It’s Wednesday, and I still don’t have an appointment for my biopsy. I had been told to expect a call by today, but no such luck.
At lunch time, I called Dr. S office. “No, ma’am, we don’t have the referral just yet,” said the kind administrator. “But let me go ahead and set up your chart so that once we do receive the referral, our coordinator can move forward with scheduling.”
I gave her my information, hung up, and immediately called my primary. “Hi, I’m calling about a referral.” “Yes, ma’am, is this regarding the CPAP?” “No, this is about the biopsy.” “Oh yes, I see that right here too. We’ll send the referral to the fax number once again.” “Ok, Great! Thanks,” I said, and hung up.
Later that evening, after work, I tried reaching the specialist’s office again, but by then they had already been closed for an hour according to their answering service.
“I’ll try again tomorrow” I thought.
Thankfully, work has been an incredible distraction. It always has been. This weekend I’m scheduled to work, and for once I’m grateful. Staying busy keeps me from sitting in the silence of the unknown, letting my mind spiral. It’s the long drives, the late nights, the idle moments when the thoughts begin to eat away at you.
And today’s driving thoughts? How our healthcare systems need improvement. We’re still using fax machines to transmit critical referrals? There’s no universal system to manage them? No secure real-time dashboards that can track the process without violating HIPAA? The handoffs between patient, doctor, insurance, imaging, and paperwork form a maze that slows care. In medicine, process improvements aren’t just helpful…..they’re necessary.
During the commute…I tried calling my brother, hopeful he would pick-up so I could inform him of what’s going on, only to discover he had changed his number. Not what I expected.
When I finally got home, a letter from the mammogram center was waiting.
It was the report.
Findings: 1 cm x 0.9 cm x 0.8 cm irregular, echogenic mass with suspicion of malignancy, located at 3 o’clock posterior depth on the left breast. Results labeled “Abnormal/Suspicious,” with a recommendation for an ultrasound-guided core biopsy.
Of course, I had to look it up. The possible causes range from benign to malignant. My hope is still firmly with benign…. and I’m anxious to see the confirming data.
Well, in the words of a Courageous Cowboy: Let ’er buck.
At 4:15 p.m., I went in for a short notice doctor’s office visit. They called me into a small waiting room where the nurse checked my weight and vitals…120/60 blood pressure, 100% oxygen, and a resting heart rate of 52 bpm. “Looks good,” she said with a smile. “Dr. C. will be with you in just a minute,” she added in her soft Southern drawl.
I sat in the cold, refrigerator-like room, taking in its minimalist cleanliness, the bare walls, the neatly organized tools, the set of ear canal testers. It was quiet, almost too quiet, until the sliding door opened and Dr. C stepped inside.
“Hello,” she greeted. “Howdy,” I replied, trying to lighten the mood.
“Now, I’m assuming they’ve already gone over this with you?” she asked gently.
I explained that I had received a call from the physician at the Mammography center. They confirmed it was not a cyst…it was a mass.
“Correct,” she said, glancing at the report. “They want you to get a biopsy, and that will be scheduled at a doctor’s office. I’d recommend N.F. They have two excellent doctors there, and one in particular has an excellent bedside manner.”
She looked at me carefully. “How do you feel about that?”
I told her that a friend had recommended a doctor at the F. , Dr. S., and that I would prefer the referral be sent to her office instead.
She nodded. “That’s fine. Just so you’re aware, if it turns out to be positive, the doctor’s office will take it out.”
“Positive?” I echoed.
“Cancer,” she clarified, hesitating, as though the word itself was heavy.
I had already noticed her body language when she entered, hesitant, with the kind of facial expressions that say I don’t want to have this conversation with my patient. The concern in her posture said the rest.
“Well, there’s still a chance it could be nothing, correct?” I asked.
“Yes, of course,” she assured me.
She reminded me that she had read biopsy reports before that turned out benign.
I told her, I’d remain optimistic that this too would amount to nothing.
I checked out, walked to my car, and drove home. But when I stepped out of the garage and made the short walk to my front door, the weight of it all finally hit me. In that hollow stretch of silence, I couldn’t help but shed a few tears.
Yesterday, I met with my writing mentor. She arrived with an air of quiet confidence, dressed in a crisp royal blue blouse and a matching deep stone sapphire ring, a sleek black skirt, and purple framed glasses that added a touch of creativity to her otherwise professional look. Her presence commanding attention. I couldn’t help but feel engaged as we dove into our discussion.
We booked a small study room at the local library. It was a perfect size I’d say 8 x 10ft… quiet, tucked away, and private enough that no one could overhear our conversation. The walls were bare, with only a whiteboard… just the kind of blank canvas I need for enhanced concentration.
I prepared a meeting agenda. I hoped it would help guide our discussion and keep us focused on the specific topics I planned in mind. She appreciated the structure, making a positive comment on my planning skills. She had only brought with her the first two pages and an outline of her own book project.
We began with a review of the progress. I talked about completing research on running associations, my ongoing struggle with identifying my deeper “Why” and the current challenges I’m facing with organizing the flow of the content.
I asked, “Can the ‘Why’ change? Why I ran? And Why I’m writing?”
She smiled and said, “Of course it can.”
“Oh, ok. Well, that certainly makes it easier.” I replied, feeling a weight lift.
We talked about pen names and the reason behind them. She had me read aloud an excerpt of her new book. She asked what my biggest takeaway had been from the last meeting we had. I mentioned the amount of learning about the running community, race directing, course certification processes, marketing the sport, attracting different types of people to it and coaching.
I told her I’d like to coach or teach others about running and had completed my first course on how to lead run groups from the Road Runners Club of America, perhaps that may be where my purpose lies.
“Great!” she said. “Use that. Make that your reason for writing this book, and yes, it can change later.”
Simple. Clear. That clicked.
We discussed my outline, and she agreed it was strong.
My next task is to find a parallel between running and life and use that as the book’s central theme. It doesn’t need to follow a chronological order. It can flow naturally, guided by meaning rather than timeline. The key is to find a deeper theme…. something from life that running can reflect or amplify.
Most importantly the “hook.” Start with something that pulls the reader in immediately. Make them want to run with me.
She went off to mention that my deadline for having this done in a year is somewhat unrealistic.
I asked “Well then, what is a realistic deadline?”
I waited for a date or time frame, ready to jot it down in my notebook.
She said, “To have a book” then paused.
I waited. Listening. Hoping for her to say 2 years or 3. “Yes. What’s the timeframe?” I asked again.
“To have a book” she replied.
I looked at her, eagerly waiting for the calendar date, thinking she might have been running the calculation in her head.
She paused and looked at me. “There is no timeframe. There is no deadline. Simply To Have a Book.” her words came sharply, and precise this time around.
I can’t process that. I thought. I need to have a date. It’s what helps keep me disciplined. It’s what keeps me in the act of moving forward.
“Time adds Pressure.” she said.
I listened intently and confirmed the validity of her statement. True. I thought.
But pressure can be helpful. Right? It helps us become aware of our time limits. Helping us make the most of each day…. spending time with a sense of urgency. Also, pressure can help sharpen focus. I thought.
“The book will be done, when the book is done. When you read it and you wouldn’t change a thing.” Across the natural oak rectangular table, she looked me straight in the eyes and voiced gently, “No deadline.”
Closure came today as we said our final goodbye and laid our beloved Queen to rest. The procession of vehicles, moving in a single line to the cemetery, left me in awe. It dawned on me that we were all here—descendants, relatives, grandchildren, cousins—because of her. She brought us together, even in death. Grandma’s journey began when she left her home in Aguascalientes at the young age of 19, making her way to El Paso, Texas. She was incredibly brave to embark on that path alone.
The services began yesterday, and I was honored to deliver the eulogy. My memories of her are vivid and cherished—she was a central figure in my upbringing. Even after her Alzheimer’s diagnosis and the slow decline that followed, I made it a point to stay connected, to continue communicating with her. Throughout it all, she remained resilient.
Today, we laid her to rest. It feels surreal to think that her presence is no longer with us. The finality of death is, without a doubt, the hardest thing to process.
Below is the eulogy I shared in her honor:
Grandma is one of the toughest women I’ve ever known. Grandma faced and overcame countless challenges in life, living to the ripe age of 93.
The way our family home acreage was divided Grandma and Grandpa lived in the front lot, while Aunt and Uncle lived in the back lot. So, yes, Grandma was a central figure in my upbringing.
Whenever mom needed a break from me, she’d send me next door to hang out with Grandma, Aunt Irene or Uncle Frank and I loved it because there I was treated like royalty. I enjoyed messing around with the white guitar that Grandpa kept in the living room and grandma never hushed me. Ok, maybe once when she was trying to watch an interesting segment of that show “Christina”.
Grandma never learned how to drive, so whenever Mom needed to go out and Grandma needed something, we’d always make sure to take her with us. I remember thrift store shopping with Mom and Grandma—it was a favorite pastime of ours. I’d be in the phase of hunting for cool vintage clothes, while Mom and Grandma could spend hours sifting through piles of rags and fabrics.
I also remember long drives across the border with Mom and Grandma after visiting Tia Olga or stopping by the doctor. I’d sit in the back seat and have my headphones on, listening to music, while Mom and Grandma chatted as we idled in the long border lines to get back into El Paso. This is where I would often witness Grandma’s kind heart as she gave pesos to people selling chicklets or those simply begging on the streets. Despite not having much herself, she always stopped to give, and that made a lasting impression on me.
We grew up going to church, and since Grandma couldn’t drive, we would always stop to pick her up to give her a ride to church service. Grandma would get in the vehicle and always sat in the front seat, and I’d be relegated to the back. We would get to church, and I’d often listen to her talk to all her church friends, whom we all affectionately called “Hermanas.”
I was quite the tomboy back then, and Grandma would always correct my posture at church and encouraged me to act more like a lady. I remember once sitting slouched in church, probably wearing a dress Mom had made for me. Grandma gently guided me to sit up straight. She was stern but caring.
Grandma made the best tamales, hands down. No argument there. There came a time when it became too difficult for her to make them, but I’ll never forget how she used to test the “masa” by dropping a small piece into a glass of water to see if it floated. As a kid, I thought it was a clever trick. As an adult, I now understand that the buoyancy of the “masa” is what makes the tamales so delicious. Yep, Grandma made the best tamales.
I also remember visiting Grandma’s house and often helping her with the dishes. I’m not sure why I enjoyed the chore, but I did. Grandma would always have a pot on the left side of the sink, filled with a mixture of water, Clorox, and dish soap for cleaning and scrubbing. She didn’t like to waste water, and she taught me that running water was only for rinsing. Another memory that sticks with me is when I would help her wash clothes by hand outside at the “tendedero.” She used a big blue bar of soap to scrub Grandpa’s SNA Nut Company shirts.
I also recall how worried Grandma was when Grandpa cut his finger at work. I was young, so she tried to shield me from the details, but I could see how deeply concerned she was for him.
There are so many lessons, so many memories. Mom and Grandma were inseparable, at least up until I graduated high school. When I left home for college, Mom got a job, and we started noticing that Grandma was exhibiting signs of Alzheimer’s. I’ll spare the details, but I always tried to visit her when I was back in Chaparral, even during the time when Mom and Grandma weren’t getting along.
When I left Chaparral for college up North. I would stop by to visit and on my return, Grandma always liked to bless me with prayer before I made the four-hour drive back up to Albuquerque. I remember her telling me how proud she was of me
I would always joke with Grandma, telling her I was her favorite grandchild, but I knew she loved us all the same. However, she was my favorite grandma.
One time, Grandma asked me if I ever thought about getting married. I told her no, that I hadn’t found anyone. She replied, “Well, you better hurry up, or ‘Se te va ir el tren,’” which translates to, “You’d better find someone, or the train is going to leave you.” Then, I met Mike and brought him home to meet Grandma. She was happy for me, I could tell. Her way of showing it? She looked at Mike and said, “¡Qué narizon!” which means, “What a big nose!” That’s how I knew she approved.
Grandma’s bluntness was just part of her endearing, strong character. She always made me laugh, even if most people didn’t understand her humor.
If Grandma ever offered you food or drink and you kindly turned it down, she would always say, “¡Ay, pues chulo!”
Goodbye, Grandma. I will always carry the Christian values you instilled in me. You were strong and courageous, but underneath all that toughness, you had the kindest heart. Please know Mom misses you, and in her own struggle, she still calls out for you.
Journaling was Recommended 