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AWARENESS
An Anthology of
Hope
The Merest Thought –
Jane Carver
What happens when a well-woman exam discovers more than Tracy
imagined?
What new path could her life turn to if that lump is malignant?
After The
Storm –
Nancy O’Berry
Cancer and rejection nearly broke
Lauren Phelps. Doctors could fix her body,
however, could she find the courage to love Cole McGuire.
Second Chances –
Vickie Gray
After a decade apart, Josh is still in love
with breast cancer survivor Tess;
will she give him a second chance to win her love?
Letter To My Dad –
Phyllis Johnson
A poem dedicated to the memory of a man of integrity and a real role
model
to emulate. Fighting the good fight, he never complained.
Awareness For Him –
Mae Powers
Breast Cancer is something everyone should be aware of, even men;
for it
can kill those sweet heroes we spend a lifetime with.
Crown and Glory –
Denise
Jeffries
There are three things Charlice Darrett wants: life, hair, and to be
left alone.
Tyree Crawford wants only one thing – Charlice. Who will win?
------------------------------
Excerpts
The Merest Thought
By Jane Carver
Life is often
defined by those events that take a person down a different path. A
marriage, the birth of a child, buying a new home or car are all
moments of great joy. Leaving friends behind when moving, the death
of a friend or family member evokes great sadness. Surviving
hurricanes, tornados, wrecks and abuse…these are personally
traumatic. But what about the trauma that strikes the minute someone
says, "This may be cancer,"?
* * * *
“I have to leave
school a little early Wednesday. Can you get a sub for me?”
“Problems?”
“No, just my yearly
well-woman checkup.”
“Played during
summer vacation and forgot to get it done, huh?”
“Yep.”
After twenty years
of working together, how well the school secretary knew Tracy.
* * * *
Nothing could be
colder than sitting on an exam table in a tiny clinic room, bare
feet dangling off the end, white sheet wrapped around Tracy’s naked
body in an attempt to stay warm while air conditioning sent shivers
down her back. Ms. Comal, the physician’s assistant, breezed into
the room. How many years have we done this exact procedure? Tracy
wondered. They re-established the fact that she exercised, could
stand to lose a few pounds, still didn’t smoke and enjoyed a glass
of wine on occasion. The PA helped her lie back on the table, feet
on the metal extension. Eventually, they were propped up in
stirrups.
Tracy’s mind
intentionally wandered to her last period class at school, still in
session for another fifteen minutes. Eighth graders can be such a
challenge when the regular teacher is not in the room. Hope the sub
survived.
Ms. Comal took a
Pap smear and palpated Tracy’s abdomen and uterus. Finally, the PA
uncovered her breasts and began the circular exam with fingers
sensitive to any abnormality. Tracy’s wandering mind came back to
reality when she realized Ms. Comal still manipulated her right
breast.
“I can feel a
lump.”
Her words sent
Tracy into a mental meltdown. The word "cancer" came to mind with
the power of a sledgehammer. Cancer had taken her dad and aunt.
“Did you notice
this?” The PA spoke with a far away look in her gaze as if she were
in the midst of the troubled skin.
Tracy swallowed
hard and attempted to speak, but her mouth dried out with fear. “To
be honest, no. I sort of forgot to do my exam.” She wanted to hit
her head against the wall; the most important thing a woman could do
to save her own life and she "sort of forgot" to do it.
“Let’s get a
mammogram and set up an appointment with Dr. Kit.”
Faster than
Tracy could believe but slower than she wanted, the test and
appointment were set.
www.romances-by-janie.com
------------------------------
After The Storm
By Nancy O’Berry
Chapter One
Little by little,
the gauze fell away to reveal a breast complete with areola and
nipple. Her immediate reaction was to run her hands over the
fullness and touch the flesh that appeared pink and rosy. Her breath
rushed from her lungs as she traced the swell. It had no feeling.
Her hands touch the skin, but she didn’t feel the uniqueness of her
left bosom in comparison to her right.
“It should look the
same,” a voice from the door whispered.
She didn’t know if
it was modesty or fear someone would see her like this, but Lauren
pulled the paper gown up over her shoulder, feeling the burn of heat
in her cheeks.
“I-I couldn’t
wait,” she mumbled, trying to scramble to retrieve the bandages that
a few moments before had covered the rebuilding of her left side.
A hand touched her
shoulder. Instead of restricting her movement, it offered sympathy
as only another woman could. “It’s okay, Lauren. You are not the
first woman to feel the need to know.”
Only when tissues
were shoved into her empty hands did she realize she was crying.
“Please, look if
you want. I want to check the progress of our surgery.”
Lauren dabbed her
eyes, noting that the mascara she had so carefully applied now
coated the tissue.
“Hold out your
arms, please,” the physician directed.
Raising her arms,
Lauren listened to the rustle of paper as the doctor slid the drape
around to the side so she could see her handiwork. In the mirror
across from the examining table, she watched with detached emotion
as Dr. Barbara Felton lifted her right breast to measure the weight
against the reconstructed one on the left. Goose pimples rose on her
right side. The doctor’s hands were cold.
“You should be well
pleased. The surgery seems to be quite a success.”
“Yes, I am,” she
mumbled with a twinge of hesitancy. “Pleased, that is.”
“I hear a ‘but’,”
the good doctor stepped back.
Lauren readjusted
the paper covering her body, lending her some measure of modesty in
spite of all she’d lost due to her illness. Her uncertainty was
brief, yet it seemed to acknowledge the doctor’s astute insight into
what she was feeling.
“But?” Dr. Felton
asked again, this time allowing her eyebrow to arch toward the spike
bangs of her stylish short bob.
“But,” Lauren
mumbled, “It’s hard to feel. I mean it seems like it’s just a pound
of flesh there.”
“Yes, that’s true,”
said the doctor, as she pulled up a chair. “But, to anyone else,
they would never know just how tough this year has been on you.”
Reaching out, she touched Lauren’s hand. “You had cancer. You’ve
been through a mastectomy and three rounds of chemotherapy. You are
a survivor.”
http://www.nancyoberry.net/
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--------------------------------
LETTER TO MY DAD
By
Phyllis Johnson
This poem is dedicated to the memory of my dad. He was a true
Christian, a man of integrity and a real role model to emulate.
Fighting the good fight, he never complained. He got his strength
from the Lord. His spirit lives on and he will always be my hero. I
am proud to share this poem about him in Awareness, a
book that champions strength in our loved ones.
There comes a time
when I need to put my thoughts into words…
A time when
talking isn’t enough,
A time for letting
you know how much you mean to me.
The quiet way
you’ve always been encouraging,
Giving us nuggets
of wisdom,
Not talking a lot,
but when you did we all knew
to lean forward and
listen.
It was the nuggets
that I think about when I am
trying to make
decisions in my life.
(For more of this
wonderful and lovely poem, read the book)
http://home.earthlink.net/~ajax21/wordsatplay/id6.html
-------------------------------
Second Chances
By Vickie Gray
Chapter One
Tess McBride didn’t
expect to see the man who broke her heart standing in her classroom.
But there he was, looking like he could have stepped right off the
cover of a romance novel.
Somehow, Josh
looked even better than she remembered. The black uniform showed his
broad shoulders and muscular arms to perfection, and the years had
brought a maturity to his face that suited him. But why the hell was
he here?
His dark chocolate
eyes widened as he saw her. He opened his mouth to speak, but before
he could utter a sound, Judy Larkin, the assistant principal,
bustled past him.
“Ms. McBride, I’m
sorry I forgot to email you about this,” she said with a quick
smile, her hands absently brushing a few strands of tastefully
colored red hair from her plump face. “Officer Richards will be
visiting all the fourth grade classes today to talk about saying
‘no’ to drugs. If this isn’t a good time, he can come back and visit
your class after lunch.”
Tess shook her
head, praying that Judy wouldn’t notice her reaction to the police
officer’s unexpected visit.
“No, it’s fine,”
she managed. Warmth flooded her cheeks as his eyes swept over her
face. “The students certainly won’t mind if we put their math lesson
off until this afternoon.”
“Officer Richards,
Ms. McBride will introduce you to her class. I think you’ll enjoy
working with her students.”
He nodded, a hint
of a smile playing on his full mouth. Tess swallowed hard,
struggling to keep her knees from knocking as the memory of his kiss
threatened to derail her composure.
“I believe Ms.
McBride and I have already met,” Josh said smoothly, his expression
a model of professional detachment.
“Yes, we have,”
Tess agreed in a bland voice. She folded her arms across her chest
and glanced toward her students. “The students are ready whenever
Officer Richardson would like to begin his presentation.”
“Terrific,” Mrs.
Larkin chirped. “Officer Richardson will be going to Mr. Davidson’s
classroom when he finishes here. Perhaps you can show him the way to
the room.”
Tess nodded. Dear
Lord, don’t let them notice the slight quivering in her hands.
“I’d appreciate
that,” he replied. A light danced in his deep brown eyes. “I knew
your face was familiar.”
Familiar? Tess
wanted to slap him. There was a time when he knew every inch of her.
Surely, he hadn’t forgotten the summer when she’d fallen in love
with him. How could he speak to her so casually after all that had
passed between them?
Email:
VickieGrayRomance@gmail.com
-------------------------------
Awareness For Him
By Mae Powers
“Strip, Mrs. Langly.
Put your boob up on the metal platform.” I heard it every year,
perhaps not always in those exact words, but it never got any easier
to deal with, this breast examination where discomfort was a mild
thing to put up with in order to save your life.
So I would put it
up there and let the technician adjust the device. My breast lay on
a cold metal shelf where they mash first one then the other breast.
If I didn’t have a lump before, I’d definitely have one afterward.
It felt like an invasion of self, both physically and emotionally.
What was a woman to
do? And how did men who got breast cancer, or thought they had it,
cope with this type of exam? Did they take tweezers and stretch out
the guy’s nipples? Some men have big boobies sure, but nipply-only
people must have a hell of a time going through having a mammogram
on theirs. If it weren’t necessary, the process should be outlawed.
Only the Marquis de
Sade would have enjoyed this process. I was glad I never dated that
type. Ben understood though; well, he did at one time. It was for
him that I’d gotten this exam in the first place. Something I’ve
done yearly, even before his death. It is rare, but men die from
breast cancer, too.
With Ben, it
started out as a simple tiny pin-sized lump near his left breast,
but it pained him now and then. He thought it a sign of heart
failure, but he’d always been healthy. He exercised and ate right as
much as possible. When the doctors examined him, we couldn’t believe
the results.
I’d read that it
was a rare thing for a man to get breast cancer, but it happened.
Reportedly, about one percent or so of men, close to 2000 yearly, of
those that get examined though. Over 20 percent of those will die
from cancer compared to about the forty-something percent of women
out of the nearly 200,000 who are examined and detected each year.
The numbers, according to all the polls and figures I’ve read, were
higher for women, but the scare is still there, as is the chance of
death, even for men.
Email Mae at:
maepowers@yahoo.com
------------------------------
Crown and Glory
By Denise Jeffries
Chapter One
“So,
how does it feel?”
Charlice Darrett
glanced up from the paperwork she’d just completed and stared into
the eyes of her best friend Patricia. How did it feel? Coming back
to work after being out on medical leave? Having cancer? Almost
losing her life? How did what feel?
Charlice hunched a
shoulder and said, “I’m fine.” Patricia didn’t speak, just stared at
her. “Seriously, I’m fine,” she repeated.
“Okay then.”
Patricia drew Charlice into a tight hug, only to release her a
second later. “Don’t overdo it.”
“I won’t.”
And she wouldn’t.
There was nothing that could make her overdo it. She didn’t have the
energy, even if she wanted to. Her strength was coming back slowly
but surely, and each day was better than the last, but there were
still spurts when all she could do was climb into bed and pull the
blanket over her head.
Charlice shoved the
papers aside, stood and walked out to the nursing unit. She turned
into the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror for a minute,
staring at herself. Nothing was the same. She’d lost forty pounds.
The expensive wig reminded her of the chemo treatments that had
stolen her hair.
She chuckled when
the conversation with her doctor came to mind.
“Ninety-nine
percent of the people lose their hair.” Her oncologist said
nonchalantly. He smiled as if what he’d just told her was nothing.
“Not me.” She ran
her hand over her head and stifled the laugh bubbling up from her
gut, remembering standing in the shower and looking down at her feet
only to see every bit of hair swimming in the water pooling there.
The shower over, her head was as bald as the bottom of her feet.
Not me. Charlice turned to look at her profile in the mirror,
again wondering if people knew.
* * * *
A lot had changed
in the eight months she’d missed. A lot of the old faces were gone,
and a lot of new ones graced the halls. She paused at the corner,
sucked in a breath and blew it out.
All righty then.
Here I go.
She hated the pity
she saw in people’s eyes, and even worse, the pity she heard in
their voices when they spoke to her. She didn’t need pity. What she
needed was life. Any life.
www.denisejeffries.com
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