At the end of six months, now the summer of 1994, I had my third and final colposcopy. Deep in my heart, I already knew what the pathology report would show. Maybe we have a sixth sense about our bodies; I don't know.

This was the worst colposcopy of all. The first had felt like a bar fight, the second had been very easy. This was hell. The pain was severe, in spite of the medication, and I was left pale and sweaty. I was shaky and sick to my stomach. This was the first time I couldn't fake it and go about my business. I had to crawl under my cat quilt.

When the report came back, the nurse called me and asked me to come in. This was a bit unusual, since they had given me the first two over the phone. I made an appopintment and went to my gynecologist's office. My spirits were low. I knew there were going to be no surprises. The nurse told me not to undress, but simply to have a seat. A moment later she came into the examining room and silently handed me a piece of paper. It was my path report. We looked at each other, holding each other's eyes in an unspoken communication for a second. Then she gently closed the door and left me alone to read. The word "moderate" had changed to "advanced" and the word adenoma no longer stood alone. It was now accompanied by the word "carcinoma." The word dysplasia had changed to two of the most feared letters in the alphabet - CA. My diagnosis was officially "CA endometrium."

Why do words fail me at a time like this? What should I have said? Oh, emotions ran through me so fast that I couldn't keep up with them. I was sick, scared, angry, disappointed, frustrated. I wanted to curse God and smash something. I wanted to cry. I wanted to laugh hysterically. I wanted to tear up the paper and pretend it had never happened. I wanted to hide. I wanted to run away from myself and from whatever was happening inside me. I felt betrayed by my own body. To this day, I can't explain how so many thoughts can happen so quickly. I calmly left the examining room, walked by the desk, handed the paper to the nurse, and went outdoors. I looked at the sky, the grass, the sunshine. Blindly I went to my car and drove home through a veil of tears.

It may sound funny, but I was thinking about things I had never done in my life that I really wanted to do. I had never worn a big white wedding gown and I had never had a dry martini. For some reason, perhaps known only to my subconscious, I had to do these things. Before it was too late, I had to wear a wedding gown and drink a martini. As of 1999, I have put on a big fancy wedding gown, but have not yet had the martini. I guess my good judgement and lifetime of being a non-drinker kicked in. But, maybe some day I will...and I want an olive instead of an onion!