On Waiting: Baseball and Pathology Reports

I grew up with two parents who love watching sports. My mom’s main love was the NFL and the Dallas Cowboys, but she would watch almost…

I grew up with two parents who love watching sports. My mom’s main love was the NFL and the Dallas Cowboys, but she would watch almost anything. I remember Saturday afternoons when my mom, sister, and I would be glued to that great old ABC program “Wide World of Sports” to witness the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat in figure skating, powerlifting, softball, and skiing.

But my dad devoted almost all his sports attention to baseball. He had played Little League and Pony League as a kid, listened to games on the radio before his family had a television, and amassed an enviable baseball-card collection. He didn’t watch many games, but he would keep track of his favorite teams and players through the stats reports in the paper. He loved George Brett and Ryne Sandberg and Nolan Ryan. He roots for the Cubs, and one of my favorite memories is going to a game at Wrigley Field in May 2000. We saw Sammy Sosa get a hit, and we all nearly froze to death when the temperature dropped below 40 degrees and the wind was whipping off Lake Michigan and none of were dressed for the weather and five people were trying to share one pair of gloves and I paid $5 for a tiny styrofoam cup of lukewarm hot chocolate and Dave spent the last two innings in the men’s room because it was the only place that was warm (sorry, babe!). The Cubs won.

Sports like football and basketball are played against the clock. Volleyball and tennis end when one team or player is the first to reach a certain point total. But baseball doesn’t care about the clock or the point total. A game doesn’t end until the final out, no matter how long that takes. There’s no such thing as running up the score; there’s always the possibility that the other team could be losing, bottom of the ninth, with two outs — and go on a hitting streak and come back to win it. Some people find the slow pace of baseball to be relaxing. I find it almost unbearably stressful if I’m watching my team. No lead is safe. No game is over until that final out. I can’t exhale.

I was thinking about baseball this past week while waiting for my appointment to get my pathology report. A scheduling snafu meant the appointment was rescheduled from April 17 to April 7 to April 6 back to April 7. Meanwhile, I tried not to play out the various scenarios in my head.

I felt like I was standing at home plate, waiting for the pitch. I was 0 for 2 on previous path reports. Was this one going to be a final strike? If so, was it just the end of an at-bat? Or an inning? Or the game?

Or was this report finally going to be good news, if not a home run at least the beginning of moving on from this interlude of various carcinomas and surgeries and treatments? Could I start to exhale?

I wore waterproof mascara to the appointment, just in case I starting crying — which, to be honest, might happen no matter what the doctor said.

A doctor I didn’t recognize was in the room with my surgeon, and he was introduced as the head of clinical something something blah blah … words weren’t quite registering in my brain and I was pretty sure his presence signalled some sort of grim imminent announcement. I think I was still in the process of sitting down when he said, “Go ahead, sit back, relax — we only have good news for you.”

Very good news: Not a trace of a pesky carcinoma cell to be found. All clear margins. All clean tissue. No more evidence of cancer.

It’s not the final out in my game of Breast Cancer Baseball. I still have to meet with the oncologist to discuss further treatment, most likely radiotheraphy to reduce the risk of recurrence. That appointment — assuming no more scheduling changes — is April 20. But we are so tremendously thankful for this wonderful pathology report. And we are grateful for all prayers and notes of support from so many people who have let us know you care. From cards to meals to rides to Dundee to home-delivered chocolate chip cookies and so much more, you have been an indispensable support and encouragment. Thanks for cheering for us, and celebrating this good news with us.