Today was the last test result, the last appointment on the whole endometrial thing.
But first the oncology surgeon had to tell me that he’d taken that Kit Donnell peach home and shared it with his wife: he told me emphatically, That was the best! peach I have eaten. In. My. Life! He wanted to make sure he remembered the name of the variety right. He thanked me several times for telling him about Andy’s Orchard. I looked it up, he told me: August.
He was clearly very much looking forward to next August’s crop.
The nurse had the biggest smile on her face.
Baby Crawford is the other really good one, I told him.
Oh! He was instantly on it, getting this down. He was not going to miss that either! Baby? Crawford.
I turned to her and apologized that I hadn’t brought two peaches last time, and she laughed hard and I thought, You were thinking the same thing. I should have. But I didn’t know you were going to be there. And I didn’t have enough left to bring a bunch.
So, on to business. No cancer. No virus that might someday cause cancer. No surgery. Fill this prescription to help with the atrophal shedding.
I told him, Plot twist: after two and a half years of bleeding, it is somehow almost almost gone. (How to tell G_d a joke: tell Him, You weren’t going to let up on that symptom till that man and his wife and maybe that nurse discovered that farm and that fruit, were you? Because those peaches are divine.)
At the last he said, with the very warmest of smiles, And then I never want to see you again. For your sake.