Monday afternoon my
phone buzzed while I was at work. We aren't allowed to use cell
phones on the sales floor, so I normally just return calls on my
break. This time, I could tell the number was coming from my health
care group. The week before, I had an unpleasant three day game of
telephone tag with my primary care physician, so I rushed off the
floor to take the call.
“May I speak to
Victoria?” the caller said.
“This is she,”
I replied.
“I'm calling to
remind you about your biopsy on Wednesday at 9:00.”
“Yup,” I said.
“I'll be there.”
As if I could
forget. As if I had been thinking about anything else. Lately, I've
been more distracted by breasts more than a fourteen year old boy. My
mind is not where it's supposed to be.
Last week in my
rush to get dinner on the table between the boys' music lessons and
Boy Scouts. I accidentally shut the oven off twenty minutes after I
put dinner in the oven. The chicken takes forty minutes to cook.
Fortunately, I realized my mistake before I served Salmonella Cordon
Bleu to my family.
Thursday night I
came home from working the night shift. The sports bra I had worn to
work seemed unusually uncomfortable. I chalked it up to being
preoccupied with the upcoming biopsy. Upon closer inspection, I
realized my bra was on backwards. It's been that kind
of week.
It's also been the
kind of week that has made me extraordinarily grateful.
After I was told I
needed a biopsy, I prayed for my health. I pray pretty regularly.
Mostly prayers of gratitude for the blessings in my life—my
husband, children, extended family and friends. I often find myself
praying for situations in the world or of friends who are going
through a tough time. Sometimes I pray for strangers—like the
customer who told me her husband was just diagnosed with bone cancer.
In the darkness of my bedroom that night, I couldn't remember the
last time I prayed for myself. And that lead to even more prayers of
gratitude.
Wednesday was the
day of my biopsy. I had a great friend with me—one smart enough to
tell me she was coming with me instead of asking if I
wanted her. There were texts and messages of encouragement throughout
the day. By the time I was in the ultrasound room I was pretty calm
and together. The radiologist had told me I would feel some pressure,
but no pain. The last time a doctor told me that it was a big, fat,
lie. This time however, the only thing I felt was a small pinch from
the novocaine needle. The biopsy itself only took a few minutes.
An hour later, I
was sitting in my favorite diner with an icepack in my bra eating the
most fattening breakfast they had on the menu. I ate every bite.
Calories don't count on biopsy day.
Most of the
discomfort is gone now and the waiting for results begins. I should
know something by Tuesday or Wednesday. So far, I've managed to keep
the “what ifs” at bay and concentrate on the things I know:
- I have loads of people pulling for me and praying for me—some I've never met in person (thank you blogging community!).
- The medical professionals I've dealt with lately are wonderful—including a PCP who went out of his way to get in touch with me (when he wasn't even on call) to make sure I made an appointment for my biopsy.
- Mammogram techs have heard every boob joke ever uttered. But they will laugh at them anyway, just to make you feel better.
- The sound of my boys' laughter is therapeutic and their hugs can work magic.
- My friends have given me support, laughter, and bourbon to get through this.
- Twenty-something years ago I met a cute guy at a keg party. He turned out to be the love of my life. His calm strength have helped me through tough times before and will continue no matter what the results of this biopsy are.
- Besides, it's probably nothing.
