Dear Dr. Duxin

The Imaging Center

65 Memorial Rd, Suite 510

West Hartford, CT   06107                       

Dear Dr. Duxin:

When I got called back for a repeat mammogram, I snorted with annoyance. What a hassle. Cancel meetings, drive to town, strip down, squish, squeeeeeze, hold your breath, okay breathe. Whatever.

Even when they showed me the spot on the what-the-heck-am-I-looking-at film, I thought little of it.  A little troubling, sure. But I have no risk factors that might lead to cancer. I am healthy and am an excellent steward of my consistently reliable body. Family members have lived to 105 in good health! This will be nothing.

Then the second mammogram quickly morphed into an ultrasound. Then a biopsy. Then cancer. 

I picture you, of unknown age, gender, background, and hue. Your desk is covered with gray and whitish pictures of flattened breast tissue. You are eating your lunch, perhaps. Maybe sipping some coffee. My films are next in the pile. There is a faintest of shadows on the right breast – hardly distinguishable from all the other splotches and spots and specks on the film. You take another bite of your sandwich, another sip of your coffee, and stare at the shadow. You circle it.

You saved my life. Thank you, from the heart of my heart.

I miss having breasts, and sometimes that is hard. Sometimes I am afraid. But the truth is: I feel like one of the luckiest people I know, because you noticed a shadow.

I hope this finds you well, and living a life populated by friends and family who love you and care deeply about your well-being. I hope you laugh often. That the coffee tastes rich and delicious, that your memories are happy. That you and those you love live long and well. 

paula chu

Farmington Fire Department

Dearest Members of the Farmington Volunteer Fire Department:

First and foremost, I am always grateful that you are there. I wholly admire your willingness to drop your forks and run to the aid of someone, anyone in need. Though I hope for your sake and ours that such a situation will never come to pass, we who live under the roof of 15 Main Street are humbled in knowing you would risk your lives to save ours.

A couple of Decembers ago, our family bundled up as we do every year and made the rounds of the neighborhood, caroling in the snow. We stopped in at the firehouse to sing to two young men who greeted us and stood grinning in the cold as we sang. As we walked back into the night, one of us shouted merrily, "If there's any way to wait to turn on your sirens until you get to the intersection when you go out in the middle of the night, that would be great!" One of the firemen said jovially, "We'll try to remember!"

It's true -- we have often been woken by sirens as you go about your noble work. We are two houses from the intersection of 4 and 10, and for years sirens announced your approach all the way from the firehouse. It's an awkward thing to mention: someone is in desperate need and we're grumbling about lying awake. But we thought we'd be bold and ask, merrily.

To our wonder you've been true to your word. Much more often than not, when there is an emergency in the middle of the night, your trucks head down Main Street with only the unavoidable growl of the engine announcing your passing by. It is not until the very last moment that you turn on the siren. When you're in an urgent hurry and you have both adrenaline and a siren at your disposal, it must take self-control to wait to turn on an electronic scream.

When this happens, when I notice that you've waited, I still lie awake for awhile, except now I am awake thinking that I should thank you. I  hope this letter will alleviate one source of my occasional sleeplessness.

Thanks so much for all you do, including tiptoeing as you drive down Main Street in the middle of the night. You are my heroes.