Chapter 3. Beyond White Coats

Nidhi sighed as she slumped onto the couch after work. At 49, divorced, and living in the south suburbs of Chicago, IL, she’d become accustomed to running herself ragged, caring for her house, job, and teenage children by herself. These days, she feels tired of keeping up appearances. Her hands began to move across her body in a kind of absent shuffling. Feel, she thought. Feel. She pressed a part of her left breast. What was that? She pressed again; a little lump on the side of her left breast. She ran her fingers across it worriedly. Her heart began to race—this wasn’t normal. She spoke to her doctor first thing the next morning, and got an appointment that week. The waiting was torture. When will I be heard, when will we know for sure? She tried to stay busy, not to think about it, but her mind returned to it again and again, wandering over what it might be.

At the hospital, doctors removed the lump and did a mammogram. A biopsy was needed to ascertain whether the mass was malignant, the physician stated, and then things would be clear. Nidhi felt weak with anxiety and trepidation. A week later, there was a call from the hospital providing a biopsy report. It was breast cancer. Nidhi felt a wave of horror, as strong as a punch to her stomach.

Nidhi, a first-generation immigrant, had no family, friends, or any formal support system to speak of in the US. She didn’t even know that yearly mammograms were required. She didn’t know how to deal with ...

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