A lot of you have noticed I’ve had a procedure done this week and asked how I’m doing, assuming it was a continuation of “our continuing stoooory of a breast that’s gone to the dogs.” (Why yes that’s a Muppets reference. Now you know where I get all my jokes.) It’s not exactly what you think, but I realize that if you’ve been following along, you’d probably appreciate an update.
Official results have come back from the diagnostic mammograms. We call these, apparently, impressions.
On the bright side, we’ve found nothing else suspiciously abnormal — well, other than me in general, and this damned duct in particular. So this? This is good. (This is good, she repeats to herself for reassurance.) Next Thursday, I will get up at o’dark thirty and head to the surgical center to have this suspiciousness removed.
(This is good, she repeats to herself.)
And then we wait. We wait for me to heal, both physically and emotionally. We wait for the biopsy results, hoping that this is a one and done; a suspicious, attention-seeking growth that has nothing going for it whatsoever. We wait, purposely focusing on the positive, willing this story to end the way we want it to end by sheer strength of determination alone.
I hate ending the week on these notes. I’d rather be witty and silly and perhaps just a little bit naughty, but it is what it is. But here’s the thing: if you have a community who’s supporting you, then you owe it to them to pass along the news, even if it isn’t really news. Even if we really don’t know anything new. Even if I’m tired about worrying about managing everyone else’s expectations in addition to my own. Having a community means we are, for better or worse, going through this together. So thank you for your love, and your concern, and your constant reminders that I’m so incredibly fortunate to call you people my friends.