The pit in my stomach has set in and I can’t sleep. Getting a lump checked out this time is different. It feels different. I am really optimistic that this “thing” is nothing. Statistically and logically speaking, of course. But, when you have already fallen in the 3% of 5%, the “it can’t happen to me” flies out the window and the possibility feels a lot more real. I have run every possible scenario in my head, feeling much like a hypochondriac. But, I know this is normal.
I am a tad bit angry, at the moment, that it hasn’t even been 7 months since I heard, you have cancer, and I now have to go through more waiting, when just a month ago I felt so happy that I was good. I can’t meet my daughter tomorrow at the end of the driveway as she runs off the bus chanting, “mommy mommy” and gives me a big hug. I had to tell her I had to go get some tests done and then watch her cry. It’s hard to explain to an 8-year-old. I tried and I think she is okay now. Somewhat understanding that since I was diagnosised with cancer, I will have to go to the doctor more often so they keep me healthy, but it doesn’t mean anything is wrong. If I could only learn to take my own advice.
I know this is part of our life now. The constant tests, follow-up, scans, therapy, new normals – but I hope with time we will enter the grief stage of acceptance (I am ready for whatever comes). The stage where you accept the possibilities, reality, and you deal with it, but don’t let them define who you are. I’m not there yet, my family isn’t there yet, no where near. But I know we will get there. Tomorrow is that first step and Monday I’ll be back at the end of the driveway.