I'd like to be able to quote Garrison Keillor, "It's been a quiet week in Lake Wobegon, my hometown", but the truth is I can't. In fact, it may be a long while before I can use that quote and get away with it, or at the very least feel like I'm not lying as it comes out my mouth.
This past Wednesday my husband and I, while sitting in a small exam room at my urologist's office, were told that the extra passenger on my right kidney is most assuredly cancer. Within an 80% probability. I had some presentiment of this appointment not being routine before we got there, which is why I had my husband with me but I thought it would be okay. Even when my lovely freckled, redheaded urologist walked in the room with a noticeable lack of his native buoyancy I still told myself that whatever it was, even if it was cancer, it would be alright.
And then he said it.
I sat there, holding Jim's hand and nodding at appropriate places in the conversation while my brain was trying to catch up, "excuse me, what did you just say?" Even in my most hypochondriacal moments never thought that word would pertain to me.
But, it does. And now I have to move through it and prepare myself for battle, cultivate my "warrior spirit", as my husband says. I doubt my readiness for that 3 days out, but each day brings up something new in my attitude while my heart works to catch up. The numbness is beginning to wear off and certain questions borne out of apprehension spring up like blades of grass in melting spring snow. The doubt and uncertainty is really the villain, not the cancer and my biggest battle will be on that particular hill.
Too bad I can't take this guy into battle with me:
This past Wednesday my husband and I, while sitting in a small exam room at my urologist's office, were told that the extra passenger on my right kidney is most assuredly cancer. Within an 80% probability. I had some presentiment of this appointment not being routine before we got there, which is why I had my husband with me but I thought it would be okay. Even when my lovely freckled, redheaded urologist walked in the room with a noticeable lack of his native buoyancy I still told myself that whatever it was, even if it was cancer, it would be alright.
And then he said it.
I sat there, holding Jim's hand and nodding at appropriate places in the conversation while my brain was trying to catch up, "excuse me, what did you just say?" Even in my most hypochondriacal moments never thought that word would pertain to me.
But, it does. And now I have to move through it and prepare myself for battle, cultivate my "warrior spirit", as my husband says. I doubt my readiness for that 3 days out, but each day brings up something new in my attitude while my heart works to catch up. The numbness is beginning to wear off and certain questions borne out of apprehension spring up like blades of grass in melting spring snow. The doubt and uncertainty is really the villain, not the cancer and my biggest battle will be on that particular hill.
Too bad I can't take this guy into battle with me:
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