Page 62 of Sandbar Storm
J.J. and Goldie nearly collapsed in giggles.
“You’re going to get us kicked out,” Hope warned but was also trying not to lose it to hysterics.
There was another polite knock on the door. The laughter stopped, and Viv answered again.
“Come in.”
Dr. Anderson walked in.
“Well, it’s a GNO in here,” Dr. Anderson said.
“Sorry, I suppose this breaks some sort of rule,” Viv said.
“Look, we’re her team. We have to be here,” Goldie said.
“Oh, oh my, Goldie Hayes, I love your work.”
“Thank you so much.” Goldie then shot Viv a private look to say, see, told you. The doctor is a fan. There will be no cancer.
“Well, I have the results. If you want your team here to support you, that’s fine, or we can go to my office.”
“No, let’s do it.”
Viv put her hands out. J.J. took one, Goldie took another, and Hope and Libby linked with Goldie and J.J.
They were a chain. Linked together for Viv as the next few words came.
Dr. Anderson put a few x-ray films on a light board. They showed lungs and ribs but not much soft tissue to speak of on Viv’s chest to get in the way.
Dr. Anderson pointed to the ribs. “You have a broken rib here.” She pointed to a tiny little line, smaller than a thread. “It’s hairline, as you can see, but it’s there.”
“Is this a result of the treatment or the next phase of my cancer?” Viv asked. She thought this was probably bone cancer or rib cancer or some new other flipping cancer.
“As you know, we biopsied several areas of soft tissue. I checked your current scans with the ones you have back in New York, and we did blood work. We took a biopsy. We did the entire work up today.”
Viv knew this to be true, she’d been poked and prodded, and it really hadn’t phased her.
Here’s where Viv braced herself. Here’s where the shoe was going to drop.
“No trace of cancer. Zip.”
“But the rib?”
“This is a result of some sort of strenuous activity. It is nothing to do with cancer. In fact, you’re clear as a bell in that department.”
“Wait, I—the pain I’m feeling, it’s allright here.”
“Yes, and the reason is you’ve either lifted something or jumped into something or twisted funny. You’ve hurt yourself, Vivian Blackwood, but it’s not cancer. It’s well, I hate to say it, you’re out of shape.”
“Out of shape?”
“Yes, have you been partaking in strenuous activities?”
Viv thought about the last few days.
“Sewing, that’s hardly strenuous.”
And then Libby piped up. “You moved dozens of boxes for the store.”
