test, but for the research study, we run it on an annual basis because of its link to ovarian cancer. Abnormal results don’t mean there’s any cause for concern; abnormal just means the results were out of range and more testing is required.”
“I know what abnormal means,” Tori hissed into the phone.
Her right leg was bouncing up and down without conscious thought. She had lost all feeling in her left leg because of how she had it tucked under her body on the edge of the couch.
“Right. So the next step is to come back in for a pelvic exam and ultrasound. Typically with someone your age, there’s no urgency to come in for follow-up testing, and some patients opt to wait until their next scheduled wellness visit. But given your family’s medical history, Dr. Ritter asked me to call you right away and get you scheduled to come back in for the exam and ultrasound on Monday.”
“What time?” she demanded.
“Three p.m.”
She closed her eyes in an attempt to shutter herself from the reality of what was happening right now. She had always anticipated this call, but she wasn’t prepared for how the news would swirl up inside her like disturbed silt.
“What about the mammogram?” she thought suddenly, speaking the words out loud.
“Hold on, let me pull up the rest of your chart. The mammogram was all clear,” the nurse replied on the end of the line. “The results will be uploaded into your online profile for you. I’m also going to send over some information about the appointment on Monday. What to expect, what to do and not do beforehand, that kind of thing. Be sure to avoid penetrative intercourse forty-eight hours beforehand, and please arrive at least fifteen minutes prior to the start of the appointment.”
Tori heard nothing else.
She didn’t even remember ending the call.
Her mammogram was clear.
Her blood work wasn’t.
The genetic research study only required a blood draw once a year, not every six months like the other screening protocols. That should have been enough, but right now it didn’t feel like enough. Whatever was there—whatever was in her—it could have been there for an entire year prior.
Her mammogram was clear.
Her blood work wasn’t.
Her mom had breast cancer first. She had breast cancer in her twenties, more than ten years before she got the ovarian cancer that killed her. This wasn’t how she had expected it to happen.
A buzzing grew louder in the distance. It was muffled but persistent. It sounded like the summer cicadas all emerging from the depths of earth in unison. She could feel the vibrations in her body, she could practically hear it in her bones.
She needed to sit down. No, she was already sitting down.
She needed to stand up.
She needed to go.
She needed to get out of here.
“Tori?”
