Two years ago today, I woke up and checked with Lynette and Sarah by phone. We decided I should go ahead and cook Luke his usual Saturday breakfast of bacon and waffles. I did that and sent an email to my family explaining that Lynette had an abscess on her breast that a surgeon was to look at. I got to Gulfport Memorial before the surgeon arrived. It’s possible that Lynette’s friend Elizabeth was also at the hospital when the surgeon arrived. He examined her. He asked if her breast was hurting. She said no. The surgeon said “If this were an abscess, it would be hurting a LOT. I suspect this is Inflammatory Breast Cancer.” “Inflammatory Breast Cancer” was a new phrase to me. It’s one of those phrases that can’t really be taken back once spoken. He said “I’ll have to go in to see for sure, and I’ll take a biopsy, but that’s what I think.” Consents for surgery and lab work were signed.I know for sure that I went by myself to the surgical waiting room, after accompanying Lynette as far as I could toward the OR. Sarah went home.I was the only family member in the surgical waiting room that Saturday morning. I remained hopeful that we were dealing with an abscess.After what I’m sure was not a REALLY long time, the surgeon came to find me. He said “I was really hoping I was wrong, but I’m certain it’s inflammatory breast cancer. There was no infection to be found. There is too much there to be dealt with surgically. We’ll send the biopsies to the lab, but I’ll be contacting a medical oncologist to talk with you.” I was a hospital chaplain for eight years and a hospice chaplain for seven more. Those were all terms I knew. The diagnosis was one I’d heard in some form or other many times. I had had church members who heard the same news. My own mother had heard similar news. Even THAT was not the same as hearing it about “my person.”