“And the cyst,” I said. “The little one. Two centimeters.”
Evelyn nodded slowly.
“Nobody ever went back to check it,” she said. “Because the only person who knew about it was in the ground.”
I looked down at my stomach. The watermelon.
Two centimeters, in 2014.
Thirty centimeters, now.
The surgery was on Thursday morning.
My whole family came. Thomas and Sarah. Daniel and his wife, Joanne. Claire flew in from Phoenix on the red-eye. The grandchildren sent drawings. My great-granddaughter Lucy, who is five, sent a picture of me lying in a bed with a giant purple balloon floating above my head, labeled GRANDMA’S BALLOON.Plan Family Trips
Evelyn Carter came too. She sat in the waiting room with my children. Daniel told me later that she and Thomas spent two hours going through her files together. Thomas asked her a hundred questions. She answered every one.
Before they wheeled me in, Daniel leaned over the bed.
