"Mom called."
"Yeah?"
"The lab reports came back; her thyroid was malignant."

Yesterday was a very busy day at work. We had a meeting for the Web Design Committee, of which it looks like the new Tech Lady and I are chairs. We took everybody's suggestions, tried hard to discourage the bizarre ones, then divvied up some work and sent them all away, buzzing with excitement. The day flew by after that, and I only really remember fragments: several small boys upset that there were no sports biographies left for their class book reports, a female toddler who dumped all the board books off of their shelves and smiled angelically, a few mothers rolling their eyes as their little boys requested Garfield books. I stayed on top of everything, then rushed home, hoping to see Eric shortly thereafter.

I stood over the stove. I was making pork and beans, and I remember with icy clarity the ring of the phone as I stood over the pot, chopping hot dogs into the bubbling bean mixture. I dropped the knife and ran to pick up the cordless phone. It was my mother; I was surprised to hear her voice so early in the day.

"I know you said not to call you with bad news," she said. I remembered telling her that a few days prior, when she had telephoned with her usual litany of family illnesses and marriage troubles. I told her she was bumming me out, and from now on to at least have a piece of good news to temper every piece of bad when she called. "In fact, your grandmother didn't want me to tell you about this at all, but I thought you'd be mad if I didn't."

I was getting nervous. Did Cory impregnate somebody? Was Grandma sick? What?

"Well," she continued, "even though the doctor said that my cold node wasn't cancer, he had to wait on the lab report to know for sure. It came back today, and it is cancer."

I remember shrieking, "NO!" I remember not crying, thinking in my head that I had to hold it together, that my grandmother apparently thought that I couldn't, but I could. I remember trying to get more information from her but all she said was, "I have to meet with him on Monday." I remember the phone suddenly start to beep in my hands, and having to shake myself back into reality to realize that the battery was dying, that I needed to run to another phone before the connection was lost.

We talked. She'll be going in for surgery to remove the rest of her thyroid, and then they'll give her some radioactive iodine to kill the rest of the cancer. They'll schedule the surgery when she meets with the doctor on Monday. No, my other grandmother - Mom's mom - doesn't know yet. Yes, she's feeling a little better since the nausea and the dizziness that followed the last surgery have subsided some. I told her she did the right thing by telling me, and inwardly I seethed at my grandmother for trying to hide this from me. She's my mother, for Pete's sake! I'm supposed to worry!

The phone is back on the hook. The hysterics I had gone into after saying goodbye are subsiding, and I'm on the computer, calling out to everyone to please pray for my mother. I was sending out some emails, when I was my uncle's name on my ICQ list. Remembering that Mom had been trying unsuccessfully to get hold of his wife, her sister, to tell her the news, I messaged him. Apparently I wasn't in a good place for communication, because my terse message that he "really should call her now" offended him. Terrific; I apologized shortly and went about my business. When I had told everybody of whom I could think, I turned off the machine, changed into my flannel pajamas, and crawled under a blanket on the sofa to cry. Eric came through the door at 10:30 and found me.

"It's cancer. Please call Bryan."

He called his brother. I could only hear half the conversation, and I managed to block out most of that. "It's Carrie's mom...the thyroid's malignant...we don't know...surgery..." After a bit, I heard him say, "Well, that's good to hear! Wonderful!" He exchanged good-byes, then held my hand. "Bryan says that it's all right. Apparently, thyroid cancer is one of the 'better' cancers; it has almost a 100% cure rate. They'll take out most of the thyroid, then take her off her thyroid medication for a few weeks, till she's really run down. Then the radioactive iodine will kill off the rest of the thyroid and the cancer. She'll be on her Synthroid for the rest of her life, but she was going to be doing that anyway. It's good news!"

Yeah. Good news. My mom has cancer, but they can fix it. My dad has a spur on his vertebrae that will have him in for surgery on Tuesday, but they can fix it. My parents are hurting, but it's nothing a little cutting can't fix.

I want them healthy. I don't want anything to need fixing. I want to be with them, but, in the latest episode of Eric's car problems, the electrical system has completely gone out. I am alone here, and there's only Eric to hold me and tell me it's going to be all right.