It's Easter Sunday and from across the room, I notice the choir director's arm. The doctor part of me never shuts off. It's now become a fully integrated part of who I am. I lean over and whisper to my wife, "she has something wrong with her lymphatics." Since she was a female, my mind automatically went to breast cancer. The lymphatics of the arm drain through nodes in the armpit. They also drain the breast. It's not uncommon to remove the lymph nodes in the armpit.
After the service, everyone from the church swoops down upon my brother with tears in their eyes. It's been a bit since he's been able to go to church and they wish to express their emotions and prayers to him. It costs him immensely both physically and emotionally to make it in today but his will is iron in its resolution to go. Shunning the introductions, I sit quietly in the pew content to hide in the background. I do not trust my voice to keep its tenor if I am called upon to talk. The choir director finds me and begins to express her heartfelt sympathy for our family. With tears and kindness in her eyes, she tells me of her battle with breast cancer. I sense an unspoken bond with people who battle these diseases.