Melanie Martin Goes Dutch (21 page)

The operation was this morning and Cecily said that when her mom leaves the hospital, she'll have to rest a lot. She won't be allowed to drive or carry things or exercise or shower or anything. Cecily also told me something that is hard to imagine. She said the doctors are supposed to take
off
one of her mom's breasts and build on a new one.

Cecily and I used to pull out our Barbies' arms and legs and even pop out their heads before putting them all back together again. But it's hard to picture doctors taking off and putting on parts of real people.

Right this second, Cecily is trying to call America. Unfortunately the hospital-room phone number is busy
busy busy. Mom said her mom must have taken the phone off the hook so she could get some rest. Cecily tried the hospital's main number, but the lady couldn't give out any information. Cecily left a message that said, “I love you. Please call back.”

Mom said she was sure Cecily's mom was going to be fine.

Cecily said she has a stomach ache.

Yours—

P.S. If I were Cecily, I'd have a stomach ache too. What if her dad was calling with bad news???

Dear Diary,

It's rainy out, so we're staying in. (I think we're really staying in so we'll be here if Cecily's parents call.)

I'm glad we're inside, but I don't mind rain because I like twirling my umbrella and making the raindrops
go flying and I also like how clean it smells after a rain, like Mother Nature has given the world a shower.

Mom just showed us a very cool book of a Dutch artist named M. C. Escher who was born in 1898. When you look at his illustrations, first you see one thing, then you see something completely different. He drew one picture of white birds flying right, but it's also a picture of black birds flying left! He also drew staircases that seem to be leading you up—but also leading you down. Mom said that there are many ways of seeing things and that the more you look, the more you see.

When I'm reading Anne Frank's diary, I see the world the way she saw it. And when I look at a painting, I see the world the way the painter saw it. It's almost like trying on someone else's glasses or point of view.

Here is what I've been thinking: If Cecily kept a diary of this very same vacation, it would be really different from my diary.

I was also thinking it was pretty dumb of me not to realize that one reason Cecily has been telling us “Don't worry” every two seconds is probably because she is worried out of her mind.

When we get back home, I wonder if she'll be able to give her mom a big bear hug. Maybe it will have to be a gentle little snuggle.

Dear Diary,

While Cecily was in the bathroom, Matt the Brat asked me what everyone is tense about and if Cecily was my “bosom buddy” and if her mom has “a boo-boo on her booby.” (For a little kid, he has big ears!)

I said, “Matt, that is not funny. Don't be childish.”

“But I'm a child.”

“Then don't be babyish.”

“But I'm a baby.”

“Just be more sensitive.”

“What's
sensitive?
” he asked.

I said, “Sensitive is when you think about other people's feelings, not just your own.”

He said, “What do you mean?”

I said, “Just be nice to Cecily, okay?”

He said, “I'm always nice to Cecily,” which, I have to admit, is true.

Dear Diary,

YAY
! Cecily got to talk to her dad! Mom talked to him too. Cecily's mom was still too “out of it” to get on the phone. I don't know if that means she was groggy from pain pills or from anesthesia. (It makes you go into a deep fake sleep.)

When Cecily got to talk to her dad, she had tears in her eyes again. But they were the happy kind. She seems really relieved.

I am too.

Dad and Matt went out to get Dutch sandwiches and raisin rolls, so Mom invited Cecily and me into her room. She patted the bed, and Cecily and I sat down. I thought Mom was going to deal out a game of Concentration, but she said that since it was just us girls, it was a good opportunity to talk. “Cecily, your mom's doing great,” Mom said. “And your dad asked me to help answer any questions you have. Okay?”

Cecily said she doesn't completely understand what's going on, and it would help if Mom explained everything from the start.

So Mom began. She said that after Cecily's mom found that little lump in her breast, she made a doctor's appointment and an x-ray appointment, and then a doctor used a needle to take out a tiny piece of the lump and test it. Unfortunately, the test showed that she had cancer. Fortunately, the cancer had not spread. The doctors even checked her armpits (P.U.!) and all around but the cancer seemed to be contained in one place. (Mom didn't say P.U., of course—I threw that in.)

What Mom did say was that many women who have breast cancer ask the doctors to cut out just the lump. Then the women usually have treatments (like radiation, which is light beams, or chemotherapy, which is chemicals) to make sure no cancer gets left behind.

Since Cecily's mom's mom had also had breast cancer, Cecily's mom and the different doctors decided that in her case, the best way to get rid of the cancer would be to take away the breast once and for all. That's called a mastectomy, and it's not what everybody decides to do, but it's what Cecily's mom decided to do.

Cecily winced like she'd been pinched and Mom
said, “I know this is hard to hear, but your mom is a strong woman, and the surgery was successful.”

Mom also said that Cecily's mom wanted to get the whole thing over with. “She'll still get check-ups—all women do—but chances are excellent that the cancer is completely gone. She got rid of it. Your dad said the surgery went very well and it looks like she won't even need any extra treatments. Just bed rest.”

“Can kids get breast cancer?” I asked.

“No,” Mom said.

“What about the new breast?” Cecily asked. I was glad she could talk to my mom. I even felt proud of my mom for being the easy-to-talk-to kind.

“Different doctors built a matching new breast right on her,” Mom said. “Once she's all healed up, no one will even know what she went through.”

Cecily asked, “Do you think it hurt?” Tears spilled out of her eyes.

Mom hugged her and said, “The doctors gave your mom painkillers.”

Then Cecily asked, “Where did they get the extra skin for the new breast?”

“From your mother's own tummy,” Mom said. “So she didn't just have breast surgery—she had a tummy tuck too!”

“She wasn't fat,” I said.

“Not at all,” Mom agreed. “She's always looked great and she always will. She'll probably look the same as ever.”

I wonder if that could be true.

“I'm glad the operation is over—the take-away part and the build-on part,” Cecily said. “You really think my mom is going to be okay?”

“I really think so,” Mom said, and gave her another hug.

I way dying to ask, “Are you sure you are okay?” but decided it would be more sensitive to ask later.

Besides, by then, Dad and Matt had come back with the sandwiches and a bottle of water for the kids and a bottle of wine for the grown-ups.